Deep in the forest, far from the land of Blightborough, lay a secluded sanctuary where the most precious animals sought relief, respite, and convalescence. In the Woodland Ward, all the forest creatures came to be healed by their kindred neighbors—the flora and fauna around them. Although the Ward was not large, it was a place of great impact. Kindness, compassion, and understanding were so palpable that the very leaves seemed to pulse and the branches bent in aid of care. This was where the forest came together to heal itself.
Lately, the Ward had been very busy. Heavy rains had left much of the forest damp and ill, in need of dry, warm sunlight. Fox was a sharp and intelligent caregiver—resourceful and clever, always finding solutions to the recent overcrowding. Usually a nocturnal healer, she had been coming in early and staying late to help her fellow healers and Woodland neighbors adapt to the increased demand.
One morning, Fox worked well past sunrise, tired and overwhelmed by the charting that still needed to be done. She sat struggling to stay awake, trying to document her care thoroughly, when Badger began to call out, loudly demanding Fox come to her bedside. Badger was known to be ornery, and when things didn’t go exactly her way, she could be quite cantankerous. Fox quickly made her way over, but moments later emerged tearful.
Squirrel, chittering and rushing about, happened to pause just long enough to notice the distress on Fox’s face. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked. Fox looked up with a defeated expression and said, “I didn’t help Badger brush her teeth fast enough. She yelled at me and said she’s filing a complaint.”
Squirrel let out a deep belly laugh and scurried away, calling over her shoulder, “Let her! That old bag won’t have any teeth left by the time someone responds to that complaint!” Fox was devastated. Squirrel didn’t appreciate the seriousness of the incident. No one had ever complained about her care before, and she was trying her best to do what was needed and what felt right.
Returning to her charting, Fox sat down, exasperated, and rested her head in her paws. Beaver waddled over with a look of determination on his face. “Fox, ya good?” he asked. Beaver was well-intentioned and always eager to fix an uncomfortable situation, although he sometimes missed the mark with short-sighted, reactionary solutions. Fox slowly lifted her head and muttered, “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a healer.”
Beaver slapped his tail down with a loud smack and wrinkled his face in deep thought. He tapped his tail a few times before raising his paw like he’d found the answer. “Just call out sick for a few days,” he said. “Get some R & R. Take a mental health day. You’ll be fine in a few days. We can manage without you dragging tail around here.”
Fox was stunned, her jaw open, but before she could respond, Beaver was already toddling away through the giant trees. She glanced up and noticed Owl perched silently on a nearby branch. She suspected Owl had seen the entire exchange, although she’d been too distracted to notice before. With a heavy sigh, Fox regained her composure, hastily completed her charting, and went home to take a long nap.
After contemplating Beaver’s suggestion, Fox gathered her dinner and water and returned to the Woodland Ward for her next scheduled shift that evening. She was slightly refreshed but still worried, confused, and increasingly frustrated. As she began her night shift, Fox received a bedside handoff report from Deer. When they finished, Fox, feeling safe and comfortable with Deer’s gentle demeanor, opened up about the moral distress she’d been experiencing. Deer listened attentively but cautiously, then offered careful, avoidant guidance, “Go to Owl.”
And with that, Deer trotted away into the dark forest toward her den. Fox looked up into the treetops and spotted Owl, silently perched, absorbing every detail in the Ward. Their eyes met, and Owl motioned for Fox to follow.
Owl was a stoic, calm presence in the Ward. She provided steady, supportive leadership. Known throughout the forest for her wisdom and reserve, she never meddled or micromanaged, instead cultivating autonomy and critical thinking among the healers. Owl had a mantra she often shared: “Grow the root deeply so the forest stands firm even without my shade.”
Owl flew down from her legacy tree and met Fox on the forest floor. Together they sat quietly. Fox watched Owl’s every move and uncomfortably noticed how few there were. Owl sat, fully present, nearly motionless except for the slow rise and fall of her chest, patiently waiting for Fox to speak. For Fox, the silence became too much. She finally began to talk.
She let it all out—unloading her emotions and thoughts quickly, without filtering for professionalism or politeness. Owl listened. No note-taking. No interruptions. No suggested actions. No offered solutions.
Fox spiraled. She demanded advice from Owl, her voice emotional—first angry, then scared, then tearful. She spoke of the pressure, the emotional toll, the physical exhaustion, the fear of not being enough. As her thoughts flowed, she began to shift toward her own strengths and accomplishments—how she had mended the cardinal chick’s broken wing when he fell from the nest, how she stayed with Snake during a painful shedding, how she helped Bear, the new healer, when she was confused about a process, the gut wrenching death of Turtle.
Fox suddenly stopped talking and looked at Owl with surprise. It was as though the fog had lifted; she had found clarity. She had remembered her why.
Owl finally spoke, “You already carry the answers. My job is to make sure you can still hear them.”
Fox sat up straighter. She no longer felt like the sky was falling. She nodded, then turned and walked back toward the Ward. In that quiet moment, Fox heard the one voice she had been missing—her own.
Owl twisted her head to the side, watching Fox walk away with her head held a little higher. She knew that in a forest full of rushing and noise, she had offered a rare gift: a safe place to pause and grow.
Moral: A good leader doesn’t give the answers—they protect the space where others can find their own.
Erin Longest Vollmer MS, RN, NE-BC, NC-BC, is a Clinical Surveyor-Lead Auditor at DNV in Katy, Texas.
Reference
American Nurses Association. Competency Model. 2013. nursingworld.org/globalassets/docs/ce/177626-ana-leadership-booklet-new-final.pdf
