President’s Column: Self-Care & Belonging – The Courage to Be Present for Yourself

“Quiet moments became a place where I could breathe, think, pray, reflect and slowly reconnect with myself. They reminded me that healing doesn't always happen in giant leaps. Sometimes it begins by believing you are worthy of your own time and attention.” - AACN President Tonka Williams

There was a time after the pandemic when I would finish a long day, get into my car and later realize I didn't remember driving home. My body made it home, but my mind was replaying conversations, thinking about patients, supporting colleagues, solving problems and preparing for what tomorrow might bring.

Maybe you've experienced this too.

As nurses, we are taught from the very beginning of our careers to be present for others. We are present during some of our patients’ most joyful moments and most heartbreaking ones. We stand beside patients and families when they need us most. We advocate, comfort, educate, lead and collaborate. It is our privilege and it is our calling.

But somewhere along the way, I began asking myself a question that I suspect many of you have also quietly wondered: When was the last time I was truly present for myself?

The answer was difficult to admit.

For years, I poured so much of myself into serving others that I forgot to create space for the person behind the nurse's badge. Like so many other nurses, I believed caring for others was what we did. I wore busyness as a badge of honor, convinced that if I worked a little harder or gave a little more, everything would somehow balance itself out. It didn't.

So, I started with something simple. I started walking. I wasn't looking for a workout. I was looking for myself.

There was nothing extraordinary about those first walks. No ambitious goals. No fitness plan. Just one step after another. Those quiet moments became a place where I could breathe, think, pray, reflect and slowly reconnect with myself. They reminded me that healing doesn't always happen in giant leaps. Sometimes it begins by believing you are worthy of your own time and attention.

Eventually, those walks led me to Orangetheory Fitness.

People often think that I keep returning for the workout. That’s not why. What I found there was something I didn't realize I was searching for. I found belonging.

Somewhere between the music, the countdown clock, the coaches encouraging us to keep going, and complete strangers cheering each other through one more interval, something unexpected happened.

I remembered what it felt like to simply be me.

No one expected me to have all the answers.

No one needed me to solve a problem.

No one was asking me to lead a meeting or make another difficult decision.

I was just another person trying to become healthier, physically, mentally and emotionally.

And somehow, that was exactly what I needed.

It also reminded me of one of the most beautiful lessons we experience every day in nursing: true collaboration.

Every person in that room has a different story. Different goals. Different challenges. Different reasons for showing up. Yet together we celebrate one another's victories, encourage one another through difficult moments, and hold each other accountable — not through judgment, but through support.

That feels remarkably familiar.

It feels like the very best of nursing.

There is another part of this story that stays with me.

Whenever I learn that another person in the room is also a nurse, I immediately feel an unspoken connection. We may have never met before, yet we understand something about each other without saying a word. We know what it means to care deeply. We know how it feels to carry responsibility that few others truly understand. We know what it means to give so much of ourselves.

That quiet reassurance reminds me that belonging isn't always about finding people who are exactly like us. Sometimes, belonging is finding people who remind us that we are not alone.

As I continue my presidential year with the theme Every Voice. Every Story. Every Table, I have been reflecting on where belonging begins.

I have come to believe it begins much closer to home than we may realize.

Before we can help others find their voices, we must be willing to hear our own.

Before we can honor everyone else's stories, we must remember that our story matters too.

Before we invite others to the table, we must believe that we deserve a seat ourselves.

That is why I no longer think of self-care as something extra to fit into an already impossible schedule.

Self-care is not selfish.

It is not something we earn after we've given so much.

It is one of the ways we sustain the very compassion, presence and resilience that allow us to continue serving others.

Perhaps your place of belonging isn't a fitness studio.

Perhaps it's walking through your neighborhood right before the sun rises or sets.

Perhaps it's tending a garden.

Perhaps it's sitting quietly with a cup of coffee before the rest of the world wakes up.

Perhaps it's laughing with colleagues after a difficult shift.

Perhaps it's reading, praying, running, painting or giving yourself permission to rest without guilt.

Wherever you find belonging, I hope you protect it. Because the world asks so much of nurses.

This year, my hope is that we begin asking something different of ourselves. “Am I showing up with the same compassion for myself that I give so freely to others?”

Throughout this year, we'll continue to have many conversations about belonging. We'll celebrate every voice, honor every story and create space at every table. But I hope we never forget that belonging begins within each of us.

It begins the moment we believe our voices matter.

It grows when we recognize that our stories matter.

It manifests when we sit at tables where decisions are made.

And, it starts when we believe that we matter enough to care for ourselves.

Because when nurses remember that they matter, everyone we serve benefits.

And perhaps that’s when belonging truly begins.

What does self-care and belonging look like to you? Share with me at
EveryVoiceEveryStoryEveryTable@aacn.org.