The most profound time I relied on my faith occurred during one of the most heart-wrenching moments of my life—when my father was battling COVID-19. His condition deteriorated so quickly that his CO2 levels rose to a dangerously high 98%. The doctors, who had been working tirelessly to stabilize him, approached me with an urgent request: permission to intubate him. In that instant, time seemed to stand still. The weight of the decision felt unbearable. I was asked to choose between a procedure that could save his life, but also came with its own risks, or refuse, which might mean his condition worsened. As the doctors explained the situation, the gravity of their words sunk in even deeper. They spoke about the risks of sedating him, the dangers of intubation, and the harsh reality that he might not wake up from the procedure. They tried to reassure me, but all I could hear was the quiet, persistent voice of doubt in my head. What if I made the wrong choice? What if, in that moment, I had the power to make a decision that could save him, or irreparably harm him? I was torn between the desire to protect my father and the overwhelming fear of the unknown. In that moment of overwhelming uncertainty, I knew that I couldn’t bear this decision alone. I turned inward, and for the first time in a long while, I prayed with everything I had. I didn’t pray for a specific outcome—I wasn’t asking for a miracle, nor was I asking for the burden to be lifted. Instead, I prayed for peace, for the strength to make the decision that was best for my father. I prayed for clarity, asking for guidance to trust the wisdom of the doctors, and to surrender my own fear. Most importantly, I prayed for the courage to accept whatever came next, understanding that, no matter how difficult the decision, I could not control the outcome. In that silence, something shifted. My heart, which had been filled with doubt and fear, began to settle into a quiet knowing. I realized that my role wasn’t to control the future or make everything perfect—it was to trust in the process, trust in the care my father was receiving, and trust that no matter what happened, I would be able to carry on. It wasn’t about whether I was making the “right” choice or about protecting myself from pain; it was about showing my father love, compassion, and strength in the face of uncertainty. I chose to move forward with the intubation, though my heart was heavy. Every moment that followed was a blur of hope, fear, and exhaustion. But in the quiet moments, I felt a deep sense of peace. My father survived, and while the journey to recovery was long, that experience changed me forever. It taught me that faith isn’t about asking for a perfect outcome—it’s about trusting in something greater than ourselves, even when the path ahead is unclear. Faith isn’t a guarantee that things will go the way we hope, but it is the strength to accept whatever comes with grace and peace. In that moment, I learned that the most powerful thing I could do was to surrender my need for control and trust in the journey, however it unfolded. This experience has stayed with me, reminding me that, even in the darkest moments, faith can be the light that guides us through.

During my time as a travel RN, I was placed in a high-acuity unit that was in the midst of a staffing crisis. The atmosphere was tense, with nurses stretched thin and patients requiring complex care. From the moment I stepped onto the floor, I could sense the frustration and fatigue among the team. As a newcomer, I could have stayed in the background and focused on my own assignment, but something compelled me to act. I saw an opportunity to not only help the patients but also lift the spirits of my colleagues and improve the workflow for everyone. The first hurdle was gaining the trust of a team that barely knew me. I decided to call for a quick huddle at the start of the shift, offering a space for open communication. I encouraged my colleagues to voice their concerns and share what they needed most. Listening to them, I realized that the overwhelming workload wasn’t just physical; it was emotional. They felt unsupported and unacknowledged. I reassured them that we were in this together and emphasized that my role was not to direct but to contribute. To show my commitment, I took on some of the most demanding patients, proving I was willing to shoulder the burden alongside them. As the day unfolded, I noticed the inefficiencies that were adding to the chaos. Nurses were constantly running between rooms, backtracking for forgotten supplies, and struggling to find moments to regroup. I suggested a buddy system, pairing nurses together so they could share tasks and provide each other with quick assistance when needed. It wasn’t a grand solution, but it brought a sense of order to the chaos. Slowly, I saw the shift in my colleagues. They moved with more purpose, leaned on each other for support, and even began to exchange words of encouragement. For the first time that day, there was a sense of calm amid the storm. By the end of my assignment, the impact of those small changes became evident. Patients were receiving care more promptly, and the team felt less overwhelmed. Several nurses thanked me, not just for stepping up but for creating an environment where they felt heard and valued. Some of the strategies we implemented, like daily huddles and paired teamwork, were adopted by the unit long after I left. It was a powerful reminder that leadership is not about rank or authority—it’s about empathy, initiative, and inspiring others to come together in difficult moments. As I transition into my future career as a physician, this experience stays with me as a guiding principle. I aspire to lead with empathy, whether I’m working with colleagues, advocating for patients, or addressing systemic challenges. I’ve learned that even in the most chaotic situations, small actions can have a ripple effect, transforming not only outcomes but also relationships. My goal is to use these skills to encourage environments where teams feel empowered, patients feel cared for, and meaningful change becomes possible.

Recovery has brought different meanings into my life throughout my 4 years, 8 months, and 18 days of being clean. Yet, one constant keeps me grounded and connected is love. When I first began this journey, recovery was sparked by someone believing in me. Over time, my definition of recovery has evolved, just as I have. It’s no longer just about staying clean—it’s about embracing a new way of living. The one thing that has remained unchanged since day one is my commitment to not give up and to give myself a chance to live differently. Recovery isn’t a destination; it’s an ongoing process, a lifestyle that shapes who I am. It’s about self-awareness—acknowledging those old, self-centered attitudes and behaviors—and letting the pain guide me toward love and service. There are tough days, days when I need to lean on my tools more: calling my sponsor, attending a meeting, or doing acts of service. Gratitude, to me, is the essence of recovery. Recovery is about never forgetting where you once were—and how easily you could return there. It’s a journey that requires work, effort, and the courage to keep going.