It’s been five years. It’s awfully surreal. So long ago. But also yesterday.
For better or worse, anniversaries make us pause and reflect, don’t they? I’ve struggled with what to say about where I am with the whole ordeal of the crash, five years in. Or to say anything at all.
But I think it’s important to acknowledge this unfortunate anniversary. And be honest about the path to this point. Because it’s an endless path. It changes, yes. But there simply isn’t an end-point in this journey of living with the fallout from an event like this in my life, both physically and emotionally. It’s a life sentence for someone else’s error.
The pain sucks
I’m fairly accustomed to my “new normal” physically at this point. There’s never a day it doesn’t suck. There’s just sort of a baseline suckage and it goes downhill from there.
Yes, I still do a lot of what I love for the most part. But even on the best days, there’s still pain management. Physical therapy will be with me forever. I can never let my guard down on that or I end up hurting worse.
I’m always aware of the rod in my femur and the clips holding my cobbled-together femoral artery intact. The scars suck and are a constant, unpleasant reminder. One of these days I’ll get some gorgeous tattoo to make something better of them. But I’ve got other things to tend to right now.
And I still slam up against unexpected limitations. In a motorcycle skills class back in September, my leg failed me. Big time. I didn’t see that coming. I’ve worked really damn hard for the last five years to rebuild strength and mobility and have made great progress. But it wasn’t enough to handle the bikes we used there. I spent the day in a spiral of frustration and failure.
Most days are fine now, though. The emotional roller coaster is less and less tumultuous with the passing days. But it’s always there. And I never know when I won’t be in charge of how that plays out.
There is a certain hint of melancholy to this anniversary. I imagine there always will be. But in the end, I’m ok in spite of the struggle to get to a good place and stay there. I still do a lot of cool stuff. And I still have wonderful people in my life who love me. I’m still a happy person. And I’ll still keep on doing my thing.
The point I find myself coming around to in this post is a message to you all—be deliberate and kind with your words to the people in your life who are in similar situations. Remember the malleable but permanent nature of these things in our human experience. Honor their struggle. Take care you’re not unintentionally dismissive about the fact that it’s carried with that person every day at some level or another, even years later. There’s no such thing as “back to normal” in these scenarios. There’s just moving forward.
But this is the post I’ve been trying to write for the last three years. Equally as important as knowing how to deal with trauma yourself is understanding how to help someone you love through it. It comes with some tough love and honest words.
Writing this one has been so much harder. Why? Because it requires others to listen and consider their words and actions in the wake of a traumatic event. Not as the perpetrator but as the people caring for those who have been hurt.
What to say? What to do? What to avoid? Hopefully this will provide some insight into what you can do for someone you love who is suffering that helps instead of hurts them further.
A reminder: while there is some overlap in trauma as a general concept, I’m speaking as a layperson with the experience of a crash to contend with. Some of this may apply to other traumatic events as well but that’s far outside of my experience. This is for people who have a loved one who is an active, adventurous person—be that hiking, motorcycling, bicycling, rock climbing, or similar—and they’ve suffered a major life-changing injury.
There is life after trauma. With care, you can help your loved one get there.
When you love a victim of trauma
As you can imagine, in the course of the last three years, I’ve had a lot discussions about the crash and the concept of trauma. I’ve watched the people around me try to understand and navigate their own version of processing what happened to me in a variety of ways. Here are some tips if you have someone you care about and you want to be the most supportive person possible to them:
When a person is devastated by grief, the last thing they need is advice. Their world has been shattered. This means that the act of inviting someone—anyone—into their world is an act of great risk. To try and fix or rationalize or wash away their pain only deepens their terror.
DON’T make it about you. A victim of trauma is well aware that their incident impacts those around them. But they need to focus on their recovery, not have guilt and baggage added to the long list of intense emotions they are already feeling. If you need to talk about your feelings, do it with someone else, preferably a professional who can help you help them better.
DO listen and show compassion. Without judgment. Without asking for every gory detail to fulfill your need to know what happened.
DON’T try to convince your loved one to try to look on the bright side or be grateful. The victim is confused, scared, grieving, and angry.
DO acknowledge their pain and suffering. Don’t minimize it by comparing it to other situations that you deem to be worse.
DON’T be surprised by the waves of good days and bad. Even years later, the memory can be triggered in a powerful way that takes the victim back to that place in which they relive it with nearly the same intensity. It can’t be turned off. It isn’t a choice. Recovery isn’t linear.
