A long time ago—when the blog first restarted—I tried to begin a series on the major transitions in my life. Big, definable shifts. The obvious ones. The kind you can point to and say, this is where everything changed.

What I didn’t realize at the time is that many of the most consequential transitions aren’t the big, headline-worthy ones. They’re the smaller shifts. The quiet fractures. The slow erosion of things you thought were stable.

In hindsight, some of those “minor” transitions ended up being far more impactful than the four or five major turning points I used to define my life by.

That realization is what pulled me back into this topic.

When Smaller Changes Hurt More

A few days ago, I started writing about what I initially called a minor transition—changes in friendships and professional relationships. If I’m being honest, that label was bullshit. It wasn’t minor at all.

In fact, I would argue that this transition was more painful than most of my major career changes. The one exception is the Army, which isn’t just a job change—it’s a full cultural immersion that reshapes how you see yourself and the world.

The loss and breakdown of professional relationships cut deeper than expected, and it forced me to revisit a question I hadn’t thought about in years: why did I become a nurse practitioner in the first place?

Twenty Years to Say “Maybe”

From the first day of nursing school, I knew—at least abstractly—that becoming a nurse practitioner was something I might want someday. It took nearly twenty years in nursing before I was actually ready to return to school and take that idea seriously.

That delay wasn’t accidental. It took time to mature professionally, to understand the system, and to recognize what I wanted—and didn’t want—out of medicine.

A nurse practitioner, often referred to as an APRN (Advanced Practice Registered Nurse), has the authority to diagnose and treat patients in a way that overlaps with physicians. We are not physicians, and I would never claim that we are.

What matters most in advanced practice is knowing when something is beyond your knowledge base and being willing to say so.

The Question I Never Answered Well

Over the years, people have asked me why I wanted to become a nurse practitioner. My answer changed depending on where I was in my career—and sometimes I didn’t have a coherent answer at all.

Eventually, I settled on autonomy as the answer. I wanted to work above the bedside, to practice independently, and to have greater control over decision-making.

Responsibility, Glory, and the Army Echo

Did I want responsibility because it genuinely fit me—or because it echoed the responsibility I once held as a leader in the Army?

What I can say—without hesitation—is that how my career ended is on me. No excuses.

Going Back to School at Fifty

Returning to school nearly twenty years after my initial nursing education was daunting.

I failed a class. I had to retake it. On the retake, I earned an A—but it didn’t erase the stress or the sting.

The Parts I’m Still Grateful For

That time mattered. It was fulfilling. It was real.

The Ones Who Stayed

No matter how bad things ever got, two constants remained.

My dog.
And my mom.

They’ve never once questioned whether I was worth staying with.