There’s something about the end of February, sort of feels like the last few minutes of a long shift.... Not quite done.... Not quite ready to clock out. Just… hovering.
It seems to me that February is a quirky month. It arrives with all the drama of winter, flirts with Valentine’s Day, then—almost abruptly—starts hinting that spring is somewhere backstage, waiting. For some of us in healthcare, it can feel like we’ve been running since the holidays, pushing through flu season; which was late in coming, icy commutes, and those stretches of gray days that seem to outnumber the sunny ones.
And here we are. The tail end of it.
There’s a particular kind of fatigue that shows up this time of year. Not the dramatic burnout kind. Just the quiet, low hum of “I could use a little more light.” You kind of notice it when you’re tying your scrub cap on, or washing your hands for the hundredth time, or charting at the end of a very full day. It’s subtle. A little sigh you didn’t realize you let out.
But the end of February also carries something else—permission.
Permission to soften the edges a bit.
Resolutions in January. Big goals. Resets. But February doesn’t demand that, it’s shorter. Gentler. Almost humble. It's the invitation: instead of reinventing ourselves, we can... you know... just recalibrate.
What if the end of this month isn’t about pushing harder, but about noticing what’s already working?
We’ve powered through flu season, icy commutes, and gray mornings where the sun hit the snooze button. We’ve layered up trying to try to keep warm, caffeinated strategically, and perfected the art of the “I’m fine” smile while adjusting our scrub caps for the fifteenth time.
And now? It’s basically over.
That counts.
The end of February feels like a small, quiet checkpoint. Not a performance review. Just a pause. A moment to say, “Okay… how am I, really?”
And maybe the answer isn’t polished. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you’re hopeful. Maybe you’re both.
There’s also something sweet about knowing that March is next. Longer days. A little more light sneaking in when you leave work. The faint possibility of shedding one layer of winter gear. It’s not dramatic. It’s subtle. But subtle shifts matter.
We see that every day in healthcare, don’t we? Small improvements. Slight changes in vitals. A patient who finally feels a little better. Progress is often quiet.
So maybe as February winds down, the goal isn’t to make a grand plan. Maybe it’s as simple as this: drink the water. Step outside for five minutes of actual daylight. Text the friend you’ve been meaning to check on. Put on the soft socks that you love. Play the song in the car that makes you feel a little more like yourself.
Tiny adjustments. Gentle care.
The end of February doesn’t need fireworks. It’s more of a soft closing door, followed by the sound of another one opening somewhere nearby.
And then… we keep going. Not rushed. Not hardened. Just steady.