Love Letter to My Younger Self

What I Would Tell My Decade-Younger Self

Having Coffee with 2015 Maggie

If you’re on the internet, or follow me on Instagram, you may have seen the recent trend of folks “meeting up for coffee” with their younger self and giving them some insights.

Albeit a little cheesy, I loved doing this exercise, and it really got me thinking about who I was at this point and what I wish I had known, even several years into my nursing career.

These are some of the insights I shared (although my personal journalling went even deeper!):

She was stressed about everything she hadn’t done yet…from getting pregnant, to figuring out academia, to knowing how to advocate for her birthing patients.

I told her not to worry so much: that she’ll have two awesome kids, that she’ll end up going back to academia to get her PhD, and that she now talks and educates about trauma-informed advocacy all the time.

She wished she could just feel “settled” and not hold such high standards.

I told her she’ll let go of the idea of some mythical settled feeling, but she’s a lot more mindful now, and she’ll learn to happily refer to herself as a recovering perfectionist.

She was eager to just have it figured out already.

I told her the journey was worth it and that she’s learning so much right now so she’ll be able to write a book and mentor the nurses who come after her.

My Biggest Insight

However, the biggest insight remains that I am not here to “save” anyone. Despite my empathic nature, my training, my connection to my patient, my continuing education, it just isn’t my role.

And in 2015 there were already dozens of patients who had left their mark on me, and I was carrying the weight of so much responsibility for their care outcomes, that truly wasn’t mine to hold. I pour into them when they were scared, vulnerable, and desperately needed support. I threw everything I had into caring for my patients. I stayed late, skipped breaks, picked up extra shifts, and almost burned out…

But despite all my efforts, I couldn’t save them. I replayed every step, every decision, wondering what I could have done differently. The truth was, it wasn’t my fault—but it felt like it. I had internalized the idea that if I couldn’t “save” my patients, I wasn’t doing my job well enough.

The Lesson in Action

Nurses are natural helpers. It’s why so many of us get into this field. But somewhere along the way, the system turns that helping instinct into something toxic. We are labeled as healthcare heroes, saviors, and martyrs. We are expected to carry the weight of a broken system on our backs, often without the resources, support, or acknowledgment we need.

This mindset isn’t just dangerous—it’s unsustainable. It leads to burnout, emotional exhaustion, and a deep sense of self-blame when things go wrong. When we believe we are here to save, we set ourselves up for disappointment, because healthcare is complex, and we cannot control every outcome.

The shift to advocacy over saviorism was a revelation for me. Instead of taking on the impossible task of fixing everything, I started to see my role differently. Advocacy meant standing alongside my patients, offering my expertise, and encouraging them to make informed decisions. It was no longer about being the hero—it was about being a steady, supportive presence. It was freeing. It allowed me to find joy in the work again and to connect with my patients in a more authentic way.

A Glimpse Into I Thought I Was Here to Help

This is just one of the many lessons I dive into in I Thought I Was Here to Help—because the way we think about nursing needs to change. Here's a small excerpt from the book that speaks to this shift:

“When we are in community with our patients, we have not set ourselves up to be their savior; instead, we have set ourselves up in a relationship of support, in which we know we do not have to shoulder the burden alone.”

What Would You Tell Your Younger Self?

If you could go back and tell your younger self one thing, what would it be? I’d love to hear your stories and reflections—let’s continue this conversation together.

In solidarity,