DO honor when they want to talk about their situation and when they don’t.
DON’T try to fix them. Just ride the process with them. You can’t make it go faster or take it away.
DO understand that ongoing medical, financial, and (possibly) legal issues drag out the trauma and stress. It’s overwhelming and sustains the feelings of assault and victimization long after the event itself.
DON’T insinuate trauma is about overcoming the odds to find out what you’re made of. It is not as simple as pulling yourself up by your bootstraps and moving on or being stronger. Strength may come as a result somewhere along but the way but it can’t be forced. More so and more often, trauma victims feel powerless:
Powerlessness leads to fear and desperation. —Brene’ Brown
DON’T tell them it’s time to be past it/move on/stop dwelling. You don’t get to decide when they should be done suffering and grieving. Recovering from trauma isn’t about the victim making the choice to be happy.
DO offer to help. But understand they may or may not know what they need. Keep in mind that if your victim is a very independent person, accepting help will be a struggle. Be gentle, make suggestions. Be prepared for them not to accept the help or that there may be a delay before they do.
Don’t stifle their emotions. Their life has been turned upside down. There will be waves of different feelings, oftentimes many at once.
What not to say
Most people show well-intentioned attempts to offer comfort and encouragement to a victim of trauma. The problem is the language and approach used is often misguided. Be thoughtful and choose your words carefully when dealing with your loved one.
Here are some things to avoid saying because, believe it or not, they are dripping with judgment and criticism. I’ve heard all of them in the last three years (among so many others):
“At least it’s not a bad as…,” “Others have it so much worse,” or “It could have been so much worse.”
“Why were you…?” or “Why didn’t you…?” or “I would have…”
In general, these type of statements fall in various categories of victim blaming, minimization, dismissiveness, or thoughtless platitudes. They don’t ease the victim’s pain or give them perspective; those statements are simply cruel. I could expound on that but again Tim Lawrence says it better than I do in Everything Doesn’t Happen for a Reason:
These myths are nothing more than platitudes cloaked as sophistication, and they preclude us from doing the one and only thing we must do when our lives are turned upside down: grieve.
To watch a loved one suffer is difficult. I get it. They key is remembering it’s not about you. Pain makes onlookers uncomfortable. Naturally so.
But all of these kinds of statements shut down the process of recovery. From Mark Manson’s How to Grow from your Pain:
There’s a stigma in our culture around sharing our pain. Unfortunately, disclosing that we’re hurting runs up against a number of taboos—that we should be positive and pleasant, that our problems are just that, our problems, and that the self-reliance of people means we get what we deserve.
For some more insight into how to communicate with a victim of trauma, please give this piece a very careful read. It’s called “Ring Theory Helps Us Bring Comfort In” and it’s brilliant.
Revisiting the scene of the trauma may or may not be right for your loved one. Follow their lead. Seek professional advice. If they need to cry, just let them cry and be there for them.Even from a distance, you can boost a trauma victim’s spirits. I felt very loved when my Hell Hike and Raft friends sent me bacon and bacon socks. Small gestures are often huge to someone who’s suffering.
The real narrative
I hate to break it to you, but no, I don’t feel like a bigger person for having suffered and having the opportunity to “figure out what I’m made of.” Quite honestly, I already knew. I’ve always known I’m tough. I’ve always known I’m strong. Now I’m a person in pain. Constantly. This event changed my life and not for the better. It took a tremendous amount from me. I still have intensely real flashbacks. Physically, everything is harder and I make adjustments every day to accommodate my diminished capacity.
I struggle with the accolades on how fiercely I’ve fought to get back to being me. I don’t want to be an icon or poster child for recovery but if it inspires others, that’s wonderful. I certainly drew inspiration from others’ stories and experiences yet that “silver lining” does not make what I’ve been through ok. There’s no enlightenment for having suffered at the hands of another person. I’m not grateful for it and I don’t have to be. To suggest I do is insensitive and ignorant at best. That narrative serves your needs, not mine.
From Rising Strong:
We much prefer stories about falling and rising to be inspirational and sanitized.
We like recovery stories to move quickly through the dark so we can get to the sweeping redemptive ending.
Navigating trauma sucks. It shakes you to your core. When it includes the need for physical recovery as well, it’s crushing. Yes, I have fought hard to get back to where I am now but there’s no being back to 100%. People ask me all the time if I am. They want to believe that can happen. It simply can’t. Not with this level of injury. Nic Korte put it quite well in his piece On Death’s Doors in the Grand Canyon:
People like to say, “You’re all healed now!” They want reassurance that when bad things happen, they can be erased. My recovery has been remarkable, yes, but the scars of the accident are permanent, both physical and mental.
