I work with a lady who I like to call Super Nurse. In addition to her full-time job in patient care on our unit, she is also in school to advance her degree. She is the chair of about a thousand committees. She is constantly conducting employee inservices and creating educational posters for the rest of us. She does research projects to figure out the best patient care. She plans all our parties. For a long time, I thought I wanted to be just like her.

But then this year happened. We had a miscarriage, David dealt with debilitating pain and got both of his hips replaced, I developed food intolerances, and sunk into depression. My job, in which I formerly thrived, became a huge source of stress to me. I was the chair of a single committee, and even that was too much. Eventually, as you know, I went so far as to take a new job – one that I hope will be calmer.

I’ve been feeling guilty about the decision. I’m not even thirty years old yet! I should have tons of energy! And yet here I am, wiped out at the end of every day, needing a regular schedule and less stress in my days. How am I ever going to be like Super Nurse?

But then I realized that I have no idea what her life is like outside of work. Her job could be everything, her whole identity.

I love being a nurse. I think it’s the perfect vocation for me, and it’s a fantastic profession. But it’s only part of me. I have way too many other interests and priorities to let it consume me.

I want to be home every evening and weekend when David is there. I want to be more involved in my church. I want to read more, to see more shows, listen to more live music, run more races, take my dogs to the park more, make my house look pretty, learn to cook, and I even want to watch more TV. I want to have children, for goodness sake.

I’ll probably never be like Super Nurse, but I’m okay with that. I’ll still be a darn good one.