Growth Beyond Obstacles

Cracks and Light

“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” —Leonard Cohen

When I first read those words, I didn’t realize how much they would one day echo my own journey. For so long, I believed that cracks meant failure—that if I admitted I was struggling, I was proving I wasn’t strong enough for the demands of healthcare. But the truth is, cracks aren’t weakness. They’re the places where light seeps in. They’re the reminders that even in brokenness, growth and healing are possible.

In 2022, I made a decision that I thought would change my life for the better. For the first time in my professional journey, I stepped away from the medical field. I traded in scrubs and patient interaction for the polished world of corporate America, joining a Fortune 500 company. On the outside, it looked like the right move—stability, benefits, professional opportunities. But inside, those three years were some of the hardest of my life.

Corporate America gave me new skills and fresh perspectives, but it also taught me that no matter how hard I tried to adapt, my heart belonged elsewhere. My true calling had always been in healthcare. Stepping away only deepened that truth.

This year, when my mental health forced me to take a four-week medical leave, I finally had the space to see clearly. I realized how deeply I missed healthcare—not just the work, but the purpose behind it. And coming back now feels less like returning to a career and more like coming home.

The Breaking Point

“It’s okay not to be okay.” —Maya Angelou

Healthcare had been my identity for years. From my time as an EMS provider, to walking alongside cancer patients in their darkest moments, to coordinating schedules for orthopedic surgeons, I built a career around caring for others. It was exhausting at times, yes, but it filled my life with meaning.

Then came 2022. I thought I was ready for something new, something that looked like professional growth. So I stepped into corporate America, joining a Fortune 500 company where the rhythm of the work was completely different. The focus shifted from patients and caregivers to numbers, metrics, and business outcomes.

At first, I convinced myself that this was success. After all, isn’t this what so many people work toward? But the longer I stayed, the more I felt like I was losing myself. I missed the small, human moments of healthcare—the smile of a patient, the gratitude of a family, the camaraderie of a medical team. Instead, I found myself in endless meetings, chasing quotas, and navigating corporate politics.

The truth is, corporate America wasn’t “bad.” It taught me discipline, strategy, and business acumen. But it also drained me in a way healthcare never did. Each year, my mental health slipped a little further. I felt invisible in a system that valued output over heart. By the time 2025 arrived, I knew I couldn’t keep going at the same pace.

I felt pushed aside, unseen, and utterly exhausted. That’s when the breaking point came—and I made the hardest decision of my professional life. I stepped away on a medical leave, not just to rest, but to save myself.

The Silence of Stepping Away

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.” —Sylvia Plath

The first few days away from work felt jarring. For three years, my life had been dictated by the demands of corporate America—calls, emails, deadlines, performance metrics. Suddenly, there was silence. I woke up out of habit, only to realize there was nowhere I had to be.

At first, that silence felt uncomfortable. But slowly, it became healing. Without the noise, I could finally hear my own heart again. I journaled, walked, and reflected. I allowed myself to rest without guilt, something I hadn’t done in years.

Sylvia Plath’s words captured the experience perfectly: “I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”

In the quiet, my heart reminded me of who I truly was. Not just an employee or a cog in a machine, but a person whose life had always been anchored in helping others. I thought back to the adrenaline of being an EMS provider, the sacred moments with cancer patients, and the satisfaction of coordinating surgical schedules. Those memories weren’t just nostalgia—they were reminders of my calling.

Being away revealed what I had been too busy to admit: I missed healthcare with everything in me. You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

Rediscovering the Light Within

“Depression doesn’t take away your talents—it just makes them harder to find. But I always find it. I learned that my sadness never destroyed what was great about me. You just have to go back to that greatness, find that one little light that’s left.” —Lady Gaga

Depression is sneaky. It convinces you that you’re less than who you are, that you’ve lost your spark, that your talents no longer matter. I felt that often in corporate America. The grind, the constant pressure, the absence of meaning—all of it dimmed my light.

But Lady Gaga’s words spoke truth into my experience. My talents weren’t gone; they were just buried. My compassion, my resilience, my ability to connect with people in their most vulnerable moments—those things were still part of me. Depression didn’t erase them.

When I thought about what I missed most, it wasn’t the long shifts or even the clinical details—it was the why. I missed knowing that what I did each day mattered in a tangible, human way. I missed being part of a system built on care, not just profit.

Those weeks of medical leave gave me more than rest—they gave me perspective. For the first time in years, I asked myself the hard questions: What do I want? Where do I belong? What does success look like to me?

Rediscovering that light within myself was like finding a spark in the dark. I realized that no amount of corporate success could ever replace the sense of purpose I found in healthcare.

Healing and Re-Centering

“Healing takes time, and asking for help is a courageous step.” —Mariska Hargitay

The answers weren’t complicated. I didn’t want another decade climbing the corporate ladder in a Fortune 500 company, no matter how prestigious it looked. My heart wasn’t there. It never had been.

Mariska Hargitay’s words reminded me that healing takes time, and that asking for help isn’t weakness—it’s courage. I leaned on my family, my mentors, and my support system. I admitted I couldn’t do it all alone. That vulnerability became my strength.

In that space, I recentered. I realized I didn’t just want to return to healthcare—I wanted to grow within it. I wanted to build a career not just around doing tasks, but around leading, mentoring, and shaping systems that care for both patients and caregivers. One day, maybe even as a director.

Looking Forward—A Career with Purpose

Coming back to healthcare after three years away feels like breathing again. It’s not just a career shift—it’s a homecoming.

Those years in corporate America weren’t wasted. They gave me tools I’ll carry forever: strategic thinking, business awareness, organizational skills. But they also clarified something more important: my heart belongs in healthcare. Always has, always will.

Now, I look forward with renewed vision. I want to grow in leadership, to use both my healthcare background and my corporate experience to make meaningful change. I want to create environments where patients feel cared for and where caregivers feel supported. Maybe one day I’ll step into a director role, guiding teams and influencing systems on a larger scale.

For now, I’m taking it step by step, fueled by gratitude and grounded in purpose.

The Light That Gets In

As I reflect on this journey, I return again to Leonard Cohen’s words: “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”

My cracks—the burnout, the depression, the three years of corporate struggle—let light in. They showed me resilience, gave me clarity, and reminded me of where I belong.

I may have left healthcare in 2022, but it never left me. And coming back now feels like breathing fresh air after being underwater. This isn’t just a career return—it’s a reclaiming of my purpose.

The light is back. And this time, I intend to let it shine brighter than ever.