When I first got involved with Stop the Crisis Philly, I didn’t really understand how big of an impact it would have on me—not just as a student, but as a future nurse. The organization, which aimed to combat the opioid crisis through community outreach and Narcan training, was one of the most hands-on, eye-opening experiences I had in college. It wasn’t flashy. We weren’t performing miracles. But we were teaching people how to recognize an overdose and save a life. We were talking openly about addiction in ways that many people weren’t used to. And we were building a sense of responsibility—one that I carry with me now, every time I step onto the unit.

Learning to Talk About the Hard Stuff

The first time I led a Narcan training, I was nervous. Not because I didn’t know the material—we had reviewed it over and over—but because I wasn’t sure how people would respond. Would they take it seriously? Would they ask tough questions? Would I be able to answer them?

What I learned very quickly is that people were hungry for this kind of information. There was so much curiosity, and also so much pain. Some students showed up to trainings because they had known someone who overdosed. Others came because they were scared they might one day need to use Narcan on a friend or roommate. These weren’t hypothetical concerns. This was real life. Attending a notorious party school, drug use was a bit of an open secret. With the rise of fentanyl finding its way into drug supplies, students began to worry about accidental overdose happening to them.

It taught me how to talk about things that scare people. How to explain overdose reversal without making it sound like magic. How to break down stigma and reframe addiction as a health issue, not a moral failure. Those conversations were messy and emotional, but they were also necessary. Now, as a nurse, I have similar conversations at the bedside—about substance use, about withdrawal, about pain and fear and shame. I feel more equipped to have them because of the practice I got standing in front of my peers with a training kit and a whole lot of honesty.

The Power of Being Prepared

One of the main goals of Stop the Crisis was to enable students to carry Narcan, the opioid overdose antidote. We wanted it to be like having a first aid kit—something you have not because you expect the worst, but because you’re ready to help if you need to. The idea was simple: more people carrying Narcan means more lives saved.

I think about that mindset a lot in my nursing practice. So much of our job is about being prepared for what might happen. We assess, we anticipate, we intervene early. The same principle applies to overdose prevention. You don’t wait until someone is seriously ill to learn what to do. You practice. You talk about it. You take action before things spiral.

Carrying Narcan is a small act that can make a huge difference. Teaching people how to use it showed me just how empowered people feel when they know they can help. It also showed me how often people are willing to step up when given the chance. That stays with me.

Meeting People Where They Are

We held trainings in libraries, in lounges, sometimes even in classrooms right after lecture. Wherever people wanted to gather, we did. We didn’t expect people to come to us—we went to them. That philosophy—meeting people where they are—is something I’ve tried to carry over into nursing.

In healthcare, we sometimes expect patients to fit neatly into our systems. But real life doesn’t work that way. People don’t always have stable housing. They don’t always have access to medication. They don’t always trust the medical system. Meeting people where they are means taking the time to understand their barriers, their fears, and their realities.

It also means not judging. One of the core principles of our Narcan trainings was that you don’t need to know someone’s backstory to save their life. You just need to care enough to act. I think about that every time I take care of someone experiencing an overdose or going through withdrawal. They don’t need a lecture. They need compassion. They need care.

Carrying the Work Forward

Stop the Crisis eventually dissolved, which was bittersweet. It had done important work, and it was time for people to move on. But the impact it had on me hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s grown.

Now, when I care for patients who use substances, I do it with more empathy. I’m not afraid to have open conversations. I don’t assume I know their story. And I never forget that a few minutes of education—or a small act like handing someone Narcan—can ripple into something much bigger.

I always have at least one dose of Narcan in my bag. I don’t leave the house without it, and I never leave it behind on a night out. Not because I expect to use it, but because I want to be ready. Because I believe that part of being a nurse—part of being a human—is stepping up when someone’s in crisis.

Volunteering with Stop the Crisis didn’t just teach me about overdose response. It taught me about responsibility, community, and the quiet, often invisible ways that nurses show up in the world. And I’ll carry that with me, always.