You’ve Got the ‘How,’ Now #FindYourWhy
“Finding your why” is not so much about discovering buried treasure. In that sense, it’s not really a thing you can tangibly obtain. Rather, finding your why is more like tapping into a well, one that is alive, ever-changing, and able to feed you from the deepest of aquifers.
What fuel does it provide?
Finding your why allows you to muddle through the hardest shifts, smile through the rudest comments, and stay open to peer reviews and managerial feedback, to name a few. In this dumpster fire of a year, the ability to stay tapped into your why is how I imagine there are even nurses left, at all. Because pandemic nursing ain’t for sissies, y’all.
Finding your why is all about finding purpose beyond the paycheck. We get into nursing for a million and one reasons, but those of us that stay need to reinvent those reasons as we mature in our careers. Knowing both where we came from and where we’re headed is vital—and your ‘why’ is the fuel to keep you moving in a bold direction.
For me, at first I resisted…well, everything about becoming a nurse. Instead of thinking why I wanted to become a nurse, I could tell you precisely why not. Nope, I was intent on embarking down my own path, far from the lineage of medical professionals that surrounded me in my immediate and extended family. These were no ordinary medical professionals, mind you—these were the Harvard Med School alumni, Oxford University Fellows, head of department at major metropolitan hospital types.
As for me, I wanted to study birds. Hiking in the woods—solo—with binoculars and notepads and grid markers called to me on an entirely different decibel than any medical domain had.
“Every nurse has their own particular ray of light, their own special way about them that goes far beyond clinical skills.”
The problem was, I was not very good at ornithology. You ever see that Friends episode where Rachel is being shown her baby on the ultrasound and everyone around her is marveling at all of its features, but she herself can’t see any of them? Well, that was me spotting nests, counting fledglings, and analyzing data.
(Or, as it were, not.) As much as I loved it, I kind of sucked at it. Or maybe more forgivingly, I had to work for it. And this innate lack of talent became glaringly obvious to me the summer I started working at an internal medicine office, for the sole convenient reason that I could walk there, allowing me more time to apply to grad school for field biology.
Well, the sheer ease that working in the medical field came to me was apparent from day one. Apparently I had gleaned, absorbed, and incorporated more medical knowledge against my will that I was willing to admit. I memorized drug names in one glance, causally joked with our elderly patient base about their constipation woes without a shred of awkwardness, and was the first one called upon to get a hard stick in the lab.
The nurses in that office saw the writing on the wall long before I did. Thankfully, the last wing I was placed under was their’s, and thanks to them, I saw the light—I needed to apply to nursing school, not grad school for field biology.
Fast forward three years later, and I had my NCLEX passed, and my first job secured on a neuro floor in a busy urban hospital starting. No one was more eager than I when I stepped foot on my new unit, excited to begin my life as a nurse. I’m sure you can guess what happened to me, as it is what happens to any new, young, and naively enthusiastic nurse.
I went home in tears—frequently. It’s hard not being at your best, and unfortunately, as a nurse, there’s no way to be at your best when you lack experience. Thankfully, I had an amazing preceptor who knew the right times to push and the right times to hand-hold.
Perhaps the greatest gift she gave me was the ability to see my strengths as she did. You see, every nurse has their own particular ray of light, their own special way about them that goes far beyond clinical skills. Some nurses can bring levity to dire situations, giving everyone a little extra breathing room; they put both minds and hearts at ease simply with their presence.
Some are bulldogs, advocating for their patients and co-workers alike with lightening fast wit and evidence-based demands. Some are the Moms and Dads of the floor—like my preceptor—gently nudging each baby nurse to step into their own, while organizing potlucks for every occasion on the side.
And some, like me, come alive when around the patients. Some, like me, crave genuine connection, and recognize that for as dire as it can be, the hospital setting beautifully orchestrates the stripping of pretenses, leaving people to really see one another.
You see, as fascinating as birds are, they don’t really give a damn about the people who study them. The wonderful thing about patients, I was beginning to realize, is that they gave as much to me, as I did to them. To develop this skill, I crafted a knack for being able to explain anything to anyone.
I prided myself on helping my patients to truly understand their diagnoses and their treatment options. My goal above all was allowing them plenty of time and space to sit with these new foreign concepts, many times utterly devastating in those early days, as they involved permanent changes to their brains and thus, their lives.
“In this dumpster fire of a year, the ability to stay tapped into your why is how I imagine there are even nurses left, at all. Because pandemic nursing ain’t for sissies, y’all. ”
Of course, I still had the curmudgeonly old-timers who couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge my efforts, but I found them to be almost my favorites. A psychological challenge, you could say. After a few shifts together, I almost always could find my “in” with them. And the power of human connection began to feed me. It became my well to draw from, my “why.”
Eventually moving to the ED, I was able to fine-tune this connection skill—to turbo charge it. And now, in my new role working from home (thanks to two sets of twins), I’m afforded the great opportunity to connect with my fellow nurses through my writing.
That’s the beauty of nursing after all, at least as I see it—the ability to connect lies in each of us. Knowing that is exactly my why (and I understand now that is has allowed me to soar into my best self more than any bird-related profession ever would have).