Perfectly cracked

By Stacy Colimore, MS, RN, CPXP,  Johns Hopkins Medicine 

After decades in healthcare, I’m still in awe of the sacredness of caring—for patients and for each other. At 26, I was diagnosed with an ovarian tumor. Facing surgery and uncertainty about my future, I was suddenly consumed by fears that many patients experience every day. This changed me forever. Although my tumor turned out to be benign, my heart couldn’t un-feel that fear, and I knew that my life’s purpose was to care for patients in their most vulnerable moments.  

After I healed, I went to nursing school. When I got to the bedside in 1999, I carried my personal healthcare journey and the words from my childhood priest: “Go forth to love and serve the Lord by loving and serving one another.” My healthcare experience and faith are my “why,” the reason I chose to care. After nursing school, I journeyed from nursing assistant to nursing director. I then recognized that my passion is creating a compassionate human experience, and ultimately chose a career in patient experience leadership.  

Caring for others is sacred. One reason is because we decide to care for others. However, over time the proverbial cup runs dry. Healthcare professionals carry so much—personal trauma, witnessed trauma and suffering, increased demands, and mounting violence. So, what sustains compassion? What makes it possible to keep showing up, keep caring, and keep seeing the person in front of us? I believe it’s the unique “why” of each healthcare provider who’s been called to care for others that ultimately fuels compassion and a healthcare system rich in humanity. Many of us were cracked open by something—illness, loss, lack, fear—and the cracks became our WHY. We didn’t choose healthcare despite being broken. We chose it because our brokenness opened our hearts to the suffering of others. Compassion, understanding and presence leak out and emerge from our cracks.  

It makes me think of the parable of the Cracked Pot:  

A water bearer carried two pots on a pole across her shoulders each day. One pot was perfect. The other had cracks on its side. Every day, the cracked pot leaked half of its water. Finally, the cracked pot cried out: “I’m so sorry. I’m broken. I fail at my purpose every day.” The water bearer smiled and said, “Look behind you.” The cracked pot saw beautiful flowers had bloomed on its side of the path, fed by its water that leaked out over the years. The perfect pot’s side was bare. “I’ve always known about your crack,” the water bearer said. “I planted seeds on your side. Because of your crack, my master’s table has fresh flowers. You’re not broken. You’re exactly what was needed.”  

Healthcare operates on an unspoken, misleading assumption: providers are competent and whole, treating patients who are vulnerable and broken. What if the struggles and challenges our patients share give us the opportunity to love a little harder and give a little more? What if patients carry the wisdom we need to hear? What if extending compassion to patients gives us a way to heal ourselves as much or more than the healing we provide?

I think about patients who’ve taught me courage. Families whose advocacy showed me what love looks like. Being perfectly imperfect doesn’t prevent us from providing excellent care, it enables it. Our humanity, our vulnerability, our willingness to say, “I don’t know but I’m here with you—just as you are and just as I am,” is what makes healing possible.

This piece expresses the views solely of the author. It does not necessarily represent the views of any organization, including Johns Hopkins Medicine.