01/04/2026
That Day On The Elevator…..
I I left the hospital because of a quiet moment on an elevator.
The Elevator That Changed Everything
In healthcare, we pass hundreds of people every day.
On elevators. In hallways. Between patient rooms.
And most of the time, we don’t really see each other.
For a long time, I wasn’t being seen either.
From the outside, my life looked full, a successful nursing career, a family, a home people admired. I was an ICU nurse in Detroit,MI working in one of the busiest Level 1 trauma centers in the country. Trauma and Cardiothoracic ICU. High stakes. High intensity.
But slowly, something shifted.
My marriage was strained.
My work environment felt unsafe and unfamiliar.
I went from being trusted to feeling questioned and diminished.
People would say to me, " You seem so angry?"
My husband asked, “Why do you yell all the time?”
What I didn’t have language for back then was this: I wasn’t failing. I was disconnected, from myself, from others, and from the meaning that once sustained me.
The disconnection is often the earliest form of burnout in healthcare, long before exhaustion or cynicism ever appear.
One morning, walking into the hospital, I knew something had to change. Not dramatically, not publicly, but internally.
I worked on the 14th floor of the clinic building, and over several days I began noticing something I’d never really paid attention to before, the elevator.
People stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes down, phones up, silent.
And this was a hospital.
A surgeon stepping out of the OR.
A nurse administering chemotherapy for the first time.
A trauma team member carrying a family’s grief.
A patient. A caregiver. Someone waiting for news they weren’t ready to hear.
Every person was carrying something invisible, including me.
So I tried something that felt uncomfortable. I spoke.
“Good morning.”
“Hello.”
“How are you today?”
I smiled. I made eye contact.
And something shifted.
People smiled back. Shoulders softened. For a moment, we weren’t roles or titles, we were human.
I didn’t stop with the elevator. I started doing this everywhere, hallways, parking garages, grocery stores.
And over time, something unexpected happened, I changed.
The anger eased. The defensiveness faded. Because kindness didn’t just help others feel seen, it reconnected me to myself.
Burnout isn’t just about how much we give.
It’s about how unseen we feel while giving it.
Kindness doesn’t fix broken systems. But it interrupts isolation. It restores belonging. And belonging is one of the strongest protections we have against burnout.
So today, especially for those in healthcare, look up. Offer a smile. Say hello.
Be the moment of kindness you once needed yourself.
In healthcare, kindness isn’t extra, it’s protection against burnout.
~ Trish Currie, RN, NC-BC
