**Updated September 12th, 2025 with new insights**
I quit my job. That’s how my story begins.
But the truth is, I didn’t quit nursing. I didn’t quit my purpose. I quit the exhaustion. I quit the daily migraines. I quit the version of work that kept demanding more while giving less. What I needed wasn’t another title or a promotion. What I needed was a break.
For months, I was trying to outpace the signals my body was sending. Every Wednesday morning (literally on hump day), I had to drag myself out of bed to go to work. By 3pm, each afternoon, after a string of back-to-back meetings, the migraines would start. My eyes would ache. The throbbing in my head forced me to dim the lights in my office. I bought a salt lamp. I tried keeping a plant alive on my desk, but no matter what I did, it always withered (probably a sign). My ritual became running out for a Starbucks Zen Green Tea, just enough relief to push me through the rest of the day.
I was filling my body with small fixes to keep performing when what I really needed was to stop.
Vacations no longer restored me. Disconnecting was the only way I could breathe enough to show up the next day. I refused to admit it at first, but the cycle was no longer sustainable.
The fear of staying was louder than the fear of leaving.
The Profession I Loved and the System That Drained Me
I love nursing. I love caring for children and watching them get better. I love representing the nurses and clinicians at the leadership table.I love the impact, the healing, the purpose. That has always been my passion.
But the system I was working in? That was different.
Healthcare feels like it is dictated by time and money now more than people or care. As a leader, I was expected to be available around the clock, to stretch beyond exhaustion, to make miracles happen with limited resources.
I still remember a conversation with fellow department leaders about nurse practitioners with sick calls. The suggestion was that I step in to cover their shifts so the work would not go undone. But I was already working 9 to 5, managing projects, supporting teams, and keeping up my own clinical shifts twice a month. Was I really supposed to just do it all?
That mindset revealed everything that was wrong with the culture: keep pushing, no matter the cost. But patients deserve clinicians who are rested and well. Anything less isn’t safe for them or for us.
The longer I stayed, the clearer it became. I couldn’t keep doing this like this.
Identity and Community
Leaving wasn’t just about walking away from a role. It meant stepping away from an identity.
For years, when people asked what I did, it was easy: “I’m a nurse.” Everyone understood that. Saying, “I’m on sabbatical” was harder. Saying, “I’m a nurse entrepreneur” was harder.
I also lost my work community. My colleagues reached out, but it wasn’t the same. They couldn’t quite understand what I was doing, and in some ways, I couldn’t blame them. I had stepped onto a path few nurses or people ever take.
But I’ve never been a status quo woman. My path has always been different. I never strived for the traditional trajectory of womanhood. I chased dreams, ideas, and experiences, with people that I loved.
The Blackboard Moment
By October 2021, I knew I had to decide.
In my home office sat a black chalkboard rimmed in gold. On it, I had written the things I wanted for my daily life. With my therapist, I had been working through three practices: writing out 300 things I wanted in life, visualizing the big picture, and naming what I truly envisioned for my future.
One Sunday afternoon, staring at that board, the thought came: What if you just stopped working?
I remembered speaking with a doctor years earlier about her university-sponsored sabbatical. I remembered a friend at brunch asking me, “If you don’t find a new job, will you leave anyway?” At the time, I said no. But staring at that board, all of it came together.
And in that moment, God gave me the clarity: Take a nurse sabbatical.
I Googled the word. It fit. Then my practical side took over. I pulled out my Excel sheet and started crunching numbers. Could I really take three months off and survive? Could I cover my condo, my expenses, and still live the way I wanted?
The answer was yes.
Once I knew that, my decision became my North Star. On my blackboard I wrote: Give notice by October 31, 2021.
But I didn’t give notice right away. I waited because I was nervous and unsure. I had just received a national award for my leadership. I was being asked to consider applying for a Senior Director of Nursing role. On paper, it was everything I had worked for. But inside, I felt exhausted and unmotivated.
I went on vacation, hoping sun, sea, and sand would give me clarity. It didn’t.
When I came back, I was told I would now be put in charge of building a new team with 12 more people to manage. I said I didn’t have the bandwidth. They assured me that I would have time before starting. But as soon as I got to my desk, there it was: my name on the email. The decision had been made for me. That was the sign. I had to go.
I gave my notice in the most calm way as possible even though my heart was beating so fast. As I left office, I held my stomach wondering what I had done. I told my parents about my resignation that night over Facetime.. My dad’s first reaction was, “What?” Then the tears flows. And I said, “I can’t do this anymore.” He simply said, “Okay.”
Every day until the day I left, I grew more convicted in my decision. I felt lighter. On my last day, when I handed in my keys and my work phone, I exhaled. For the first time in years, I felt free.
What 2021 Amy Didn’t Know
If I could go back, I’d tell 2021 Amy: You are about to go on a radical ride of self-discovery.
The sabbatical wasn’t just a pause. It was the first step in building a life by design.
Since then, I’ve launched a tech company. Learned how to run a business. Closed the same tech company. Consulted for a startup. Joined boards on nursing innovation and well-being. Given talks about burnout and rest.
Throughout this journey, I am so proud of the lifestyle I designed. I live in Florida with no winters and snow. I wake up daily, see the sun and trees. On my daily walks around my lake, I see birds, turtles, ducks, sometimes ducklings, and I say good morning to neighbors. Almost every Wednesday, I go to the beach.
I still work part-time clinically, because it keeps me connected to the challenges clinicians face today. Some days are tough, but that work gives me the freedom to keep building what’s next. I live in phases, and each phase brings me closer to the life I’m designing.
Along the way, I have met amazing innovators and changemakers who aren’t satisfied with the status quo and are striving to make the world a better place.
What I Want You to Know
If you are exhausted. If your body is sending you signals you’re trying to silence. If you’re dragging yourself through the week and patching yourself up with small fixes just to make it through. Please hear me: you are not weak.
If you love your profession but feel trapped in broken systems, you are not alone.
If you are afraid of leaving, remember: sometimes the fear of staying is bigger.
Taking a sabbatical gave me rest. But it also gave me clarity, freedom, and a new vision for what’s possible.
I want you to walk away from my story with all three: inspiration, permission, and proof.
Because if I can do it, so can you.
Take care, take breaks.