My situation is much like that. We live in a time of social media in which little glimpses into each other’s lives distort the perspective of the challenge.
From Rising Strong:
On a cultural level, I think the absence of honest conversation about the hard work that takes us from lying facedown in the arena to rising strong has led to two dangerous outcomes: the propensity to gold-plate grit and a badassery deficit.
The work involved in a massive physical recovery can feel insurmountable to a victim of trauma. Be their cheerleader. Be prepared for a long haul in keeping them motivated.Doing the things they love will sometimes be bittersweet as they adjust to their new physical state. There will be very, very hard days.
Final thoughts
I hope you never have to help someone navigate trauma. It sucks. It’s painful to watch someone you love suffer. So many people want to help but don’t have the proper tools and words. I hope this has given you some insight in how to help them without inadvertently furthering their suffering.
As for the gratitude that people think a victim of trauma should have, trust me, they do. But not in the way that’s often demanded of them. Having gratitude is separate from the anger and grief of the event itself. Emotions are not mutually exclusive. I’m not grateful for the trauma but I am supremely grateful for the people who saved my life and those who have helped me over the last three years.
It’s sharing our own personal pain that allows us to move beyond it. Because it’s one thing to just sit and intellectualize our problems to ourselves. But once we share and mold that meaning out in the world around us, our pain becomes something outside of us. And because it’s now outside of us, we are finally able to live without it.
Cheers, friends! Adventure on and be kind with your words.
Overcoming fear and doubt is a huge challenge. Know that seeing your loved one get back to being themselves is the biggest reward you can hope for as a caregiver.It’s a wonderful world out there. I hope these tips are helpful if you ever need to help someone you love navigate trauma in their lives.
I imagine most of you are familiar with the movie Thelma and Louise and its tale of two women finding their strength through a series of unexpected and escalating ordeals. In one of the most enduring scenes towards the end of the film, Geena Davis’ character, Thelma, says to Louise “I feel awake. Wide awake. I don’t ever remember feeling this awake. You know what I mean? Everything looks different. You feel like that too? Like you got something to look forward to?”
In the wake of the crash and other complicated life stuff that compounded the stress, the past two years have been more challenging than rewarding. It hasn’t all been miserable of course, but there’s been an underlying weariness and dullness even in the bright moments. I’ve had to dig deep into the depths of what fortitude I possess to manage all of it.
Throughout this time I continued to do the things I knew I loved even when they didn’t necessarily fill me with the same awe and excitement as before. Those things—riding motorcycles, hiking, traveling, exploring—still felt good. Pleasant. Nice. There was happiness in them. But muted.
In the last couple of months there’s been a shift. I feel like me again. I have genuine, deep delight in life once more—meeting new people, going new places, learning new things. I’m once again fully engaged in life with joy and amazement.
Mental gymnastics
From the beginning of my recovery process, I knew that being true to myself was crucial. In my head I knew I needed to anchor myself in what I loved before the crash. Emotionally though, that was an extraordinary challenge because pursuing those things didn’t always feel good or the challenges seemed physically overwhelming with my damaged body.
In all of this time I expended a lot of energy dancing between forcing myself to focus on the positive and allowing myself to feel all of the inevitable anger, frustration, and grief. Make no mistake about the deep and lasting impact trauma of any kind has on someone and the burden of dealing with it on top of the other tasks of life.
Holding on to what I love and giving myself a new start in Nevada.
That all-encompassing self-doubt had broad implications, including making it a struggle to keep this blog going and all of the writing, business, and social media that goes along with that. A lot of the time I just didn’t care about keeping any of it going. I knew I love doing this but mustering enough enthusiasm was exhausting. With sheer will power I had to develop almost a blind trust that at some point life would fall back into place. I convinced myself that if I simply kept showing up and participating as best as I could, life would work itself out.
There was no magic moment when that happened. Just enough fading of stressors, memories, and challenges. And enough time to put mental distance between myself and them. Enough time to figure out how to manage my body as it is now and still be able to enjoy doing the things I love. Enough time to come to terms with the pain and difficulty that are a daily part of my life now.
