Allow the Lotus

It takes brains and brawn to be a nurse. But after a rough day at work the other day, I've realized it's going to take beauty too. Not external, physical beauty. Internal beauty of the soul. We get attached to our patients, we form bonds and relationships, we love them and cry with and for them. We're the ultimate healers. But sometimes, patients don't heal. Sometimes, someone battling the ugliest mental illness will choose hospice care to die, rather than allow your healing touch.  This is the hardest aspect of the job; the emotional consequence of being both human and healer. So while it takes intelligence and strength to be a nurse, it is the beauty of a nurses soul that shines.

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I work on an eating disorder unit at a hospital.  When I started, everyone told me I would get burned out so quickly.  I don't listen when people give me unsolicited advice because, well, because I don't want to be bound by their judgments and perceptions.  I've been there for a year, and I love every moment of it.  Are some days trying? Yes.  Do I need to sit in the back sometimes with my hands cupping my face? Totally.  We all need breathers, especially when working around energies that tend to be negative, cloudy, murky.

Murkiness.  Mud.  Dirt.  Grit.  Have you ever seen a pond or swamp littered with green lily pads, dotted with white or pink flowers, smiling at the sun?  Isn't is such a beautiful scene--the murky water, so thick and dark you cannot see below the surface, giving rise to such a strong, graceful flower?  They are lotus flowers, familiar to the world of yoga, meditation, love, light.  Their symbolism is so deep and bright.  I often tell the girls on the unit about the meanings behind the lotus flower (there are multiple).

Lotuses symbolism beauty, purity, rebirth.  It is associated with spiritual awakening.  There is something ethereal about a flower blooming from murk, having not been stained by the muddy waters, overcoming the dark situations of life.  We must rise above the circumstances of our life, we must bloom.  

 

Sometimes, we should take our own advice.  As a soon-to-be nurse, and someone whose main goal in life is to help others heal and grow, I become extremely attached to my patients, friends, acquaintances.  I spend a lot of energy sending love to my patients, helping them, smiling at them, feeling their pain.  It is both a blessing and a curse.  I found out the other day one of my favorite patients, whom I spent countless hours with, coaching her, crying with her, trying to help her see the bright light within her, is choosing palliative care to succumb to her anorexia nervosa.  It broke me.  This beautiful lotus flower was sinking, was refusing to bloom.  Before I knew of her decision, I saw her with her mom and sister, and immediately felt a crushing weight on my chest.  I somehow knew what her being discharged meant.  I felt the pain in the room, the spirit of her mother crushed, the pain of her sister, and the years of unresolved hate and anger and pain weighing on a girl no older than I am.

Today, I am reminded that we cannot force others to bloom.  We cannot force others to see the light within them.  We can help, we can guide, we can encourage.  But we can not force.  We must allow for our own growth, too.  The mud may be thick, but we are light.  There is a beauty, a purity within us waiting to be expressed.  While we cannot force others to recognize the same, we should not resist the light in our own souls, yearning to radiate.  Allow the lotus to open.