The Nurse , The Mom, The Empty Cup

At work, I'm caring for patients, making sure they're comfortable, pain-free, and reassured. I answer questions that should be handled by doctors, fill the roles of CNA, housekeeper, transporter, educator, nutritionist and advocate, all in one shift. I hold anxious hands, manage endless tasks, and somehow keep moving.

But when I clock out , I don't stop caring, I just change uniforms.

By the time I get home, I'm running on fumes. My feet ache, my mind races, and yet there's no " off-switch"

Morning comes too quickly, and I'm back in motion, feeding kids, packing lunches, rushing to get everyone out the door. Every task blurs into the next. I tell myself to be grateful, but deep down, I'm tired. The kind of tired sleep doesn't fix.

I feel guilty when I rest instead of cleaning or going grocery shopping. I feel guilty when my kids look disappointed because I'm too drained to play or join a game. My energy runs out before the day does. And when the kids finally get what's left of me, there's nothing remaining for my spouse... and even less for me.

At work, guilt shows up again, when I miss bedtime calls, school events, or family gatherings. Holidays are spent under flourescent lights instead of Christmas trees. I scroll through photos of loved ones together and feel the sting of missing out again.

So I joke about it .

I laugh and say things like "Who needs sleep anyway?" or "It's fine, I'll rest when the kids move out". It's sarcasm that lands because everyone gets it, the exhaustion, the chaos, but what we don't admit is how much it hurts.

Mom nurses are masters at laughing through what would otherwise make us cry. We make memes about being zombies, joke about caffiene as our blood type, and brush off our tears as "just allergies." Because humor feels safer than honesty.

But underneath the jokes is a quiet ache, one that whispers that we're giving our all and it's still not enough.

What Compassion Fatigue Really is

Compasion fatigue is the emotional exhaustion that comes from giving endlessly, at work and at home, without time to refill your cup.

It's not a lack of love or commitment. It's love stretched thin. It's empathy turned into depletion. And for mom nurses, it's magnified. Because we're always the caregiver, in every room we enter.

We carry everyone's emotions - patients, families, children, partners - until there's no space left for our own. And when we finally sit still, the silence feels heavy instead of healing.

Finding Space to Refill

There's no magic fix. But there are some small ways to start refilling, gently without guilt.

• let rest be productive
• Ask for help, even when it feels uncomfortable
• Create tiny rituals that bring you back to yourself - a cup of tea, aromatherapy, journaling, a candle.
• Let some things go undone.
• Give yourself permission to exist outside of being needed.

You deserve the same compassion you give to everyone else.

A note to every mom nurse reading this...

If you,ve felt this way, you're not alone. You're not " failing". You're a caregiver running on empty, and it's okay to pause and refill. Healing isn't selfish. It's survivial.

So here's to every mom nurse who lauhgs through the chaos, holds it all together, and somehow still shows up. You're heart is big , but it deserves rest ,too.