Some might file this under “Time heals all wounds.” I don’t. I’ve learned to hate that patronizing, dismissive cliche’. Time gives you the space to cope and weave bad experiences into the fabric. Maybe time even fades the memories a little. But I would in no way call it healing in the implied sense that people often use that phrase. They imply that the healing is erasure.
In this process, I also made a collection of choices that have helped me get to this point. The bulk were small to moderate decisions and re-prioritizing after asking myself questions like “Is this adding to my life?,” “I want _____; how do I achieve that?,” “What do I want more of? Less of?” Those little choices added up but there were big notable ones that provided the framework—getting back on the bike and moving to Nevada. Both were extraordinarily difficult and more worthwhile than I can articulate. I think it’s poetic that one represents holding on to a core value and the other giving myself a clean slate from which to rebuild.
The triumph of overcoming obstacles felt wonderful. But was always followed by dismay from the pain and exertion of the attempt.
And so I find myself happy and vibrant again. Awake. Aware. Confident. Unlike Thelma who was unfamiliar with that feeling, I knew it before. I loved that feeling and I wanted it back. Badly. One of the overriding sensations of rediscovering it is relief. Profound, extreme relief. I’ll confess that there was so much of this time I thought I’d never get here, that I’d never get myself back no matter how hard I worked at it. That I wouldn’t be able to move beyond simply getting by. That my greatest loss of this ordeal would be to never have that feeling again.
There were surges when I thought “This is great. I’m better.” Only to have that feeling fall away or get buried underneath a new round of challenges. Those waves felt good but the crash afterward continually undermined me. I felt like I couldn’t trust the positive surges. I knew I was getting there at the one-year mark but I began to fear there would be an upper limit. That I’d never fully be Val again.
Of those who have spent time with me in the last two years, most would probably say I seemed happy and myself. I was never gone, just incomplete. Allowing myself to enjoy the good moments wasn’t about hiding my struggle or being disingenuous. It was about letting good moments be good and not carrying all of the painful weight of the last two years on my sleeve. That’s too heavy a burden for myself and the people around me. There was certainly plenty of talk with my closest friends who helped me through this. With the larger audience much of time I was simply tired of talking about it.
Peace
Despite being ok, I still struggle with the effects of trauma. I always will. But it doesn’t run my life anymore. Given the longevity of this process and the head-spinning ups and downs I’ve hesitated to announce “I’m better!”
So why is today different? It just is. I can’t explain it other than it feels different. I feel light, free—in a way I haven’t in the last two years. I have the same sense of giddy excitement about doing the things I love that I used to. None of the events and struggles have been erased but in the deepest core of who I am I know I’ve made my peace with the last two years.
I’m back, friends.
I feel awake.
It finally feels truly, deeply good to be in the saddle again.
Today marks an unwelcome anniversary: the second year since my near-fatal motorcycle crash at the hands of a negligent driver.
I intended to write this last year on the first anniversary. It turns out I wasn’t ready. I knew at that point I’d be ok, but I still had a lot of processing to do. The trouble with trauma is that it requires processing for the rest of your life. It isn’t finite. But I’ve come a long way with a lot of hard work and attention to addressing it.
Obviously I’m no doctor or therapist. I’m simply a person trying to navigate the cloudy waters of a life-changing experience. But now seems like the right time to circle back around and talk about some of my experiences.
There is a lot of overlap in the concepts of dealing with trauma. I can in no way speak for all of the other kinds of trauma out there: abuse, neglect, assault, combat, death, divorce, and more. The list of ways we can suffer trauma is extensive. Each one is different and needs to be handled as such.
Understanding Trauma
It’s been two years yet it often feels like yesterday that I lay in the trauma center fighting for my life.
Trauma is a conundrum. The medical community itself is still grappling with awareness of what constitutes trauma, how it alters us in the human experience, and the best practices in dealing with it. Which means for a lay person like myself to try to articulate the experience is daunting. But also necessary, I think.
What seems clear from my minor research is that trauma fundamentally changes the brain. Emotional and physical responses to trauma and the lasting memory of it are involuntary. Those who are outside of the trauma looking in at the victim must understand that these reactions are not chosen, they are not manufactured, nor are they a sign of weakness.
Here are a few things I’ve learned in the last two years. It’s by no means an exhaustive list but it’s a starting point of some things to keep in mind if you’re ever faced with the trauma of a crash (especially at someone else’s hands) or a similar dramatic injury.
