I’ve been struggling. Things have not been easy at work.

But I have to remember why I’m here. Why did I choose this job? Why did I choose NGO work? Why humanitarian work?

Telling stories has always been my passion and my strength. In stories I share my thoughts, my fears, my hopes, my anxieties. Even in telling other people’s stories, I find I can share their experiences, joys, challenges.

I think this is because stories move me. Whether it’s a story I relate to, like that of a woman, a mother, a writer, or that of someone whose experiences are utterly alien to me. The familiar strikes a chord, finds an echo. The strange invokes bewilderment, empathy, anger, or even sorrow. And the stories of other people, of the men and women with whom I work, or our patients, all of these evoke so much feeling in me.

I know that in telling these stories, I can let others know what suffering is happening in different corners of the world, to strangers they will never meet. In telling these stories, I help people find the joy in giving, the determination in applying for a job, the inspiration to share our story.

If doing my job means someone donates five dollars, it means a patient is going to get their vaccine. Maybe ten euros can get a child their therapeutic food. Maybe a thousand pesos means a nurse from Ireland can go to Kiribati to help treat tuberculosis. If I can help any of these things happen, I will know I’ve done some good in the world.

That’s why I love this job. I get to use my time and my talent to tell the stories of those who cannot speak for themselves.

But it’s not easy. I see things I have never imagined. I hear stories that break my heart. I get hurt, angry, sad. I struggle with things that I have to do, and things I cannot do. What am I doing here, I ask myself more often in moments like these. Why am I still here?

More importantly, is this where I want to be now, and do I want to stay? Can I survive further heartbreak? I guess I have to figure that out.