My Story

For as long as I can remember, caring for others has been part of who I am.

My journey into healthcare began with my father. Watching him navigate his own medical journey and ultimately losing him ignited a passion within me to become the kind of person who could bring comfort during someone’s darkest moments. I wanted to be the nurse who showed up not only with clinical skill, but with compassion, kindness, and the ability to make someone feel seen.

For more than two decades, I dedicated my life to that purpose. I built a career as a registered nurse and healthcare leader, caring for patients, supporting families, mentoring teams, and leading through some of healthcare’s most challenging moments. I was the person people counted on. The one who stayed late, carried the emotional weight of others, solved the problems, and kept moving forward—because that is what caregivers do.

But somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to recognize when I needed the same care I so freely gave to everyone else.

Like so many in healthcare, I wore resilience as a badge of honour. I ignored my own exhaustion, pushed through stress, and believed that asking for help somehow meant I was not strong enough. The profession I loved slowly began taking pieces of me that I did not realize I was losing.

Then, in a single moment, everything changed.

A motor vehicle accident set into motion a journey I never could have imagined. What followed were years of chronic pain, surgeries, medical appointments, uncertainty, and the painful reality of becoming the patient after spending a lifetime as the caregiver.

Losing my ability to work was not just losing a career—it was losing a part of my identity. Nursing was never simply what I did; it was who I believed I was. I grieved the person I used to be: the woman who could work endless hours, care for everyone around her, and carry responsibilities without ever letting anyone see the cracks beneath the surface.

The breaking point did not come from one moment alone. It came from years of carrying the invisible weight of pain, grief, trauma, and the realization that the life I had spent decades building no longer looked the way I had planned.

And yet, within the breaking, something else began.

I started learning that healing does not always mean returning to the person you once were. Sometimes healing means grieving who you were, accepting who you are today, and discovering who you are still becoming.

My recovery is not a finished story. I am still navigating chronic pain. I am still learning to redefine my purpose, rebuild my identity, and find joy in a life that looks very different than the one I once imagined.

That ongoing journey is what led me to write When the Healer Breaks and create the AND STILL… movement—a community for anyone who has experienced loss, illness, burnout, trauma, or an unexpected change in the direction of their life.

Because the truth is, we all break in different ways.

But breaking is not the end of our story.

There is still hope.

There is still strength.

There is still healing.

There is still becoming.

AND STILL… we rise.

THIS STORY IS FOR YOU

When the Healer Breaks is not just my story. It is a reflection of the many ways life can unexpectedly change us—and the courage it takes to find ourselves again.

This story is for you if you have ever:

✓ Lost a part of yourself and wondered who you were without it.

✓ Spent so much time caring for others that you forgot how to care for yourself.

✓ Faced chronic illness, chronic pain, grief, burnout, trauma, or a life you never imagined you would have to navigate.

✓ Had to let go of the person you once were in order to discover who you are becoming.

✓ Needed the reminder that your hardest chapter is not the final chapter of your story.

Because although our breaking points may look different, the emotions that follow are often the same.

Loss. Grief. Fear. Uncertainty.

And ultimately—hope.

There is still hope.
There is still strength.
There is still healing.
There is still becoming.

AND STILL… we rise