Seek professional help. Right away. Even if you think you’re doing ok. There will be surprises as you move forward. I didn’t seek help until about six months into my recovery. Having an impartial, trained professional to help me navigate the magnitude of what I was facing would have been a great benefit earlier on. In my case, I chose a therapist who specializes in DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) which is based on mindfulness. It has been extraordinarily helpful in general, as well as helping me deal with everything related to the crash.
Understand grief, anger, and sadness will come in powerful, unexpected waves. The path is not linear. You will get caught off guard by strong emotions and reactions. That’s normal. You’ll need to develop techniques to manage your responses when they come. A professional can help you develop those techniques. That’s why getting help early on is so important. Having a bad day isn’t a setback, it’s part of the process. From The Science of How Our Minds Work:
In trauma survivors … the parts of the brain that have evolved to monitor for danger remain over-activated and even the slightest sign of danger, real or misperceived, can trigger an acute stress response accompanied by intense unpleasant emotions and overwhelming sensations.
…grief is like surfing. Sometimes you feel steady and you’re able to ride the waves, and other times the surf comes crashing down on you, pushing you so far underwater that you’re sure you’ll drown.
Tap into your support network. You’ll need help, emotionally as well as physically. For independent spirits accepting that help can be very difficult. The outpouring of support in the wake of my crash was overwhelming. I will be forever grateful to every single person who helped me in ways both large and small. When you’re used to living a large, adventurous life, the sudden and complete incapacity is crushing. But having people bring you food, take you to medical checkups, fetch your medications, shuttle your children to school, help you bathe, or simply just hang out with you when you can’t even leave your home is extraordinary. The bonus is having greater bonds with the people who help you. If you struggle with accepting help, keep this in mind from Rising Strong:
In a culture of scarcity and perfectionism, asking for help can be shaming if we’re not raised to understand how seeking help is human and foundational to connection.
Minimize compounded stress. Along with the injury itself comes the financial strain of medical bills and possibly the inability to work. If your situation also involves legal matters that escalates the stress even more. All of these feed on each other. Seek whatever external help you can to manage some of those things for you. It’s important to pull as much stress off of yourself as humanly possible so you can focus on the healing and recovery tasks that others simply cannot do for you.
A schedule and a tidy physical space provide safety for trauma victims to sort through their range of feelings, memories, and fears.
Getting back to what you love helps you reclaim your power.
Trust in what you know you love. Take steps to return to what you love even though it may not feel good at first. I know deep down what my core joys are: yoga, hiking, motorcycling, and travel. Even though participating in those activities was a struggle with pain and insecurity I knew I had to get back to them, that they were a connection to “me,” and would be a stabilizing force in my life. This offers something that feels like control when your world has spun so wildly off of its axis.
Read and learn. Create understanding about what you’re going through. It demystifies the experience. Knowledge is always empowering. Having resources helps break the process into manageable and actionable items instead of wandering in a state of overwhelmed confusion. While not directly related to a trauma experience, one of the tools that allowed me to make a huge leap forward is Brene’ Brown’s book, Rising Strong.
We become resilient when we break through our isolation and involve ourselves in our communities.
Don’t hesitate to change course. If the tools, professionals, and/or friendships you are using for support don’t appear to help, explore more options. If the people who are “helping” you are making you feel worse, keep them at a distance. It’s crucial to be surrounded by support. Every interaction, especially early on, can shape your recovery. This is not a time to be polite if someone is undermining your recovery, even unintentionally.
Keep working. It will be tempting to think you’re at the end of the progress you can make, especially further down the line when you’re tired of working so hard at it for so long. You may think “This is as good as it gets. And it really sucks.” Unfortunately it’s a really long haul but there is still more progress you can make. You’ll have to fight for it. Get more help. Or different help. But keep going.
Find an outlet. With some time, you’ll have processed enough of your experience to be a resource for others in a similar position. Helping others by sharing your experience creates empathy and combats the alienation that can come with trauma. You’ll need a certain amount of emotional distance from your trauma before that can happen. I knew I wasn’t ready a year ago but I know I am now. From Rising Strong:
Hurt is hurt, and every time we honor our own struggle and the struggles of others by responding with empathy and compassion, the healing that results affects all of us.
…writing about emotional upheavals for just fifteen to twenty minutes a day on four consecutive days can decrease anxiety, rumination, and depressive symptoms and boost our immune systems.
