Rediscovering my passion

Ask 100 nurses why they wanted to become one and you will get 100 versions of their desire to help others. I am no different; it was only when I started my nursing schooling that I understood all of the different avenues and niches available. I distinctly remember my department chair, known for her tough but fair elusive tendencies, telling a room of novice nurses, “I expect 90% of you to go on and get graduate degrees.” I sat in that chair thinking well, okay, then I’m not going to be in the 10% that doesn’t! And so, I graduated, passed my boards, and accepted the only position I could find: night shift med-surg nurse at a hospital in the city with an hour commute. I immersed myself in the unit, saying yes, yes, and yes to extra shifts. Feeling everything, from the patients’ post-op woes to the charge nurses’ texts for help.

At the time, there was an obligatory waiting period of one year for nurses with no experience to work, and I assume to ensure their specialty track before starting graduate school. I followed the rules, as I always do—I worked and waited. Then in 2012, I started my online master’s program in nursing education. I stretched it out, took full advantage of the hospital’s tuition reimbursement, and after 11 semesters and 33 credits, I stepped foot on the campus for the very first time while being the lone master’s in nursing education graduate. Within those four years, I transferred specialties and fell in love with premature neonates. I gained my certification in neonatal intensive care, climbed the clinical ladder, took on new roles of preceptor and charge nurse, and even dabbled in hospital education. I again took to heart what my professors suggested, becoming an adjunct clinical instructor, and immediately enrolled in a PhD program, knowing it to be the preferred terminal degree for academia.

I joke that I did a tour of state schools, attending three different institutions in the Pennsylvania State System of Higher Education (PASSHE). The programs were rigorous, and I gained confidence with each new resource, topic, and degree.

Meeting my peers in doctoral school compelled me to search for a full-time nurse educator position. Again, I was a novice, teaching fundamentals to first-year associate degree student nurses. And while I easily transitioned to a career centered on students, the academic world proved to be more challenging. I felt isolated in my cubicle, without monetary resources for certification reimbursement or professional development, with unwritten rules I wasn’t privy to, and a quiet expectation of a 7:00 a.m.-4:00 p.m. Monday through Friday physical presence. Positive student interactions and feedback fueled my employment continuation. As I was finding my groove and growing professionally and physically, the year 2020 arrived. The pandemic struck when I was three months pregnant. Worry and uncertainty rocked me to my core because for the first time in my life I was unsure of my career path. Academia lacked its number one appeal: student interaction.

And so, after much thought, home alone day after day, I resigned and returned to full-time bedside nursing. I chose to work weekend nights, avoiding daycare throughout the rest of my pregnancy until my daughter was almost 2 years old. My return to bedside nursing proved to be rocky. My inability to produce adequate breast milk supply and subsequent postpartum depression was undiagnosed through my telehealth obstetrician check-ups. I no longer felt compelled to be married to the bedside, ignoring texts for help despite high bonuses. I flipped my sleep schedule every three days to accommodate weekend nights in the NICU and daytime parenthood throughout the week. I was four and a half years into my doctoral program, at the point where I was released to complete my dissertation. Without strict deadlines, I procrastinated. I had trouble prioritizing, and each menial task on my to do list felt like a mountain to climb. And of course, the dishes, the laundry, the dusting.

In 2021, I had a shingles outbreak. I messaged my primary care physician (PCP) and asked him why—I wasn’t even 33, and shingles is a disease of old age. He suggested generic ideas to decrease my stress levels, sharing that he had shingles in his 40s. I spoke with my husband, I contemplated, and I recognized a concrete need to change. The psychosocial aspects were easy to disregard, but this physical ailment demanded attention. I finally took some of the self-care ideas hospital management pressed and started therapy, joined a gym, and bought an obscenely large water bottle. It took a while to reap some benefits, but work buddies who turned into gym (and life) motivators kept me going.

I successfully defended my dissertation, graduated, and once again landed a career in academia. But this time, I was prepared. I knew how to interpret answers in my interview. I purposefully applied to institutions that valued baccalaureate-prepared, entry-level nurses and resources for students and faculty alike. I sent emails expressing my interest to deans and program chairs and thank you cards following virtual interviews. I was able to cite my earned PhD, now six years’ experience in higher education, and a smattering of publications and presentations to land an assistant professor of nursing position at a beautiful and historic four-year private college.

And while I am now navigating new systems, people, and processes, I have rediscovered my passion. I am renewed and once again filled with excitement. Thoughts of improving outcomes, future research studies, and student satisfaction replace monotony. And while I still cannot fully get away from the bedside (I retained a per diem staff nurse position), I am practicing presence and engagement with a standardized sleep schedule.

What I thought would be a straightforward path gifted me a two-year tangent. I am now humbled by the journey, and grateful for my current position. Personally, the time home with my daughter was a gift, strengthening our bond and learning about each other intimately. Professionally, it was a needed pause—a reminder to take a breath and pursue professional advancement without personal loss. And I recently stood in front of a group of engaged nursing students, explaining nursing as a profession, and defining caring while I modeled my repurposed desire to help others.

Jenna Davis, PhD, RNC-NIC, is an assistant professor at York College of Pennsylvania in York, Pennsylvania, USA. She is a member of Sigma’s Eta Eta Chapter.