On Making a Difference Part 2
It’s interesting to me that I have always had a very difficult time focusing on the good I do for people and instead beat myself up over the people who I was not able to help or satisfy. I will teach a class and get 25 evaluations back. Twenty four of them will be excellent and very generous in their praise. But it’s the one that did not enjoy the class, the one who wrote that they did not appreciate my teaching style, that I spoke too fast, wasn’t detailed enough or just didn’t like that I wore the color blue - that’s the one that I will focus on. That’s the one that will cause me to lose sleep.
I recently had a particularly difficult week. I had reluctantly resigned from my job as a Director of Nursing at a Skilled Nursing Facility, a job I had throughout Covid and that I loved. I was making a difference in the lives of my residents, their families and had great love for the team I had built. Over the past two years I gave this facility everything I had and I made a lot of positive changes. And when one sticks his head out like I did to try to make things better there are always small thinkers who want to criticize and/or take you out.
A few months ago a nine month long positive working relationship suddenly turned sour. The woman I was working with made some very nasty accusations. She made a formal complaint and things got ugly. The accusations she made were false but the investigation dragged on for two months.
I couldn’t do my job. Being falsely accused of something is exhausting and hurtful. I felt totally betrayed and very very sad. My dignity and my reputation were being muddied because of one unhappy, angry employee whom I had spent the last nine months mentoring and bending over backward to accommodate. I don’t like to quit but sometimes the facts just get so twisted and the situation so painful you just need to bail out, cut your losses, recover, and go on. And so I left. I was furious and hurt and most of all I was just very sad. After the numbness came the tears, the sobbing. What do I do with all of this anger and sadness? I didn’t know and it was overwhelming me. I couldn’t understand this woman’s extreme hatred of me. So much hatred. I knew from calls and messages I received that my residents, their families and 99% of my team missed me but this one person was who I focused on.
Once home for a few days and letting this woman take up way too much real estate in my head, I did what I usually do when I need to stop what I call the monkey brain. I hiked, I slept, I ate comfort food. Then, I decided to dejunk my den - you know, a little cleaning therapy. I was feeling very sorry for my residents and the team of nurses I left behind and couldn’t stop crying. I was having a very bad day in the throes of my pity party. As I cleaned, a letter slipped out of one of the books I pulled off my bookshelf. Attached to it was a photo of a baby around 6 months old. I read through it and it was a letter of appreciation from a Mom I had helped with breastfeeding more than 20 years ago. I usually put those types of letters in what I call my “appreciation file”. These are letters I have received over the years from appreciative patients and co-workers that I just can’t bring myself to throw away. But this letter was stuck in a book I probably hadn’t opened in years. Probably 20 years. It was a lengthy letter that described all of the ways in which I had helped her and how much she appreciated my time and kindness. I got to the last paragraph:
“If you have a bad day, save this letter and read it and know that I am just one of many women who feel this way. I cannot thank you enough. You gave me a foundation and helped create a mother. I am eternally grateful to you.”
I don’t know why this letter was right there when I needed it most. I don’t know why it was stuck in a book instead of in my appreciation file. But the world works in mysterious ways and 20 years later this Mom’s words came back to me and gave me the lift I needed. It reminded me that I have made a difference in my 40 year nursing career and that one unhappy, spiteful person would not be able to take that away from me. A small gesture made 20 years ago. A kindness that this Mom probably would not even remember having done. Yet, after all of these years it was still providing comfort.
Small kindnesses, big results.