Change your expectations. This is a hard one with a long arc to achieve. Recovery doesn’t mean life becomes easier. Or that it goes back to what it was. Give yourself time to reframe your experience and know you won’t be the same person on the other side. I fought to get back to “me” for a long time before accepting I’m a different me now. The difficulty with trauma is that it marks a sudden change forced upon you, far outside the natural progression of changes we face throughout life. But it’s a change that needs to be absorbed. From Rising Strong:
But in those moments when disappointment is washing over us and we’re desperately trying to get our heads and hearts around what is or is not going to be, the death of our expectations can be painful beyond measure.
Parting Thoughts
Moving through trauma isn’t linear. Even two years after I was hit by a car, some days I own the intersection where it happened, some days I struggle to go through it, some days I avoid it altogether.
I’m fortunate to have weathered this without depression overtaking me. But it’s been a battle on par with my physical recovery. To reconcile the role of a traumatic event in your life story without letting it define you requires some mental gymnastics. It’s a path that I’ll have to manage for the rest of my life. Again, from Rising Strong:
The irony is that we attempt to disown our difficult stories to appear more whole or more acceptable, but our wholeness— even our wholeheartedness— actually depends on the integration of all of our experiences, including the falls.
Our job is not to deny the story, but to defy the ending…
I hope having these tips in advance is helpful if you ever find your world turned on its head like mine was on that Sunday afternoon.
Coming Up
This is a huge topic; one I originally tried to boil down to a single post. As it grew, I thought it more appropriate to split it. So next time we’ll talk about the other side of this… how to help when someone you love is the victim of trauma.
Visualizing what I wanted to get back to was a powerful tool.
And yesterday I was out riding my motorcycle. It was an eerily similar scenario as far as weather and timing go: A severe-clear Sunday afternoon. Roughly 50 degrees. Streets somewhat quiet by metro-Atlanta standards.
Near home, I stopped into a store to deal with some life stuff. I had to wait for a bit. No problem, except for the heightened awareness of how close-by I was to “the” intersection. The place where I was hit by a car, and nearly killed. Feeling out-of-sorts, I noticed a familiar headlight directly outside the door. Yep, there sat the exact make and model of the car that crushed my leg and much of my life one year ago.
With some mental gymnastics and the use of some coping skills I’ve learned in therapy, I managed the situation. Then I rode home with renewed fervor, determination, and a sense of burgeoning freedom from the ghosts of this past year.
I have not yet found peace. But I see it on the horizon.
There hasn’t been one defining turning point in this process. There have been several hard-earned shifts in the path.
I’ve battled to maintain my fierceness over the last year. After rising above yesterday’s challenge, though, I finally know I’m on the downhill side of the bumpy road through trauma. I win.
Tomorrow marks my forty-fourth birthday. I view birthdays as personal new year: a time to reflect, assess, and consider the previous year. Birthdays are usually safe from the turmoil of other holidays so it’s easier to be more thoughtful. This year, more than ever, I’m grateful for the amazing support of the people who love me. And for a fabulous therapist. Just keeping it real, y’all.
Sitting down to write this annual birthday post and looking back at this particular year, I go a bit numb. I like that better than the flood of emotions that still overwhelms me some days. This year has been one of extraordinary pain. And stress. It has been a roller coaster of raw emotions that run the gamut between hope and despair. Navigating those extremes on nearly a daily basis for almost a full circle around the sun so far has taken its toll.
But let’s back up
I never wanted to be the person who woke up one day realizing she’s old and didn’t really live her life. Or develops a terminal illness before trying to live a life in earnest.
When I was diagnosed with a pituitary tumor just before my 40th birthday, I realized I wasn’t being true enough to that mindset. I wasn’t achieving the balance I wanted. The tumor was a highly treatable situation, if still difficult and unpleasant. It felt like I’d dodged a bullet and I didn’t want to squander my reality check. With careful attention, I’ve managed to strike a better balance in my life since then. As a result, I’ve had some incredible experiences.
I can tell you I’m very glad I did some epic things in the time between the tumor and the crash. Unfortunately, now that I see what my permanent limitations are, I will simply never be able to do some of those things again. Certainly not in the same way or at the same level. Even daily tasks present new challenges.
Since I resolved to be more deliberate in directing my life’s path, I also created and nurtured the mindset and lifestyle that has helped carry me through this ongoing recovery. I’ve needed every drop in the bucket.
Eat the Cupcake
A recovery of this magnitude takes a lot of time. I’m still working on both the physical and emotional aspects of that. And I will be for a quite a while longer before I entirely recalibrate.
