It’s been six years since obtaining my board certification as a family nurse practitioner. A Master of Science in Nursing, a milestone I was so proud to achieve. COVID-19 entered the US during one of my clinical rotations while I was working full time in the ER. Having to navigate the fear of being a first responder while completing coursework and attending clinicals on my days off was one of the most trying times of my life. The pressure within constricted my throat and nearly blinded me. The fear of this spiky green virus silently entering my respiratory tract with just one inhale, then possibly exhaling it to infect my daughter and husband after my shift, was debilitating. Entering through the garage, stuffing scrubs into garbage bags, running naked to the shower, and sleeping in the guest bedroom only lasted a week or so. It was simply not healthy to isolate myself from the two people I needed more than ever, and they agreed.
Once certified, I took the first job offer as a nurse practitioner in an outpatient oncology office. With limited oncology experience or interest in this specialty, my acceptance was simple: to get out of the ER. COVID had officially burnt the toast I had already become. Most of the staff were good people, caring, hardworking, integrity-driven nurses and techs. However, the toxic ones were like black mold, too difficult to remove, so they just lingered within view of everyone, spreading their darkness. Why, why would management know this mold exists and seem to make no effort to cleanse the environment? It’s been over six years since being physically there, but my mind and body feel it still today.
But, ya see, I missed it. After three years or so as an NP, unable to find my niche, I pivoted back to the ER, a different one, and I really enjoyed it. But, similar to an old relationship or a past home, we often remember the good memories and conveniently forget the mold…or outdated wiring. I had to face the mirror, remove the boa constrictor, and speak my truth. The home within me had been rewired, and my internal breaker couldn’t handle the amps of the ER anymore. But where would I go?
A phone call from a doc I once worked with in the ER brought me to an opportunity in research, and within eight months the site was closed, my position severed, and what finally felt like my niche, my place, evaporated into thin air. But a wise teacher once said, “A cloud never dies.” This experience will manifest into another pathway for me to take. Still, after six years as an NP, I wished to have been established somewhere by now. Here I am, feeling like I’m back to square one.
This is what it must feel like to be single, swiping left and right in search of my right now or forever. The vertigo, the disgust, the confusion, the questioning myself: what IS my type? Thank GOD I’m married. But, like the game f, marry, kill, I had killed all my per diem positions to marry a job in research, just to get blindsided and divorced with minimal alimony aka severance pay. Maybe I am simply not ready to “date” again, in this case, apply for jobs. Maybe I need time to breathe and find my footing.
As Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh says, “The only way out is in,” and maybe that is what I need right now. The space and time to observe who I am today. I will still be an experienced nurse and nurse practitioner one month from now, even if the month of October is blank on my résumé. I must trust the advice of my loved ones, strangers, friends that I deserve this breath without guilt. Yet I am still here applying for unfit positions. I am trying so hard to give myself permission and cannot understand why it’s so difficult.
I keep putting this fucking boa constrictor on my own neck after everyone helps me take it off. This writing is just another way for me to release this energy into the universe, to allow it to become something else, yet it ricochets back to me each time. Where is the reset button? “The only way out is in,” I keep saying to myself.
❤ KB
