Holding Space: Why Nurses Can’t Afford to Run on Empty

There’s a moment every nurse knows: you realize halfway through your shift that you haven’t looked a single patient in the eye. Not once.
Not because you don’t care but because you. are. fried.

Charting is behind, your back is screaming, the call light won’t stop dinging, and the only thing you can think about is how many hours until you clock out. That’s not “bad nursing.” That’s what moral injury, burnout, and compassion fatigue look like in real time.

And here’s the kicker: patients feel it. They know when you’re just going through the motions.

What Holding Space Actually Means

We throw around terms like “compassionate care,” but let’s get real: holding space isn’t a Pinterest quote. It’s the core of what we do.

Holding space means creating trust in the middle of chaos. It’s slowing down enough so the person in front of you feels:

• Seen. You actually look at them.

• Heard. You listen without cutting them off.

• Believed. You don’t gaslight or bypass their pain.

That’s holding space. That’s nursing.

Why It’s Missing Right Now

Here’s the truth no one wants to say out loud: most of us are running on fumes. Dysregulated nervous systems don’t have the bandwidth for deep presence.

When burnout sets in, this happens:

• Eye contact disappears.

• Charting replaces listening.

• We numb out just to survive.

This isn’t because you don’t care. It’s because your nervous system is doing the only thing it knows how to do under threat: protect you.

The Body Connection (Annamaya Kosha)

Your body isn’t just along for the ride—it’s the first alarm system. Tight jaw, shallow breath, clenched shoulders, racing heart… these are all signals that you’re running in survival mode.

And here’s the problem: when your body is locked down, you literally cannot hold space for anyone else. The body (annamaya kosha) is the doorway back into presence.

How to Hold Space for Yourself First

The fix isn’t adding another damn thing to your overflowing plate. It’s finding micro-practices that live inside the work you already do:

• One slow breath before you walk into a patient’s room.

• Softening your shoulders while washing your hands.

• Noticing your feet on the ground during report.

These don’t add time—they change how you arrive.

The Bottom Line

You can’t hold space for a patient if you’ve abandoned it for yourself.

Start small. A breath. A pause. A softening. Those micro-moments bring you back into your body—so your patients get the presence they deserve, and you stop running on empty.

Because self-care isn’t selfish. It’s professional. And your body deserves that kind of care too.

✨ So tell me—where could you pause today, even for 30 seconds, to hold space for yourself?