May is National Nurses Month—a time to recognize and celebrate the tireless efforts of nurses who improve lives every day. HIMSS is proud to spotlight members whose passion and commitment shine through their work—on the front lines and beyond. Join us in honoring these exceptional individuals and the meaningful impact they make in transforming healthcare.

What does recognition mean to you as a nurse?

My perspective on recognition has evolved alongside my journey—as a nurse, yes, but also as a woman, wife, mother, daughter, and leader. Over the last 20+ years in healthcare, lived experience has taught me that recognition isn't always loud. It’s often quiet, personal, and deeply human.

Early in my career, I looked to titles, awards, and accolades as markers of success—believing that external validation equated to recognition. But over time, I’ve found something far more meaningful: appreciation from those around me. A whispered thank-you from a loved one sitting vigil at the bedside. A manager stopping me in the hall to say they appreciated an idea I shared during huddle. A teammate pinging me after hours to say a productivity system I helped them set up made their day easier. A colleague receiving an award and mentioning my name as someone who supported them. Or a leader bringing up something I contributed months ago that I’d already forgotten, because it didn’t feel like a big deal at the time.

Those are the moments where I feel most recognized—when the people I respect take a second to say, “You made a difference.” Not for the spotlight, but because the impact was real.

Today, I define recognition as being appreciated for the intention and effort behind what I do. It’s about knowing that the things I value, the way I show up, and the energy I pour into my work matter—even when no one’s watching.

Can you share a time when a patient, family member, or colleague made you feel truly appreciated?

There are so many moments I’ve collected over the years—quiet moments that stay with you. But one experience during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic continues to resonate deeply with me.

At the time, I was working as a clinical nurse liaison and program manager for a major health insurer, managing the inquiry program. I usually worked behind the scenes—resolving complex patient and provider issues, not often connecting directly with patients. But one case kept pulling at me. A mother was requesting a home ventilator for her daughter, a vibrant law student in her mid-20s who had become a ventilator-dependent paraplegic after contracting COVID early in the pandemic. Her request had been denied because, on paper, the conditions for home care weren’t met.

Something told me I needed to call her. That phone call changed everything.

We spent two hours together on that call. She shared their entire journey—her daughter’s resilience, the heartbreak of being placed in a skilled nursing facility unable to meet her needs, and the love and determination of a family made up almost entirely of healthcare professionals. What the documentation had missed was that the mother was a registered nurse, the father a surgical tech, and they had a network of support at home ready to care for her daughter with round-the-clock coverage. The only thing standing between that young woman and a safe return home was a ventilator.

I took that information, worked with our physician reviewers to get the right documentation, partnered with community providers, and within a few hours, secured approval. I coordinated with equipment suppliers to arrange delivery and training, and two days later, the patient was home with her family.

The patient’s mother wrote me a beautiful letter of appreciation and continued to send me updates and photos of their life together. Even after I moved on from that organization, we’ve stayed in touch. That experience reminds me that no matter what role I hold—bedside, informatics, program leadership—everything I do touches real people. That bond, that shared humanity, is where I felt the most profound sense of recognition. I didn’t just resolve a case. I helped a family come back together. And I’ll carry that with me forever.

Why do you think it’s important for nurses to acknowledge and celebrate each other’s contributions?

Peer recognition isn’t just a nice gesture—it’s a catalyst for cultural change. One of the most formative lessons I’ve learned in my career is that celebration with intention can transform not only individual morale, but the entire energy of a unit.

When I worked as a critical care float nurse, I often found myself in the emergency department during flu season, caring for ICU-level patients while they waited for beds. At the time, there was a long-standing tension between inpatient and ER nurses—almost a “sibling rivalry” where teamwork and empathy were strained. The environment felt divided, and the holding nurses often felt isolated.

Instead of accepting the division, I started small: I watched what the ER nurses were juggling and stepped in to help—drawing labs, managing alarms, hanging IV fluids. When I saw them doing great work, I told them. I made sure their charge nurse or manager knew, too. I offered to cover for breaks and made it clear I was there to collaborate, not compete.

