Healing, Reeling, and Learning
The moments move fast. The meaning takes its time.
June 20, 2025
When the main campus of Connecticut Children’s was in Newington, CT, I was a regular visitor.
As a little girl, even just hearing the word Newington sent shivers through my chest. Teams of doctors would gather around with oohs and ahhs, their voices floating above me behind the big light. And while they were helping me—healing me—I was quietly hoping no one from school would ever find out.
Being a kid was hard enough. No one needed to know I spent time in a children’s hospital. I kept that part of me quiet. From classmates. Teachers. Even some of my closest friends.
And now, all these years later, I can see it clearly. Those visits shaped me.
Even when it was scary, the staff always remembered us. They would greet us, comfort us, and do whatever they could to help. To care. To make me feel safe. Their voices, their attempts at humor, their kindness—all of it lives in my body still.
It is from that deeply human place that I share this now. Because I am in another in-between moment. One of reflection. One of re-calibration. One of return.
And isn't it strange, how even though I did not become a clinical practitioner, I still spent my career supporting, teaching, and guiding inside the same type of environments?
At one time, I thought I would work at Connecticut Children’s myself. I imagined becoming a therapist for kids just like me. That was the plan, until a college advisor told me I “would not cut it” and should switch majors immediately.
I stuck with the program for a semester. Earned a B+. And then… I walked away. My fiery, defiant 20-year-old self decided to chart a new course. Maybe that was the right decision. Maybe it was the only one I could make at the time.
Because now, I support people in other ways.
I help humans become leaders.
I coach professionals through conflict.
I design spaces where people can talk about what they are truly feeling—and not just what they are supposed to say.
I teach communication skills, process improvement tools, and conflict resolution strategies.
I hold space for discomfort. I stay present through hard conversations. I bring people back to what matters most - trust, meaning, and human connection.
And I do it all with the deep knowing that healthcare - real, human, wholehearted healthcare - matters. It matters at the beginning of life. In the middle. At the end. It matters for our children, our loved ones, our communities, and ourselves.
To the Physicians, Nurses, Nurse Practitioners, Physician Assistants, Medical Assistants, Therapists, and every person in between who supports healing, I thank you. I am grateful for your hands, your hearts, your dad jokes, and your unwavering presence.
It is my greatest honor to partner with you, to listen, to teach what I know, and to support you in the work that asks the most of you.
I may not wear a stethoscope.
I may not stand at a bedside.
But I have spent my life trying to help people feel safe, supported, and whole.
And maybe—in the most unexpected way—that little girl did grow up to work at Connecticut Children’s after all. Ya never know!
Thank you.
To the teams who cared for me then.
And to the people and places that shape us in quiet, lasting ways.
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