Burned Out Nurse, Restored
Submitted by Burned Out Nurse, Restored
Tags: burnout career guidance nurse burnout
Nursing wasn’t my dream growing up; I planned to become a high-school counselor or marriage therapist. But during my psychology studies, I found myself unable to align with the philosophical foundations of the field. I didn’t know what path lay ahead — until God pointed the way through one simple sentence from a nursing-student friend: “If I were in the hospital, I would want you to be my nurse.” That small, sincere comment changed everything. That comment moved me into immediate action. I decided to take the nursing prerequisites. If I did well, I’d see it as God’s sign. I also chose to work as a nursing assistant — if I loved it, I’d know I was on the right path. I excelled in Anatomy, Physiology, and Microbiology. Studying felt like church to me — witnessing the fingerprints of God in the human body. Working as a nursing assistant, I discovered the profound fulfillment of caring for people in their most vulnerable moments. My heart was full. My purpose was clear. I went forward to become a nurse — joyfully, faithfully, wholeheartedly. And then, slowly, quietly, over years of giving and sacrificing, the emotional cost accumulated. I poured from a deep well until one day I realized it had run dry. No one rescued me. No one monitored the erosion of my spirit. I had to rescue myself. I became a licensed RN at twenty‑eight — a little older than most new nurses, but exactly on God’s timeline for my life. I stepped into nursing with purpose and conviction, believing with all my heart that I had been called to care for others. And for years, I did. I poured myself into my work, into my patients, into my calling. The demands of nursing — not all at once, but slowly, quietly, relentlessly — began to whittle away at my emotional strength. I kept giving because I believed that's what good nurses do. I showed up, I pushed through, and I served. Until one day, I realized I was empty. Burnout didn’t arrive suddenly; it crept in, disguised as duty, disguised as commitment, disguised as pride in doing the right thing. And when I finally recognized it, I found no one rushing in to save me. I had to save myself. Today, after more than twenty years in nursing, I have found a healthier rhythm through remote utilization review work — a role that restored a peace I didn’t even realize I had lost. I am learning to care again, but this time, that care extends to me too. And I know I am not alone. During my final years in the hospital, I watched brand‑new nurses — just months into their careers — already questioning everything. "Is this really what I signed up for?" "I am already burned out." Their voices echoed the same truth I had lived. Nursing is a sacred calling. But sacred work cannot survive on sacrifice alone. To understand how I arrived here — peaceful, restored, and still deeply proud to be a nurse — I want to take you back to where it began. The First Years: Med‑Surg and Telemetry New nurses are often advised, "Start in Med‑Surg." And I embraced that guidance.
Night shift became my introduction to bedside nursing — 2½ years of steady learning, steady growing, steady giving. The night shift gave me something I treasured deeply: time. Time to sit with patients, to offer a comforting presence, to pray with those who welcomed prayer. Many did — quickly reaching for my hand, grateful for spiritual care alongside medical care. Those moments nourished my soul. They reminded me why I became a nurse. But night shift takes a toll — physically, mentally, spiritually. Sleep becomes fragmented. Life becomes inverted. My body adjusted, but my spirit grew tired. I transitioned to day shift on a telemetry floor — and the pace hit like a tidal wave. Gone were the quiet moments. The work became a blur — procedures, phone calls, families, alarms, endless motion. I respected the work and the mission, but my peace began to erode. Four years in, I felt the first tremors of burnout. Seeking Balance: Home Health and Private Duty Home health called to me — a new pace, new scenery, new relationships. And I loved it. I loved meeting people where they lived, seeing their world, their routine, their story. Yet even there, the burdens of modern nursing followed — relentless documentation, multitasking while in motion, responsibility stretching in every direction. Private duty nursing came next — one‑to‑one care. Simplicity. Presence. A slower pace, fewer tasks, more heart. The pay was half of my hospital salary — and yet the peace it brought was priceless. But eventually, I felt the need to grow again — and I stepped into skilled nursing. Leadership: Blessing and Burden Skilled nursing, especially at a Christian‑centered facility, offered meaningful work — but also new pressure. Leadership found me, even when I did not seek it. One promotion led to another until I found myself managing two units — doing the work once done by two nurses. My compassion — my commitment — became a reason to pile more responsibility on me. And that is when I first learned a hard truth: In healthcare, those who give the most are often rewarded with more work, not more support. Compassion can be exploited just as easily as competence. I loved my job. I loved my residents. But my spirit was wearing thin. Starting Over: Returning to the Hospital I married at the end of the Skilled Nursing chapter, and with marriage came a shift in priorities. I wanted to honor my new life — my husband, our home, our future.
So when we moved an hour away, I returned to hospital nursing with a quiet plan: to blend in, to work, and to protect my energy. That lasted only so long. My heart for leadership resurfaced, fueled by witnessing gaps in the system and longing to help. I pursued and achieved a Master’s in Organizational Leadership — and while the lessons aligned with my values, I reached a painful realization, which spoke to me from my place of burnout: Perhaps the system was not designed for change. Or perhaps I was simply too tired to fight it anymore. Case Management and Utilization Review Discharge planning and Utilization review arrived next. Again, I moved to this field to escape the burnout I was feeling. I found purpose in coordinating care and supporting families — but the emotional load multiplied. Frustration, fear, grief — often directed toward the person trying hardest to help. And again — work ethic turned into burnout. Excellence turned into exhaustion. My internal compass wouldn’t let me give less — even as my energy dwindled. I spent years in that role, and when I finally asked to transfer to relieve the pressure, I got temporary relief — but the cycle repeated. More work, more responsibility, more strain. And then I made a decision that changed everything. I chose myself. I wrote down exactly what I wanted: remote work, a specialty I enjoyed, fair pay, a healthy pace, room to breathe. I refused to settle. And after months of searching, the door opened. Restoration: Remote Nursing One year into my new job, I work remotely in utilization review — and it has been nothing short of restorative. My mornings are peaceful. Scripture, prayer, quiet music, sunlight through the windows, dogs at my feet, breakfast with my husband. Work still matters — but it no longer consumes. There are no frantic alarms, no constant interruptions, no sprinting from crisis to crisis. And though it took time to slow my pace, I am learning — truly learning — that I do not need to volunteer for every task, rescue every workflow, or carry more than my share. I am still recovering from twenty years of running. And I am building endurance now — not for survival, but for longevity. To New Nurses — and the Ones Who Feel Tired Already Nursing is a noble profession. It is sacred work. And I would choose it again — even with the pain, even with the burnout. But hear me: You cannot pour from an empty vessel. You are not selfish for protecting your peace. You are not weak for seeking balance. You do not have to burn out to prove you care. Direct patient care shaped me. It gave me compassion, perspective, and a sacred connection to humanity. I am grateful for every year. But seasons change — and caring for others must include caring for yourself. My story is not about leaving nursing. It is about remaining a nurse — whole, healthy, and restored. And if you find yourself where I once stood — tired, questioning, wondering if it’s you — please hear this: It’s not you. And there is a way forward. A calling can evolve. Healing is possible. Peace can return. I am proof.