There are nights when I feel like I live in two different worlds. One where I’m a nurse, racing the clock to keep up with patient charts, emotional check-ins, and medical emergencies. The other where I’m a mom, trying to make dinner, fold laundry, help with homework, and be present for my family. Most nights, those two worlds collide in a blur of tired feet, cold coffee, and bedtime routines performed with one eye closed.

I never imagined my life would include making boxed mac and cheese under the beam of a headlamp because the power went out and my shift ran late. But here we are. If you’ve ever found yourself tucking in a child while still in your scrubs, apologizing for missing the bedtime story, and trying not to cry from sheer exhaustion, this post is for you.

The Shift Never Ends

Being a nurse mom isn’t just about juggling, it’s about constantly switching gears without losing your balance. At work, I hold hands with patients in pain, translate medical jargon into comfort, and sometimes deliver tough news with a soft voice. Then I come home, and the demands change but never really stop.

I walk through the door, and suddenly I’m not “Nurse George” anymore. I’m Mommy. The one who knows where the lost sock is. The one who can magically cut crusts off sandwiches in perfect squares. The one who tries to listen patiently to a long-winded tale about what happened at recess even though I just spent 12 hours listening to much heavier stories.

The truth is, there’s no “off” button. My nursing instincts don’t disappear when I clock out. And my mom instincts never take a day off either. That’s the emotional weight no one prepares you for—caring deeply in every space you occupy.

The Chaos Has Rhythm

Over time, I’ve learned to embrace the chaos. Not control it. Not even tame it. Just dance with it.

I’ve learned that cereal can absolutely be dinner, especially if you add fruit. That my kid won’t remember if I made homemade soup or ordered takeout, but they will remember if I sat with them while they told me about their day. That some nights, the best I can do is keep everyone fed, safe, and somewhat clean—and that’s enough.

One Tuesday, my toddler fell asleep on the couch while waiting for me to get home. My husband snapped a photo of me carrying her to bed, stethoscope still around my neck, badge clipped to my shirt. It’s one of my favorite pictures, not because I look particularly composed, but because it shows the truth. It’s raw and real. It’s the picture of a working mom doing her best.

When the Guilt Creeps In

I’d be lying if I said there weren’t moments where guilt tries to creep in. Guilt for missing the school play. Guilt for picking up an extra shift. Guilt for not having the energy to do bedtime stories or weekend crafts.

But here’s what I remind myself: my kids are seeing firsthand what hard work looks like. They’re watching me care for people. They’re learning about compassion, resilience, and responsibility. They might not understand it now, but one day they will. And maybe—just maybe—they’ll be proud of how we all held it together.

Finding the Humor (and the Light)

Sometimes, you have to laugh. Like the time I realized I had two different shoes on halfway through a shift. Or the night I used a Dora the Explorer Band-Aid to patch a hole in my own glove because I couldn’t find anything else. Or when my 4-year-old told her preschool teacher that “Mommy sleeps in pajamas made of plastic,” referring to my scrubs.

These little absurdities keep me grounded. They remind me that life isn’t polished, and motherhood definitely isn’t. It’s real, and weird, and beautiful in its own messy way.

Little Moments Matter

At the end of the day, it’s not about doing everything perfectly. It’s about being present in the moments that matter. The hug before I head out for the night shift. The sticky note with a crayon heart I find in my lunch bag. The way my child lights up when I come through the door, no matter what time it is.

Those moments are the glue. They’re what keep me from falling apart on the days when I’m stretched thin. They’re the reminders that even when I feel like I’m failing at everything, I’m actually doing something extraordinary, showing up, again and again.

This Is What Strength Looks Like

Being a nurse mom isn’t glamorous. It’s messy and hard and sometimes thankless. But it’s also full of purpose. I get to serve my community and nurture my family. I get to witness life’s toughest and most beautiful moments, in hospital rooms and in bedtime snuggles.

It’s not easy, but it’s meaningful. And if you’re out there doing the same thing, I see you. You’re not alone. You’re doing enough, and you’re doing it well.

Even if dinner is by headlamp.