"You're so funny!" Thanks... [Mental Health: When Healthcare Workers Struggle to Cope]

The Story I Wasn't Sure I Was Ever Going to Tell

Some days in the NICU pass in a blur of feedings, charting, and alarms. Others carve themselves into your soul, etching memories so deep that no amount of time can erase them. This was one of those days.

The unit was already stretched thin— above census, beds full, and creativity at its peak to try and make room for possible admissions to come. Babies arriving in distress, assignments being shuffled like puzzle pieces with missing edges. It was the kind of shift where you barely look up from the chaos before the charge phone is ringing again. And then, the overhead call came. An unexpected and emergent delivery.

The Delivery Room Team ran, and as the Charge Nurse I got to work rallying yet another admit nurse out of no where— because that’s what we do. We set up the room and prepared for the worst, because that’s what we’re trained for. When the infant arrived and immediately required CPR we sprung to action like a well oiled machine, because that's how we operate. We fought with every last resource that we had, because the alternative was unthinkable. But despite every compressing hand, every medication given, every desperate attempt to turn the tide— this tiny life slipped through our fingers.

As we placed the infant into their mother’s arms, the weight of it hit me. Her sobs filled the space, raw and guttural, an indescribable grief that no human should ever have to bear. And yet, I recognized it. Because once, I had lived it. On this exact day 16 years ago. It was my baby brother’s anniversary. The same gestational age. The same ending.

A panic attack swelled in my chest, pressing against my ribs like I was the one gasping for air. But there was no space to feel. No room to break down. The unit was still moving, still needing, still demanding, and here— right in front of me, was a mother grieving the loss of her own baby. It took everything inside of me to keep myself composed as I said, "I'm so sorry" and then squeezed myself between the mother's wheelchair and the door frame make my exit.

My feet took me away from the room— not to grieve, not to process, but to answer the next call. Because in this world, the day doesn’t stop. Before new curtains could even be hung, another baby was placed in that same room. A different family, a different story. Life and death, hope and heartbreak, all wrapped into the same shift.

And I had no one to tell. No one to scream with, to throw something with, to say “this isn’t fair” with. I wanted to mourn, to cry, to be human— but instead, I answered the next phone call.

And I know I’m not alone in that.

We Carry More Than We Say

As healthcare workers, we don’t just witness life and death— we feel it. And what affects us isn’t random. The cases that gut us the most often tie back to something personal. A struggle that reminds us of someone we love. A loss that reopens wounds we thought had healed. A moment that forces us to confront grief we’ve spent years pushing down.

We see heartbreak, trauma, and loss at a rate far higher than the general public. And yet, we’re expected to push through. To detach. To carry the weight of it all and pretend we don’t feel the strain. But this job should affect us. We are human before we are nurses.

It’s okay to cry in your car after a shift. It’s okay to carry certain patients with you long after they leave your care. It’s okay to have moments where the weight of it all is too much. What’s not okay is feeling like we have to suffer in silence.

Let's Normalize Feeling

Burnout, compassion fatigue, and PTSD in nursing are real. Ignoring them doesn’t make us stronger— it just ensures that we hurt alone. It’s not normal to witness something devastating and then walk away like nothing happened. It’s not normal to become so desensitized that loss barely registers. It’s not normal to break under the weight of it all and feel like you have nowhere to turn.

What is normal is feeling.

So let’s normalize check-ins— with ourselves, with each other. Let’s normalize admitting when we’re not okay. Let’s normalize seeking help. Because caring deeply doesn’t make us weak. It makes us the healthcare providers our patients need.

Resources for Healthcare Workers Struggling with Mental Health

If you’ve ever felt the weight of this job crushing down on you, you are not alone. There are resources, support systems, and people who understand exactly what you’re going through. Here are a few places to start:

🩵 The Emotional PPE Project – A free, confidential network of mental health professionals available to healthcare workers with no insurance requirements

🩵 The Well-Being Initiative (ANA & AONL) – Free mental health resources, crisis helplines, and peer support specifically for nurses

🩵 Therapy Aid Coalition – Provides affordable therapy for healthcare professionals

🩵 Debriefing The Front Lines - Provides structured debriefing of single incident and cumulative care taking trauma, emotional wellness offerings, sobriety support, and continuing education to individual nurses and systems

🩵 Peer Support Groups – Online communities like Don't Clock Out can provide a safe space to share and heal

🩵 Your Own Network – Sometimes, the best support comes from those around you. If you don’t have a formal debriefing process, start one. A 10-minute check-in with a trusted coworker can make all the difference

🩵 Code Lavender – Some hospitals offer Code Lavender programs, providing immediate peer support, mental health breaks, and counseling for staff after traumatic events. Ask if your facility has one! Or, maybe, you can create some real good by instituting your own!

🩵 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline – If you're feeling overwhelmed and need immediate support, call or text 988 for free, confidential help 24/7. You can also head to their website and chat with them

Let’s normalize reaching out. Let’s normalize taking care of ourselves as much as we take care of others. Because we can’t pour from an empty cup— and we deserve support just as much as our patients do.