"I’m an emergency room nurse"
Eventually, I developed a deep sense of pride in being a nurse. Almost all of my friends were nurses, or worked in health care in some capacity.
Often trauma-bonded, we could share our frustrations with the system, the job, manager, or even patients. We had the collective experience of being able to run a code, then immediately go see the rest of the patients, not allowing them to see on our faced that we just witnessed death, the very thing some of them were fighting against.
We would hold the hands of scared patients telling them (only if it was true- that was one of my personal rules) that it was going to be okay. We shared the fear and shame of an SA survivor. We shared in the despair of terminal diagnoses.
Too often, I would take the weight of these days home with me. The day I saw my first truck vs motorcycle trauma, I texted my dad asking, “You always wear a helmet, right? You must always wear a helmet, you must always be so careful of other drivers.”
My dad confirmed that yes, he always did. He was careful. It didn’t ease the anxiety in me though, because neither of those actions helped the ones I couldn’t save.
One day, EMS brought in an elderly lady who reminded me of my great grandma. My grandma had recently passed away, and this lady appeared to be at the end of her life as well. Tears welled in my eyes as we transferred her from their stretcher to ours. I stayed with that lady until her family came.
Then I allowed myself a brief second to compose myself in the staff washroom, before I went to see the rest of my patients.
I needed to make sure no one knew the grief in my heart. Patients needed me to be strong, when they couldn’t be. They needed to see bravery and hope. That’s what I believed.
Being a nurse became who I was. I didn’t know how to describe myself, or what I liked outside of my job. But I was ok with that for awhile. It was all I thought I needed.
I believed it was proof of my devotion and passion for this career. I believed someone else’s hard was more valid than my own, so I dismissed that some things are really hard for me.
I continued to be the strong one, until it was physically impossible for me to be.
I’ve always been a person who really feels things. Hello ADHD. In elementary school, I remember crying at the simplest things. I’d get bullied, then I’d cry. Then I’d get bullied for that. “She has a soft heart.” I remember hearing once, as someone patted my back and I cried into their shoulder.
I feel like nursing required me to have a soft heart, so I could be caring and kind, but not so soft that things affected me. I had to be both things at once.
I know now, that crying isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s simply your body’s way of trying to self regulate.
It was easy to cry when I was younger. But eventually I learned to mask a lot of my heavy feelings. I thought it meant I was getting stronger.
If you are experiencing signs of burnout, please, reach out for help. Talk to a trusted supervisor, your Employee Assistance Program, myself or someone else about what you are experiencing. Burnout and Vicarious Trauma do not get better on its own.
To determine if you are experiencing burnout or vicarious trauma (or at high risk), take the self assessment here:
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