I grew up hearing stories about my grandmother, Grozda—a woman whose strength ran deeper than the soil of her small Serbian village. She lived a life of quiet resilience and selfless service, always placing the needs of others before her own. She rose before dawn, baked bread for neighbors, sewed clothes for children who had none, and ensured no one in the village went without a warm meal. She was not a woman of grand gestures, but of steady, unwavering love. When she was diagnosed with colon cancer, she faced it with the same grace that had defined her entire life. She never wanted to worry anyone. She simply said, “I’ve lived a good life. I don’t want to be a burden.” Those words broke something inside me—not because she spoke them, but because she truly believed them. Even as her body weakened, her spirit remained unshakable. Her hospital admission, initially for complications related to her cancer, soon became a devastating battle with sepsis. I remember the sterile scent of the room, the soft alarms of monitors, and the quiet urgency in the medical team’s voices. Sepsis—a word I had heard but never fully understood—became the silent storm that moved faster than anyone could have anticipated. Within days, the strong woman who had held our family together for generations was slipping away. She passed away in the stillness of early morning, surrounded by her family. It felt as though the world itself had paused to honor her. Even in her final moments, she worried less about herself and more about the people she loved. She never wanted to be a burden—but she had always been our anchor. Losing my grandmother to sepsis changed me—not just as a grandchild, but as a nurse. It deepened my understanding of the urgency, fear, and uncertainty families face when sepsis strikes. Today, when I care for patients, I don’t just see a diagnosis; I see someone’s grandmother, someone’s anchor, someone who is loved beyond measure. As a registered nurse, I have dedicated myself to recognizing the subtle early warning signs of sepsis, advocating for timely interventions, and supporting families through some of the most frightening moments of their lives. I take the time to explain, to comfort, and to ensure they never feel alone. My clinical skills matter, but so does the humanity I bring to the bedside. That is her legacy living through me. In her village, people still speak my grandmother’s name with warmth and reverence. They remember the woman who gave of herself without expecting anything in return. She may have lost her battle with sepsis, but her story fuels my commitment to fighting it every day—for my patients, for their families, and for her. If sharing her story can inspire awareness, encourage early action, or give even one family a fighting chance, then her light will never fade. Her legacy guides me in my work, reminding me that nursing is not only about clinical excellence, but about carrying compassion into every room I enter. She is my why.

I never envisioned myself as a nurse. In fact, nursing wasn’t even on my radar in the beginning. I started college with a different dream—political science. I thought a career in government or law would bring me success, status, and fulfillment. But as I dove deeper into my studies, I found myself disconnected. The work felt impersonal, theoretical, and removed from the real-world impact I wanted to make. I struggled to engage, and eventually, I stepped away from my studies, unsure of what was next. During that time, I worked various jobs, trying to figure out my purpose. It wasn’t until a personal experience with healthcare that everything changed—an event that forced me to reconsider everything I thought I knew about my career and my life. My grandmother, who had always been my rock, became critically ill. Over the months she spent in and out of the hospital, I watched her fight battles I didn’t know how to help her with. But what I did see, clearly and without question, were the nurses who surrounded her. They were not just delivering medication or checking vitals—they were providing something far more profound: they offered comfort, empathy, and a sense of dignity when everything else felt uncertain. I saw the power of compassion in action, and it struck me like a lightning bolt. This was the kind of difference I wanted to make. In that moment, I realized I didn’t need to seek a prestigious title or climb a corporate ladder. I wanted to care for people during their most vulnerable moments, not from a distance, but with genuine connection. Nursing wasn’t just about technical skill; it was about empathy, trust, and being there when people needed it most. I wanted to be that person—the one who makes others feel seen, heard, and valued. That was my “aha” moment. I decided to change my direction and return to school to pursue nursing. The road back wasn’t easy. After years away from academics, I had to regain my confidence and catch up on foundational courses. But each step forward reaffirmed the decision I had made. I dove into my studies, determined to make up for lost time. Every lecture, every clinical rotation, deepened my love for the profession and solidified my commitment to becoming a nurse. I graduated with my nursing degree and began working as a medical-surgical nurse. The challenges were many, but so were the rewards. I quickly learned how crucial it was to not only provide excellent clinical care but to build meaningful relationships with patients. I learned the importance of listening to their concerns, understanding their fears, and offering a sense of security in moments of uncertainty. Now, as I continue my journey in nursing, I am pursuing a career as a psychiatric nurse practitioner, with a focus on advocating for marginalized populations and providing mental health care to underserved communities. This decision is deeply personal, as I’ve seen the immense gaps in mental health services and the stigma that prevents people from seeking the care they need. My experiences, both as a nurse and as a member of the LGBTQ+ community, have fueled my passion for creating more inclusive, compassionate healthcare systems. Reflecting on my journey, I realize that becoming a nurse wasn’t just a career choice—it was a calling. It’s the work I’m meant to do, and I am committed to carrying that purpose forward. I want to make a lasting difference in people’s lives, not only by treating illness but by offering the empathy, understanding, and care that we all deserve.

My mental and physical wellness is the foundation of my ability to learn, care for others, and advocate for meaningful change in healthcare. As a PMHNP student, I juggle demanding coursework, clinicals, and personal responsibilities, all while striving to maintain my well-being. If I neglect my own health, my ability to provide compassionate, high-quality care to others is diminished. I’ve learned that to be an effective nurse, I must first take care of myself. One of my biggest challenges is managing stress and avoiding burnout. The pressure to excel academically while preparing for a career in psychiatric nursing can be overwhelming. There are times when the weight of clinical responsibilities, assignments, and studying feels endless. Long hours of reading, researching, and writing leave little time for exercise, proper sleep, or relaxation. I have had to learn the hard way that neglecting these basic needs only leads to exhaustion, making it harder to stay motivated and present for my patients and peers. Being a member of the LGBTQ+ community adds another layer of complexity to maintaining my mental wellness. While I have been fortunate to find support in many areas of my life, I am deeply aware of the healthcare disparities that still exist for LGBTQ+ individuals. There have been moments in my education and clinical experience where I’ve had to advocate for more inclusive language, challenge outdated perspectives, or educate colleagues on the importance of culturally competent care. While this advocacy is a source of pride, it can also be mentally and emotionally draining. Knowing that many LGBTQ+ individuals struggle to find providers who truly understand their experiences motivates me to push forward, but it also requires me to set boundaries to protect my own well-being. To maintain balance, I’ve learned to be intentional about self-care. Whether it’s taking a walk, practicing mindfulness, or surrounding myself with supportive friends, I make time for activities that restore me. I’ve also found strength in LGBTQ+ spaces where I can share experiences and feel a sense of belonging. Prioritizing my wellness isn’t just about me—it’s about ensuring I can show up fully for my future patients. By taking care of myself, I can be the compassionate, present, and resilient provider that my patients deserve. My experiences have taught me that true advocacy and healing start from within, and I am committed to carrying that lesson into my career as a psychiatric nurse practitioner.