RN
I am currently in a program to address my complex trauma. Ironically, many participants are also nurses or healthcare professionals, and it became clear to me during one of our meetings that we’re all carrying more emotional baggage than we admit.
At one of these weekly meetings, our facilitator introduced a concept that deeply resonated with me: the “three C’s” — I didn’t cause it, I can’t cure it, and I can’t control it.
As I listened, I realized how powerful these tools could be for reducing false guilt, especially in a healthcare setting where we’re often expected to perform miracles. I’ve started using this framework, and it’s been transformative.
Nurses are trained to put others first. Over the years, I’ve seen myself and others prioritize patient needs at the expense of our own — a habit that’s often necessary in emergency situations but completely unsustainable in the long term.
From the beginning of our training, whether in nursing school or during hospital orientations, there should be a stronger emphasis on self-care and how to create balance at work. Without these, burnout is not just likely — it’s guaranteed.
Beyond self-care, there’s the issue of whether our work environments even support such a balance. Many hospitals and clinics don’t provide the resources necessary for nurses to properly care for themselves or their patients. We’re expected to push through fatigue, emotional stress, and high patient loads without the time to process what we’re experiencing.
As a recovering codependent with complex trauma, I realize now that my desire to help others has often been tied to my own sense of self-worth. For years, I found my identity in being a “helper” — the one who could fix things, who could make it better. What I didn’t realize was that this kind of thinking isn’t sustainable.
In the nursing profession, codependency can manifest in a dangerous way. It can lead to feeling responsible for our patients’ well-being to an unhealthy extent. I was deriving my sense of value from my ability to help, even in situations where outcomes were completely beyond my control.
This is where the “three C’s” come in.
She came to the ER on an EMS stretcher, complaining of severe abdominal pain. We quicly transferred her from the gurney to a hospital bed, but as soon as we did, she coded. Chaos erupted. We immediately began CPR, calling for meds and supplies, moving in synchronized urgency.
Her family stood nearby, watching everything unfold. They were yelling at us, pleading with us to save her, begging us to do more.
“You’re not doing enough!” one of them screamed.
But we were doing everything humanly possible. We threw everything we had into trying to bring her back, but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t make it.
I remember looking up after we had called the time of death, locking eyes with her family. Their devastation was palpable. They were sobbing, some still yelling, and the weight of their grief hit me like a tidal wave.
Even though I knew we had done everything right, everything possible, it was hard not to internalize their words. For a moment, I wondered, “Could we have done more?”
The truth is, there was nothing more we could have done. Her condition was critical from the moment she arrived, and despite our best efforts, her body couldn’t recover.
I’ve replayed that day in my head so many times, but I’ve come to see it through the lens of the “three C’s”:
Her family’s anger wasn’t really directed at me or my team. It came from their pain and helplessness, from their desperation to keep her alive. I understand that now.
At the time, I just felt the overwhelming sadness of losing her and the heaviness of witnessing their grief.
This moment is one that lingers. It’s a reminder of the impossibility of our job sometimes: the expectation to save lives in situations where saving them is no longer possible.
A young man who came to the ER complaining of leg pain. Like so many hospitals, we were overwhelmed, and he’d been sitting in the waiting room for hours. Eventually, he came to the nurses’ station, asking to use the bathroom. As he walked toward it, he collapsed in the hallway.
I’ll never forget running to him, starting compressions, and realizing the severity of his condition too late. Despite all our efforts, we couldn’t save him. His condition had been much more serious than anyone realized, but because we were so short-staffed and overwhelmed, he hadn’t been seen quickly enough.
I didn’t blame myself for what happened. I knew I had done everything I could in the moment, but I felt an overwhelming sadness for him and anger at the system. He didn’t get the care he deserved because we didn’t have the resources to provide it. The waiting room was packed, the ER staff was stretched thin, and patients like him were left to wait too long, not because we didn’t care, but because there simply weren’t enough of us to keep up.
That day, I didn’t just mourn his loss, I felt an acute sense of injustice. Healthcare is supposed to be about healing, but without the resources to care for people properly, it felt like we were failing the very people who needed us most.
The “three C’s” have been a small comfort as I try to process what happened that day:
This memory stays with me, not because I feel guilty, but because it reminds me of how deeply broken the system is. It fuels my anger and my determination to advocate for change. Patients deserve better. Nurses deserve better. And moments like this shouldn’t be inevitable just because we lack the resources to provide timely care.
In a profession where emotional and physical exhaustion is the norm, self-care often gets overlooked. But it’s more than just a buzzword, it’s a necessity. Finding ways to recharge should be taught alongside clinical skills.
Self-care isn’t just about taking bubble baths or going for a walk. It’s about setting boundaries, saying no when necessary, and finding moments of peace even during a hectic shift. It’s also about advocating for ourselves in environments that don’t always make it easy to prioritize our well-being.
Burnout doesn’t happen overnight. It creeps up slowly, in the form of exhaustion, cynicism, and a reduced ability to care for patients. But what if, instead of just managing the symptoms of burnout, we addressed the root causes? What if our work environments were designed with self-care in mind?
Despite the challenges, many of us remain in the profession because of the deep sense of purpose that nursing provides. Helping others in their most vulnerable moments is incredibly rewarding, and while it comes with its emotional costs, those brief moments of connection — when a patient says, ‘Thank you,’ or when you see someone recover — make it all worthwhile.
I think about the patient who grabbed my hand after a long shift and said, “Thank you for taking care of me.” Or the family who pulled me aside to say, “You gave us so much comfort during the worst moment of our lives.” These moments don’t erase the pain, but they remind me why I became a nurse in the first place.
The “three C’s” haven’t solved everything. I’m still learning how to let go of guilt, how to care for myself, and how to make peace with the limits of what I can do. But they’ve given me a framework to start unpacking the heavy emotional baggage I’ve carried for years.
As nurses, we give so much of ourselves to others. It’s time we give some of that care and compassion to ourselves, too.
Nursing demands so much of us — not just physically, but emotionally. We hold the hands of people at their most vulnerable. We witness their pain, their fear, and, sometimes, their grief. We do all of this while balancing impossible workloads in a system that often makes us feel like we’re failing, even when we’re giving everything we have.
But the burden shouldn’t be ours alone to carry. Healthcare needs to change. We need systems that actually support us, adequate staffing, access to mental health resources, and workplaces that prioritize our well-being instead of treating burnout as inevitable.
To my fellow nurses and healthcare workers: I hope my story encourages you to give yourself the same compassion you give to others. We can’t change the system overnight, but we can start by letting go of the guilt we carry and by advocating for the support we deserve.
We’re not superheroes, even if the world sometimes expects us to be. We’re human. And that’s enough.
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