Navigating Work-Life Balance as a Pediatric Oncology Nurse

Everyone knows the unconventional schedule of most inpatient nurses—three 12-hour shifts a week. And if someone’s just learning about it for the first time, you can count on them to comment about how great it must be to "only" work three days a week.

My dad and brother never miss a chance to say, “Well, Bell only works three days a week,” just to get a reaction out of me—lol. And sure, I wish it felt like the other four days were completely mine, free from the mental weight of the job, and not spent catching up on sleep after a night shift. That said, there’s something undeniably sweet about a quiet, slow Tuesday off—those random days to yourself, to take what you need.

However, the truth is that anyone in healthcare knows the challenge of achieving a real work-life balance, especially when our work is centered around people living through what are often the most difficult days of their lives.

Here’s one of the most important things I’ve learned in my first nine months as an RN:

What we do is not normal.

Holding a sobbing mother you just met after she learns there’s no more treatment available as an option for her child—horrible, and not normal. Hearing a child casually ask his dad, “Wait, I’m getting more chemo tomorrow?”—not normal. Being part of a crowd full of nurses, hands on a child, praying, as they take their last breath here on this Earth—you get my point. None of it is what any person should have to witness week after week.

And yet, we do, and we choose it daily. Because that’s the job (and yes, I really do love it!!! I’ll get there).

It’s unsettling how easily the darkest parts of healthcare can start to feel strangely routine. I still remember those early days as a new nurse—watching moments unfold that were so heartbreaking, they made me question if I was cut out for this work. At the time, I felt physically sick from the weight of it all. And I hate to admit it, but with time, those moments started to hit a little less hard—not because I stopped caring, but because I had to keep going.

Offering comfort to patients and families became part of the routine, something we do every day. Don’t mistake that for indifference, because my heart still aches for the families we care for, long after the end of a shift. But again, what I’ve come to realize is just how important it is to step back and remind ourselves: none of this is normal to witness so very often. The pain, the loss—it’s also not something we should ever become numb to. And recognizing that doesn’t make us weak. It makes us human.

While the job is an emotional, exhausting one, it’s also a profoundly beautiful one. It’s heartbreaking and rewarding, messy and a true honor. To truly see the beauty in this work, we have to let ourselves feel the hard moments, too, along with the joys of being a nurse.

Most importantly, we also have to value what happens after we punch in those numbers to clock out for the day. For some, that might not mean “leaving work at work” the moment you pass that familiar stop sign halfway home. Maybe it means allowing space to process. Maybe it looks like silence. Or prayer. Or laughter. And you can’t blame yourself for taking it home with you sometimes, as I often do.

The truth is, healing from what we carry as nurses doesn’t have a rulebook.

I’ve learned it’s not just important—but necessary—to find ways to care for myself outside of work. Because healing doesn’t only happen in time—it happens in intention. On my days off, I’ve started leaning into the things that help me feel grounded again. The little rituals, the rush of trying something new, and the quiet moments in between all remind me of who I am outside of scrubs.

For me, this looks like spending time reading my Bible or journaling prayer requests for patients, friends, and family members that cross my mind. You’ll also catch me taking early morning Corepower Yoga classes a few times a week that allow space for me to focus on myself, my health, and this working body that this career has taught me to never take for granted.

And yes, you might even find me on the tennis courts. Believe it or not, I’m on a competitive tennis team made up mostly of amazing women in their 40s, and it’s awesome, lol. I always get a few laughs when I tell people, but honestly, it’s quickly become one of the best parts of my week. A few hours spent disconnected from the heaviness of work, where I get to rediscover my competitive side, feel those pre-match butterflies, and be proud of how far I’ve stepped outside my comfort zone.

I take lots of long walks, soak up as much sunshine as possible, and even when I’m drained, I try to push myself to show up and be around the people who fill my cup. I’ve learned that for me, the best way to recharge is a mix of solitude, movement, and community. And while I absolutely love hanging out with my work friends (who also live in the world of random weekday weekends), I’ve also found it deeply refreshing to spend time with people whose lives look completely different from mine. It’s a reminder that there is more to life than the hospital walls—and I need that sometimes.

I’ve also somehow made my way into the Atlanta babysitting circle—and honestly, it’s been such a gift. There’s nothing quite like the serotonin boost that comes from spending time with a healthy, happy little one. It’s a sweet contrast to what I experience at work, plus, the extra side money doesn’t hurt. :)

No matter how you choose to unwind on those days off, we need space to heal ourselves. If you’re a nurse reading this—especially if you’re just starting out—I hope you know it’s okay if you cry in your car after a shift, or if your heart aches for a sweet family on your day off.

It doesn’t mean you’re not meant for the job. It means you’re showing up fully—with empathy, courage, and heart. Despite how healthcare naturally has a way of reshaping what “normal” looks like, reality is that it is anything but that.

You don’t have to harden your heart to survive in this field, and that’s a reminder for me, too. In fact, the very things that make you feel “too soft” for it are often the qualities that make you exactly the nurse someone needs in their most vulnerable moments.

So, take care of yourself with the same compassion you give to your patients. Find your quiet Tuesdays, your safe people, your ways to breathe. You are not alone in this. And you are doing an extraordinary thing—even on the days when it doesn’t feel like you’ve done enough.

We carry SO much—but the weight of it all can quickly become too heavy the second we stop caring for our own minds and bodies along the way.