My car spun out of control in a busy intersection. In a matter of secondsI would be staggering out of my vehicle, my head spinning.
It was all my fault.
My fault because I was racing from work to pick up my kids, worried that I would be late. My fault because I knew I shouldn’t have turned left at a yellow light. My fault because I was racing from work to pick up my kids, worried that I would be late. But I did turn and moments later an oncoming car going 75 mph punched into mine. My car began a terrifying spin across the intersection — there was a loud thump as it hit the divider and ended up back in the middle of the road. All of my poor decisions exploded in my face, much like the airbags when they deployed. Thank God, I emerged from the accident okay physically, but not okay in most every other way. The accident was the perfect metaphor for my life at the time. I felt like I was out of control.
My kids were desperate for my attention and I was studying for my medical boards — all while trying to build a thriving medical practice from scratch. Earlier that day, I had committed to a meeting knowing it would be tight — I had to pick up my kids from karate class and I couldn’t be late. It was typical behavior for me at the time: My mind was always racing just trying to prioritize my “To Do” list. To top it all off, I was starting to gain fat in my midsection despite doing everything right with my diet. I was cranky because I couldn’t exercise regularly; exercise had traditionally been my release. In the background of all that, I was fuming — angry, resentful — at my husband because he seemed so breezy about work and responsibilities while I was killing myself to try and balance it all. What was wrong? Why was I doing everything seemingly right but struggling with weight gain, low energy, and uneven moods? My most obvious strengths through childhood, college and medical training had been knowledge of nutrition, anatomy and health and — ironically — I was the one struggling. It was embarrassing.