The Strength in Our Scars

May 21, 2018, a beautiful, sunny Monday in New Jersey. I woke up that morning feeling, in a word, fabulous—strong. This formerly shy, insecure, awkward girl finally felt proud of herself and the life she had built. I had my routine down—the early workout, the seamless juggling act of kids, pets, house, life, and, of course, a demanding career. I conquered the chaos and made it seem effortless; that was my M.O.

Then, the unthinkable happened. I was hit by a car not once, but three times, ending pinned underneath. (Crazy, right?!)  Even now, it seems hard to believe it was real, but it was real. Real pain, real trauma... And what followed wasn't just a grueling physical recovery; it was a brutal dismantling of the 'fabulous' facade I had so carefully constructed. The image of the strong, capable woman shattered on the asphalt, replaced by a stark reality of utter helplessness and dependence.

Before the accident, my identity was intertwined with my ability to 'make it look easy.' I presented an image of effortless competence, a woman who could handle anything without breaking a sweat. But the truth, as the subsequent days and weeks brutally revealed, was far more fragile. Stripped of my independence, reliant on others for the most basic tasks, the carefully constructed illusion of unwavering strength crumbled.

The outpouring of support that surrounded me in my brokenness felt like a stark spotlight on my newfound vulnerability. Accepting help felt like admitting defeat, a far cry from the self-sufficient image I had cultivated. However, in time, I began to understand that allowing myself to be vulnerable enough to receive that support wasn't weakness; it was a different dimension of strength — the courage to acknowledge my limitations and to trust in the strength of others.

The journey back wasn't about regaining that former 'fabulousness.' My brain, once a champion multitasker, now functioned differently. My ability to effortlessly navigate complex chaos was diminished. There was often a temptation to mourn the loss of that former self, the one who could effortlessly handle a multitude of projects. But clinging to that outdated MO would have been a disservice to the new reality. 

Instead, I decided to appreciate the unexpected gifts that emerged from my vulnerability. My interactions with others deepened, fostering stronger connections and a more empathetic understanding. My approach to problem-solving shifted, becoming less about conquering and more about connecting and collaborating.

The accident taught me a profound lesson: presenting a perpetually 'fabulous' exterior can create a barrier, both for ourselves and for others. It can prevent us from truly connecting, from allowing others to see our struggles and offer genuine support. It can also blind us to the quiet strength that lies in acknowledging our vulnerabilities.

Think about those you encounter who always seem to have it all together, who project an image of effortless perfection. How often do we truly connect with them on a deep, human level? How often do they allow us to see their cracks, their moments of struggle? And perhaps, more importantly, how often do they allow themselves to be truly seen?

My experience revealed that true strength isn't about maintaining a flawless facade. It's about the courage to be imperfect, to be open about our challenges, and to allow ourselves to be supported. It's in those moments of vulnerability that genuine connection and a different, more resilient kind of strength are forged.

So, the next time you feel the pressure to appear 'fabulous,' remember my story. Remember the sunny Monday that shattered my illusion of effortless strength and revealed the unexpected power of vulnerability. It's in our cracks, in our willingness to be seen in our imperfections, that the truest light, and the deepest connections, can shine through. And that, I've learned, is far more valuable than any carefully constructed facade of flawlessness—because breaking doesn’t mean you are broken.

HAPPY UNBREAKABLE DAY