Not Just a Space to Sit

Most people don’t think twice about waiting rooms. They’re just a place you sit before you’re called back. But now that I work in one—well, near one—I’ve come to see it differently. The waiting room is where a lot of the emotional energy in healthcare lives. It’s where anxiety builds, where conversations start, and where people often begin to form their impressions of the care they’re about to receive. It’s not just a physical space. It’s a human one.

As a nurse in an internal medicine clinic, I’ve spent a good amount of time stepping in and out of our waiting room—calling names, giving directions, and making quick connections. But over time, I’ve realized that even those brief moments can be important. You can tell a lot from the way someone sits, whether they make eye contact, or if they’re wringing their hands while staring at the floor. And while most people don’t want to be in a waiting room, they all come for a reason—and they all carry something with them that doesn’t show up on a chart.

Quiet Tension, Unspoken Stories

There’s a quiet kind of tension in waiting rooms. Some patients are nervous about a diagnosis. Others are exhausted from navigating the system. Some have had a dozen appointments in the last month; others haven’t seen a doctor in years. But they all wait the same way—quietly, often impatiently, sometimes with frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

It’s easy to overlook that. I’ve had moments when I was focused on getting through a long morning, only to call a name and be met with a heavy sigh or a blank stare. During my training, I might have taken that personally. Now, I take it as a signal. That person is carrying something, and this appointment, even just speaking with me before seeing the provider, might feel like one more thing they have to push through. In healthcare, it’s easy to think that a bad attitude is just how that person is, but really, it’s a reflection that a need is not being met. I always try to find out what someone needs, or what will make them feel ready to participate in their care. 

So I try to meet people gently. I greet them by name, make eye contact, and let them set the tone. If they want to talk, I listen. If they’re quiet, I don’t push. Sometimes, just treating someone like a human being rather than a checklist entry can make all the difference.

Unexpected Conversations

One of my favorite things is when a patient starts talking in the hallway on the way to the exam room. It might be something simple—asking how long the wait will be, or joking about the weather—but it often turns into something more. I’ve had people tell me about being scared for an upcoming test, about the positive changes they’ve made in their lifestyle, or about feeling dismissed in previous visits elsewhere. These conversations don’t always make it into the chart, but they stay with me.

The waiting room is often the first place people rehearse what they’re going to say. They might be planning how to ask about a new symptom or working up the courage to tell us they don’t think their medication is working for them. By the time they’re in front of a nurse or provider, the emotions have been simmering for a while. Recognizing that gives me more patience when someone seems short-tempered or shut down.

The Role of Staff in Setting the Tone

It’s not just patients who set the energy of the waiting room. Staff play a big role, too. The way we greet people, the speed at which we check them in, the clarity of our communication—it all matters. Patients notice when we’re warm and welcoming. They also notice when we’re rushed or distracted.

I’ve learned that being present, even for 30 seconds, can shift someone’s entire experience. I try to remember that what’s routine for me might be a big deal for them. Maybe they had to take time off work, find child care, or work through healthcare anxiety just to get here. It is my duty to treat them with kindness from the moment they arrive.

Lessons in Empathy

The waiting room has taught me a lot about empathy. It’s easy to assume that care starts when the visit begins—but really, it starts long before that. It starts in the tone we use at the front desk. It starts in the effort someone makes to show up at all. It starts in that uncomfortable chair, surrounded by strangers, waiting for answers they might not want to hear.

I’ve learned not to underestimate the courage it takes to come in. I’ve learned that frustration is often a mask for fear. And I’ve learned that small acts of connection, like offering water, apologizing for a delay, or asking how someone is doing can help ease the stress of waiting.

More Than a Holding Space

When I think about the waiting room now, I don’t just see chairs and clipboards. I see a space full of stories that I will become a part of. I see people showing up in the midst of uncertainty, often hoping that someone will listen and take them seriously. And I see a team of staff doing their best to make those moments a little more tolerable.

As a nurse, I don’t control the schedule or the wait times. But I do get to decide how I show up in those in-between moments. I can choose to see people clearly, to meet them with empathy, and to make the process feel just a little less sterile.

At the end of the day, healthcare isn’t just about treatment plans and lab results. It’s about people. And often, the first place we meet them is in the waiting room.