August 2025
Val
Knutson
,
RN
Virtual Nurse
UnityPoint Health – Allen Hospital
Waterloo
,
IA
United States
She walked into the room and didn’t just see a patient—she saw a person in pain. And instead of looking away, she stayed. She let me sob. Not just cry but truly break down in front of her. And she didn’t flinch.
I am nominating on behalf of a friend who wishes to remain anonymous. Below are her words as she sent them to me:
It’s taken me over a year—and a lot of reflection in therapy—to fully understand what this nurse gave me.
During one of my hospitalizations, I was emotionally exhausted and afraid. I was trying to hold everything together, but inside, I was falling apart. There was so much going on, more than anyone could see on the surface. I was in a situation no one should ever be in, and at the time, I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. I couldn’t even find the words.
But somehow, she knew. She walked into the room and didn’t just see a patient—she saw a person in pain. And instead of looking away, she stayed. She let me sob. Not just cry but truly break down in front of her. And she didn’t flinch. She didn’t check her phone. She didn’t glance at her watch. She didn’t look at the clock. She didn’t shift in her seat like she had somewhere more important to be. She just sat with me.
Fully present. She saw me. She didn’t try to cheer me up or offer hollow comfort. She didn’t brush off what I was feeling or distract me from it. She made space for it. For me. And then she did something I’ll never forget—she acknowledged it. She named what I was too afraid to name. She told me I didn’t deserve what was happening. She told me it wasn’t my fault. She was the first objective person—someone outside of my personal life—to recognize that I was being abused. And that moment changed everything. Because when you’re in that kind of situation, your reality becomes blurry. You question everything. But when someone who has nothing to gain looks you in the eyes and tells you the truth, it plants a seed.
Six months later, I finally left. And I genuinely believe that if she had acted like everyone else—if she had brushed it off or looked away—I might not have found the strength. She saved my life that day.
She will always be the moment everything started to shift. The moment I knew people wouldn't blame me or accuse me of being unfair to my abuser. The moment I knew, this wasn't my fault. I sat in vulnerability with a kind stranger who had simply been assigned to my room, and somehow, I left that moment feeling seen and ready to begin the hard work of leaving something that was breaking me. I will never forget her.
It’s taken me over a year—and a lot of reflection in therapy—to fully understand what this nurse gave me.
During one of my hospitalizations, I was emotionally exhausted and afraid. I was trying to hold everything together, but inside, I was falling apart. There was so much going on, more than anyone could see on the surface. I was in a situation no one should ever be in, and at the time, I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. I couldn’t even find the words.
But somehow, she knew. She walked into the room and didn’t just see a patient—she saw a person in pain. And instead of looking away, she stayed. She let me sob. Not just cry but truly break down in front of her. And she didn’t flinch. She didn’t check her phone. She didn’t glance at her watch. She didn’t look at the clock. She didn’t shift in her seat like she had somewhere more important to be. She just sat with me.
Fully present. She saw me. She didn’t try to cheer me up or offer hollow comfort. She didn’t brush off what I was feeling or distract me from it. She made space for it. For me. And then she did something I’ll never forget—she acknowledged it. She named what I was too afraid to name. She told me I didn’t deserve what was happening. She told me it wasn’t my fault. She was the first objective person—someone outside of my personal life—to recognize that I was being abused. And that moment changed everything. Because when you’re in that kind of situation, your reality becomes blurry. You question everything. But when someone who has nothing to gain looks you in the eyes and tells you the truth, it plants a seed.
Six months later, I finally left. And I genuinely believe that if she had acted like everyone else—if she had brushed it off or looked away—I might not have found the strength. She saved my life that day.
She will always be the moment everything started to shift. The moment I knew people wouldn't blame me or accuse me of being unfair to my abuser. The moment I knew, this wasn't my fault. I sat in vulnerability with a kind stranger who had simply been assigned to my room, and somehow, I left that moment feeling seen and ready to begin the hard work of leaving something that was breaking me. I will never forget her.