The day before Halloween, I was having a very, very bad time dealing with the emotions that come with life-changing trauma. But I needed to pick up a cake at a local bakery for a friend and I was trying to keep moving forward with my life in spite of being overwhelmed.
Another woman was there picking up a cake as well. She was having an amusing debate with the clerk about whether or not to get a cupcake for herself. With a bit of wink and nudge, she looked at me and said:
“You never know, I could get hit by the bread truck tomorrow.”
I uttered one of those ironic, involuntary, guttural laughs. I had to summon every ounce of composure and strength I possess to hold back the tears, grief, pain, and frustration that wanted to surge forth like a wildfire. After a moment (or maybe ten…) I smiled at her and said:
“Trust me, eat the cupcake.”
Afterward, I went to my favorite outdoor respite and sobbed helplessly for I don’t know how long, consumed by all the emotions of everything about this ordeal up to that point. When I relayed the story to my therapist, even she winced at the thought of this little exchange, knowing how difficult it was for me.
The woman, of course, had no idea she’d just said that to someone who’d recently actuallybeen hit by a car. It was simply an off-hand remark expressing something we all know but don’t necessarily honor in the big picture of running our lives—that it can change or end at any moment.
The bigger picture
In spite of this, you might be surprised that I’ve never been a fan of the “Live every day like it’s your last!” message. Let’s face it, that’s not realistic or healthy. We all recognize in theory that our lives are fleeting but we still have to do the laundry and pay the bills. Not every day can be epic. A life well-lived has a rhythm. One that requires you to protect your future while not banking on days that may not come. That’s the challenge.
I do believe in keeping your bucket full, though. That’s the emotional savings account for hard times.
So eat the cupcake. Maybe not every day, but when it makes sense to get your life back in balance.
Live large and adventure on, friends.
The Birthday Series
Fifty-four: Using My Powers For GoodFifty-three: Wake Up CallFifty-two: Full CirclesFifty-one: The Messy MiddleFifty: Leaning Into LifeForty-Nine: Keep Moving ForwardForty-Eight: Be Where Your Feet AreForty-Seven: The Most Important QuestionForty-Six: GratitudeForty-Five: Celebrating with AdventureForty-Four: Eat the CupcakeForty-Three: The Depth of LifeForty-Two: Another Year of PerspectiveForty-One: Another Notch on the Birthday BeltForty: Getting Real
I don’t have a formula for you. I can only share my experience. I do know that mine has had three important pieces to the puzzle so far: logistical, physical, and emotional. And they’re all intimately connected.
For those of you who need a recap, the short version is that on January 25th, 2015, I was hit by a car while riding my motorcycle. The driver didn’t see me.
My left leg took a direct hit from the car, crushing it against my Bonneville. It left me with a shaft fracture in my femur and a shredded femoral artery. The injuries required a titanium rod and screws and a saphenous-femoral bypass to repair. There’s a laundry list of other injuries to go with it but “Frankenleg” has been the governing factor in my recovery.
Regaining your body…
I’ve come a long way in seven months. I’m not 100%. I’m learning to accept I never will be. But I will get as close as I can.
So much of returning to motorcycling is physical, obviously. There’s no two ways about it… the only way you get back to your life after major injuries to work hard. There’s no fast-forward or easy pass. Your body will never be the same, but you have to push for closing the gap as much as possible.
Sometimes I feel numb when I think of the countless hours with my physical therapist as well as working on my own. Through six weeks of non-weight-bearing frustration, learning to walk again, trying to rebuild strength and stamina. I’ve fought hard. I’ve cried my way through exercises and yoga more times than I truly care to admit. It hasn’t been pretty.
Having said that, the people involved in my recovery are fairly astonished at my progress. When I step back to look at my journey, I know what I’ve accomplished in the last seven months is remarkable given the extent of my injuries. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to be done working so hard to reclaim my life and being frustrated at not being further along. But the specter of living a half-life urges me onward.
The mental game…
Plowing through this kind of recovery is a roller coaster. I’ve had lots of good days. Ones that feel like it will all be ok someday soon.
Revisiting an unhappy place in order to put it behind me.
And lots of bad. Ones that leave me feeling defeated. Crushed. Days when clinging to tenacity seems a fool’s errand.
I’m not an expert on trauma and recovery. I’ve pieced this process together one day at a time. But as my fellow blogger, Jen Charrette, eloquently said… you have to keep showing up. At first, that’s all it is. Just showing up. Getting out of bed each day. You build from there.