What happened next was powerful: they started doing the same for me. Other hold nurses followed suit. Over a few months, the dynamic shifted completely—we went from fragmented to unified. We became a team.

That experience taught me that peer recognition is a leadership act—one that doesn’t require a title. It’s easy to observe great work and move on, but when we take the time to name it, share it, and uplift each other, we change the way people feel about their work. Recognition creates connection, and in nursing, connection is everything.

What changes would you like to see in the healthcare system to better recognize and support nurses? How can we accomplish that as an industry?

Recognition in nursing has definitely evolved—especially since the pandemic—but I still think we have room to do better. Earlier in my career at the bedside, recognition was limited and often inconsistent. Today, I’m fortunate to work in an organization where leadership makes a visible effort to celebrate nurses—through awards like the Daisy, peer-to-peer recognition programs, manager shout-outs, and public displays of appreciation on units. These initiatives matter. They uplift the spirit of the team. But even with these structures in place, the truth remains: you can never acknowledge the contributions of nurses enough.

From my perspective as a nurse informaticist, one of the most untapped opportunities lies in leveraging technology and data to amplify everyday excellence. At my organization, we’ve started using dashboards to highlight documentation wins, compliance metrics, and system-wide efforts to reduce burden and improve workflows. There’s also a webpage showcasing the behind-the-scenes work that supports frontline care. But we still have work to do.

Many recognition systems today are episodic—they rely on someone taking time out of their day to write up a kudos, submit a nomination, or read an email. Nurses are busy. They’re focused on the patient in front of them, and they don’t always have the time—or access—to interact with these systems. That’s why we need more embedded, real-time, visible feedback loops. Imagine patient and family gratitude being recorded, shared, and shown to nurses via unit monitors or mobile apps. Imagine stories of impact shared with executive leaders, and their appreciation and response brought back to the bedside. That kind of visibility builds a bridge between frontline care and organizational leadership.

We also need to rethink what we define as “success.” Traditional metrics don’t always reflect the emotional labor, advocacy, and presence that nurses bring. We need new markers that capture the human impact of nursing care—moments that matter, messages from patients, and peer feedback that truly reflects the value of connection.

And finally, on an industry level, I believe we need policy reform that redefines the financial value of nursing. Nurses shouldn’t be seen as a cost center—we should be viewed as contributors to value-based care. Compensating systems for nursing services, similar to provider models, would not only elevate the profession but fundamentally shift how our work is valued.

Recognition, to me, is about visibility, voice, and value. And as a field, we owe nurses more of all three.

What inspired you to become a nurse, and how does recognition impact your motivation?

I can’t point to one defining moment that drew me to nursing—it was more of a calling that grew with me over time. Even as a child, I had this innate awareness that the world was big, complex, and full of people who needed help. I grew up in a low-income family and neighborhood, and I’m a first-generation college graduate now pursuing my doctorate. Throughout every challenge, I carried the perspective that even on my hardest days, someone out there might wish they were in my shoes. That mindset—grounded in empathy and service—made nursing feel like a natural fit.

What’s always driven me is the desire to learn more so I can do more—to make things better not just for patients, but for the people who care for them. At the bedside, I realized I had a knack for understanding technology and clinical systems, but I was constantly frustrated by their limitations. I’d find myself saying, “There has to be a better way to do this.” That mindset led me into informatics, quality, education, and leadership.

Now, my motivation comes from knowing that I can help remove burdens that weigh down our nurses and care teams. If I can simplify workflows, reduce administrative tasks, and help design systems that work with clinicians instead of against them, then I’m giving them back time and energy—back to patients, back to presence, back to the reason they became caregivers in the first place.

As kids, when we dreamed of becoming nurses or doctors, we didn’t picture ourselves staring at screens or typing endlessly into boxes. We imagined giving hands-on care, offering comfort, fixing every ailment with a band-aid and a smile—and maybe handing out a lollipop or two. That spirit still matters. Recognition, to me, is when we create space for that kind of connection. It’s when healthcare professionals feel seen, valued, and fulfilled in the work they do every day. That’s the kind of system I want to help build.