The other day, I walked out of the hospital as an ambulance, horn blaring, headed toward the Emergency Department entrance.

I kept walking. 

The page came as I was packing up, thirty-minutes later than planned. My pager was already cleared, and cleaned, and ready for the next user. But my coworker told me what was coming. “Cardiac arrest.” We fistbumped and I put my pack over my shoulder. I clocked out. I said goodbye to a nurse, and the public safety guys. 

Even knowing that there was a crisis coming in, I kept walking. 

I confess. I felt a twinge of wanting to stay, to find ways to help. Even knowing that my friend is competent, our trainer, experienced in very many ways. I thought I didn’t want to abandon him. 

I kept walking.

Because caring for the family, helping coworkers, escorting people around, was no longer my job on this day. It will be tomorrow and the next day. But not for the rest of this day. 

And as I kept walking, I thought about you. And you. And you. 

Because you are great at helping, at parenting, at trouble-shooting. You do it all the time, in difficult times. 

But there are moments and seasons to work hard. And there are moments when we can let others do the work. Sometimes it’s when we realize that our kids are adults. Sometimes it’s when we realize there is a difference between our job and our life. Sometimes it’s when we realize we are working harder on someone’s life or their job than they are choosing to work. Sometimes it’s when we are the one who created the obligation to make ourselves be needed. Sometimes it’s when we realized. unapologetically, the respite care is a helpful resource.

I do, of course, stay past my shift end when needed. But I’m trying to learn (slowly) that there’s a difference between what’s needed for the situation and what I need to feel needed.