I’ve learned a few other things along the way:
A support network is crucial. An army of friends, family, doctors, and therapists all play into your ability to keep moving forward. From the early days of not being able to care for myself through getting back on the bike, the support I’ve received has taken so many forms.
Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Tap into your tribe. The people who care about you want to help. And they might need your help one day. Then you can repay their generosity.
It’s ok to acknowledge it sucks. It’s ok to grieve. But don’t dwell in that place. If you’re struggling with it, get help. The sooner, the better.
Give it everything you have. The alternative is languishing in disappointment and what-ifs. Your life has changed but it isn’t over. Reclaim all you can.
Look for inspiration in other stories. Let other successes help calibrate what you can accomplish. Seeing what others have overcome is fantastic motivation.
Back on the bike…
It took five months for me to return to motorcycling. As much as I wanted it, there were a lot of obstacles to overcome. Building enough strength to handle a motorcycle was one step. Overcoming the mental barriers was another entirely.
The best advice I’ve read to date is from the fabulous Liz Jansen. Her tips on riding after a crash are spot on. They are wise words and an important reminder that this is not a simple or easy process even for an experienced rider.
I managed a solo ride on my second day back in the saddle.
When it came time to face riding again, the factors that kept running through my mind were:
I hadn’t ridden in five months.
I had new physical limitations and uncertainties. I was no where near 100%. I’m still not.
I had a brand-new, unfamiliar bike.
The last time I rode ended in a life-changing trauma.
So I broke it down into steps:
I rode pillion with a friend first. I was only responsible for holding on but it was the boost I needed to take the next steps and recapture the joy of riding.
I enlisted the help of an experienced rider to head out with me the first time. I ride solo much of the time but I knew that would be foolish under the circumstances. So my buddy John Cloonan joined me. I knew I was ready but I was also uncertain what would shake out once I got back on the throttle. Having John patiently riding behind me was a great comfort.
I returned to the MSF Campus for a Bike Bonding course. Just like when I was learning to ride, having focused time on a closed course with knowledgable instructors was priceless. And using one of their nimble little 300F bikes for practice instead of my mine reduced the stress of performing low-speed skills since that’s when you’re most likely to drop the bike. The pressure of worrying about damaging my new bike would have been a distraction from reforming my motorcycling skills.
More training was part of my strategy to regain my riding confidence.
To my surprise, my first ride with John went really well considering. My skills were not as abysmal as I expected them to be. Admittedly, my cornering was not fantastic. And it took a great deal of concentration to not be too jumpy when cars crossed my path. But I did it. What I simultaneously desired and feared had been conquered.
I was so stoked that I went out again the next day. Solo. I was feeling strong enough to ride through the dreaded intersection. I felt I needed to face the demon, so-to-speak.
It was oddly serene that day. Very little traffic. Clear skies. Hot and humid. Stifling compared to the crisp and cold day when I was there last. I glanced down at my instrument panel as I waited at the red light. It was 21 weeks to the day. Almost to the minute. And an eerily similar scenario to that fateful afternoon.
That almost got me. The events of previous last five months tried to come crashing down. But having a meltdown wasn’t an option in that moment. So I took a few deep breaths and eased the throttle open when the light turned green.
Moving forward… mostly.
Moving beyond trauma is a gradual process. Getting back to what you love is essential.
In spite of those early triumphs, this is not a linear process. I waver through confident rides and not-so-confident ones. And I’m still surprised by intense feelings.
Like when I returned to the intersection a few weeks later to take some photographs for another post. Having already ridden through, I thought I was good. But parked there, watching the traffic in a drizzling rain, a meltdown wasn’t avoidable. That time, everything did come crashing down on me.
There are hard fights to be won when it comes to getting back on the bike after a crash. They’re worth battling for somethring you love. I really can’t say it better than Liz Jansen.
If you truly want to ride, don’t let anything or anyone stop you. Not only do you deny yourself the pleasures of riding, that message of defeat carries with you into other areas of your life.
In the process of all this, I’ve had people tell me I’m fearless. Hardly. But I do refuse to let fear dictate my life. I didn’t have a choice about the crash. I do have a choice about reclaiming my life. And I refuse to let a stranger, who already irrevocably altered my life and took so much from me, take the joy of motorcycling as well.
The trip to Gibbs Gardens has become one of my favorite little rides to rebuild my skills. In the serenity of the Japanese Garden, I can assess what skills I need to work on during the ride home.
