BEFORE MY ACCIDENT, MY LIFE APPEARED INCREDIBLY well-managed and quite successful. I took pride in my hard work and ability to make my clients’ seemingly impossible dreams come true. My friends, family, and clients assumed I could do everything. From a distance, it looked like I accomplished everything effortlessly and gracefully. When I stepped out for the day, I made sure that my outfits were on point, along with my hair and light makeup.
The image I gave the world was one of “Boss Mom” ready to take on any challenge. To my friends, I was their touchstone; to my clients, I was their problem solver; to my family, I was their feathered nest. When something went south or if someone needed a helping hand, I was always there for them, no questions asked. I prided myself on my calm yet assertive demeanor and ability to get shit done.
Ironically, the narrative I showed to the world differed from the fears and insecurities banging around in my head. My well- controlled mannerisms and glossy exterior gave no hint of self- doubt. But lurking behind the veiled curtain of my extraordinary life, my inner limiting beliefs and weaknesses stopped me from living a truly authentic life. Because of my traumatic childhood, I kept up my guard and was highly protective around new people. As a child of sexual abuse and single mom, I was always afraid that something could happen to my daughter. And when it came to men, I easily found faults and loopholes in my relationships. The diehard cynic in me refused to let down my walls or show my vulnerabilities.
Like so many others, especially mothers and women who have suffered from abuse, I kept calm and carried on, regardless of the storms brewing inside. My whole life, I solved problems and helped others, but I could never ask for help, share my vulnerabilities, or admit that I needed support.
Pre-crash, I was caught up in making sure my adult life was better than the burning heap of my childhood. I got very good at shutting down the bad shit, so that I could get through my days. I didn’t know how to share my tragedies or sorrows, nor did I want to. I struggled to show my vulnerabilities because, to me, that was admitting weakness. Reflecting on my past, it’s clear why I was a talented designer. I knew how to transform challenging rooms into stunning living spaces.
One critical aspect of this experience was gaining a new level of fearlessness and courage. I believe this accident and the following experiences I had during my recovery were essential parts of my growth. As much as it sucked, the pain and trauma of my accident served as a crucial turning point for my personal development.
This transformation was intensely physical, mental, and spiritual. I learned the importance of slowing down, listening to my body, and being present in each moment. It was a stark departure from my previous lifestyle in which the emphasis was always on doing more, achieving more, and never truly resting. Through this healing process, I discovered the power of mindfulness, the strength in vulnerability, and the peace that comes from genuinely connecting with oneself. It was as though I were learning to breathe anew, to see the world through lenses tinted with gratitude and wonder rather than through the gray hues of relentless productivity.