Last month, I returned to my professional job after giving birth 16 months ago. For those of you who don’t know, I am a Nurse Practitioner at a women’s health clinic. My work is about supporting women in their physical and mental health. I bear witness to stories of great suffering and even greater resilience. ⠀
My professional life is just an extension of my personal life. I do women’s work. I serve women. I advocate for women. And what I bring to my personal life and my professional life is pretty much always the same: Passion. Grit. Empathy.
Me, in labour, doing some serious women’s work.
Behind closed doors I say “fuck” a lot. I eat a lot of kale and a lot of chocolate. I am just as likely to hug one of my clients as I am to call out a hospital administrator on their bullshit. I question clinical guidelines and myself all the time. I mix up my medical terms sometimes but I rarely forget a name or a story. I prescribe pills but I also believe in the healing power of sleep, nature, and crystals. ⠀
There are a lot of opposing forces living within me—within all of us. For every one of my soft curves, there’s a sharp edge. For every one thing I get right, there are at least two things at which I fail. ⠀
At my little desk every day, I try to see women, reach women, help women, empower women, in my own imperfect way. I mess up, partly because I’m white and cisgender and heterosexual and that affords me a very narrow lens through which to see the world. I get my language wrong sometimes because I’m still learning. I don’t have all my historical facts right because I’m still deepening my understanding of our post-colonial world. I know that messing up is part of the process and I am here for it. ⠀
Passion, grit and empathy don’t exist within perfection. I’m neither interested nor capable of showing up perfectly, but I am interested in showing up with my whole heart, unafraid to mess up.⠀
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