I Went
to School in
a Rowboat

BY DR. KATHERINE CHUBBS
The Good Samaritan Society

SEPTEMBER 7, 2026

I went to school in a rowboat.

That’s where my story begins.

I grew up in a remote community in Labrador, about 50 people. My father was a fisherman, and my mother owned the only business in town. We had a summer home and a winter home, and twice a year we would travel inland and then back to the ocean.

I remember when we didn’t have bathrooms. I remember when we didn’t have hot water or television. We were, in many ways, about 50 years behind other parts of the country.

And when you’re 14 or 15 years old, if you want to continue your education, you have to leave. So I did. I moved away from home to live with strangers. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

 

Where You Learn to Carry More Than Yourself

After high school, I got married, had our first child, and started nursing
school. That was my first time really leaving Labrador behind.

When I returned to work in a remote community, I was often the only nurse. You are everything in that role: mental health, homecare, emergency response, sometimes even policing. You are the system.

And in that kind of environment, you learn quickly what responsibility really means. You also learn where the gaps are. Where people don’t have access, where systems don’t reach and where support depends on who is willing to step forward.

That stayed with me.

 

What You Choose to Carry Forward

Throughout my career, I’ve had the opportunity to work in many different communities, including Indigenous communities across the country.

And early on, I made a decision. That part of my role, no matter where I was, would be to help bend the curve for people who could benefit from my support. Not as a separate initiative but as part of the work itself. Because once you’ve seen those gaps up close, it’s hard to look away.

 

Finding Your Voice

One of the biggest challenges I’ve had to navigate is knowing when, and how, to speak. There is so much that needs to be said. And at times, I’ve felt the weight of needing to be thoughtful in how I say it. To ensure that what I’m bringing forward is understood not as personal, but as grounded in evidence and experience.

There are moments where I rely on data, because I know that’s what people listen to. But there are also things that data can’t fully capture. The lived experience, the history, and the feeling of being part of something that others don’t always understand.

Balancing those two has been one of the hardest parts.

 

What Gave Me My Voice

Education changed that for me. It gave me a way to speak into spaces where I might not have otherwise been heard. It gave me credibility in systems that rely on it.

But just as important, I go back to my values. I believe in being my genuine self, always. I believe in caring, compassion, and community. And I believe invoice.

Because there are not many people who come from where I come from who are in positions where they can speak into these systems. And I take that responsibility seriously.

 

What It Means to Make a Difference

There are moments in my career that have stayed with me. Work that has come full circle.

I think about cancer care in Newfoundland and Labrador; how people from Labrador began to say their experience was different because of the work we had done. And then seeing a family member go through that same system, witnessing the impact firsthand. Or the work with communities facing the opioid crisis; building infrastructure, creating access, and seeing real change in people’s lives.

Those are the moments that matter. Not because of the work itself. But
because of what it changes for someone else.

 

Why It Matters

I’m in the later part of my career now. And I think about that often.

Every day has to be meaningful. Not in a grand way. But in a way that reflects why I started.

Because for me, leadership has never been about the role. It’s about what that role allows you to do. The ability to create change, to speak when it matters, and to stand in spaces where others can’t and say the things that need to be said.

Because if not me, then who?