The Truth About Your First Two Years as a Nurse (That No One Tells You in School)
No one talks about how disorienting the first two years can be.
12:37 am. You’re behind on charting. You haven’t eaten. Your patient just yelled at you, and you’re not even sure what you did wrong. You’re standing in the supply room, wondering if this is what nursing is supposed to feel like.
Nursing school didn’t prepare you for this part.
The part where it’s not just about clinicals or care plans.
It’s about you — your body, your mind, your identity — being stretched in ways no textbook ever warned you about.
No one talks about how disorienting the first two years can be.
So that’s what we’re going to do here.
Not to scare you.
But to show you: if you’re struggling, you’re not failing. You’re not broken. You’re not alone.
You’re just walking through the part that no one talks about — until now.
Let’s dive in!
1. You will question if you belong — more than once
It won’t always be about whether you can do the job.
Sometimes, it’ll be about whether you should.
After a shift where nothing went right.
After a coworker cuts you down.
After you second-guess every move you made.
I left one shift thinking: “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”
It wasn’t the clinical part — it was the emotional unraveling. The self-doubt that crept in fast and loud.
If you’ve had that shift, you’re not alone.
Feeling like you don’t belong doesn’t mean you’re in the wrong place.
It means you’re new, human, and carrying more than anyone realizes.
Even when the outcome is okay, the shame can linger.
2. You will make mistakes, and some will haunt you
Mistakes are part of learning — but that doesn’t mean they won’t shake you.
I misread an order once and almost gave the wrong medication.
I caught it. My patient was fine. But I wasn’t.
For days, all I could think about was what could have happened.
Even when the outcome is okay, the shame can linger.
But mistakes don’t make you unsafe — they make you human.
The key is processing them — not burying them.
A nurse feeling unwanted.
3. It’s not just the job — it’s the culture that wears you down
No one warns you how much emotional energy you’ll spend just navigating people.
Cold shoulders. Eye rolls. That sigh when you ask for help.
One of my mentees told me she stopped asking questions — not because she didn’t have them, but because she couldn’t handle the responses anymore.
Over time, she didn’t just feel behind. She felt unwanted.
That’s what chips away at new nurses — the silent pressure to prove you deserve to be there.
But that’s not your burden to carry alone.
4. Burnout isn’t always loud — sometimes it’s numbness
You expect burnout to be dramatic — crying, breakdowns, panic.
But sometimes it’s… nothing.
There was a stretch where I didn’t feel much of anything.
No tears. No anger. Just numb. I’d sit in my car after a shift and go blank.
The scariest part? You might not realize it’s burnout until you’re already deep in it.
Two nurses celebrating the small wins
5. Your confidence builds slowly and quietly
You won’t wake up one day suddenly feeling like a “real nurse.”
It builds in the repetition. The small wins. The silent proofs.
I thought confidence meant certainty. But for me, it showed up as less panic.
Fewer second-guesses. More grounding.
Confidence doesn’t come in a flood.
It arrives like a slow drip — and stays.
Two new nurses enjoying each other’s company and decompressing after a long shift.
6. Support won’t always find you — you might have to seek it
You may be surrounded by people but still feel isolated.
Not because they don’t care — but because they’re maxed out too.
I kept waiting for someone to notice I was struggling.
Until I realized: most of them were struggling too.
You deserve support that sees you — but sometimes, you’ll have to reach for it.
That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.
7. You don’t have to “tough it out” to prove yourself
There’s this silent standard: if you can survive without breaking down, then you’ve earned your place.
It’s a lie.
I thought if I just stayed late, never asked for help, and kept quiet — I’d prove I belonged.
It worked for a while. Until it didn’t.
The nurses who last aren’t the ones who “tough it out” the hardest.
They’re the ones who find support, set boundaries, and let themselves be human.
✨ You’re not broken — you’re just in it
You’ve probably already lived one (or all) of these truths.
And if you have — I hope this shows you you’re not alone.
You’re not weak for feeling this way.
You’re not unfit.
And you’re definitely not the only one.
You deserve support that meets you where you are — not once you’ve “proven” yourself.
That’s why I mentor nurses in their first two years.
Not because they don’t know anything — but because they’re learning everything, all at once.
If any of this hit close to home…
You don’t have to keep walking this alone.
💬 Message me the word “SUPPORT” if you want someone in your corner.
You CAN do this!
💬 Join the Conversation:
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Share your stories in the comments or reach out—I’d love to hear from you.
What was, or has been the biggest challege for you during the first two years of nursing?
Who do you turn to for support?
Any tips or stories you'd like to share with your fellow new nurses?
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