By Dr. Schola Matovu: Nurse Scientist, Professor & Global Health Scholar [Gerontology | Caregiving | Advancing Nursing Leadership & Global Learning
And We Think Nursing Is Hard: What Nurse Agnes Teaches Us About Perspective, Purpose, and Power in Nursing
There was a time when I thought I understood what “hard” meant in nursing.
I remember the bedside clearly.
The short staffing.
The tension between nurses and management.
The quiet battles that never really ended—just shifted shape.
Every shift felt like survival.
You carry too many patients, too many expectations, too much emotional weight… and not enough support.
And somewhere in that cycle, burnout creeps in.
Not suddenly—but steadily.
Until one day, you find yourself thinking:
I can’t do this anymore.
For many of us, that moment is real.
And it’s valid.
But then… you hear a story that changes everything.
When “Hard” Means Something Else Entirely
I met Agnes Nambozo through a conversation that I haven’t been able to shake.
Her reality redefined mine.
Agnes is a nurse in rural Uganda.
To get to work, she walks for about an hour and a half.
That alone would be enough for most of us to pause.
But that’s just the beginning.
To reach some of the communities she serves, she then climbs—
a steep, dangerous path, often with missing steps, slippery surfaces, and no safety support.
That climb can take nearly two hours.
And she does this regularly.
Not once.
Not occasionally.
But as part of her job.
The Risks We Don’t See
During one conversation, she shared something that stopped me.
She was eight months pregnant.
Climbing.
Alone.
Near the bottom of the descent, she slipped and fell.
No one was there to help her.
No safety net.
No emergency system.
Just her… and the reality of the work.
She survived.
But that moment stays with you—because it forces a question:
What have we normalized in this profession?
Access Is Not Equal
The communities Agnes serves live in areas where healthcare is not easily accessible.
Pregnant mothers must navigate dangerous terrain.
Elderly individuals in their 70s and 80s must climb the same paths.
Children miss vaccinations—not because of neglect, but because of geography.
She described cases where mothers arrived too late in labor.
Where preventable outcomes became tragic realities.
Not because care didn’t exist—
but because access did not.
And in those gaps… nurses like Agnes step in.
Finding Meaning in the Work
What struck me most was not just what she endures—
but why she continues.
When I asked her what keeps her going, her answer was simple:
She sees the impact.
Children who were once unvaccinated are now protected.
Families who had no access now receive care.
She sees change.
And that gives her purpose.
She described nursing not just as a job—
but as a calling.
A responsibility to reach those who are unseen.
A Mirror Back to Ourselves
As I listened to her, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own journey.
From bedside burnout…
to academic milestones…
to building a program of research and navigating the complexities of global health work.
There were moments of pride—like standing to deliver my graduation speech.
Moments where the work felt meaningful, impactful, seen.
And there were moments of doubt.
Moments of asking:
What does impact really look like?
Where does my work matter most?
What am I building—and for whom?
Hearing Agnes didn’t diminish my experiences.
But it reframed them.
It reminded me that nursing is not one story.
It is many.
The Dangerous Comparison Trap
There is a tendency in global conversations to say:
“You’re lucky you trained or work in a different system.”
And in some ways, that’s true.
But that framing can also become limiting.
Because it assumes that those who stay—those who serve in constrained environments—
are somehow waiting for a way out.
Agnes challenged that idea.
She doesn’t speak about leaving.
She speaks about serving.
Not from a place of resignation—
but from a place of purpose.
What Nursing Really Is
The more I reflect, the more I realize this:
Nursing is not defined by one environment.
Not by hospitals alone.
Not by resources alone.
It is defined by impact.
By presence.
By the willingness to show up—
even when the path is unclear, unsafe, or difficult.
That does not mean we accept unsafe conditions.
Let’s be clear:
Nurses everywhere deserve better support, better systems, and safer working environments.
But within that truth, there is also another one:
There are nurses who continue to lead, serve, and transform lives—
even in the most challenging circumstances.
Why These Stories Matter
This is why I created platforms to share stories like Agnes’.
Because when we only hear one version of nursing,
we limit our understanding of what this profession truly is.
We need to hear:
The bedside stories.
The community stories.
The global stories.
Not to compare suffering—
but to expand perspective.
To build connection.
To recognize the depth, complexity, and power of nursing across contexts.
A Final Reflection
So yes—nursing is hard.
But “hard” is not universal.
It shifts.
It stretches.
It deepens—depending on where you stand.
And sometimes, hearing someone else’s story doesn’t make your challenges disappear—
but it helps you see them differently.
It invites gratitude.
It invites reflection.
And perhaps most importantly—
it invites us to ask better questions about the systems we are part of…
and the kind of nursing future we want to build.
Because somewhere, right now,
a nurse like Agnes is climbing—
not just a hill,
but the distance between inequity and care. And that is a story worth carrying forwar