Why I do this work

 8 1/2 years ago I almost died. This is the story of how perseverance enabled my recovery.

Growing up I always felt I wasn’t good enough. My Dad’s mantra (from his upbringing) was “do everything perfectly, or don’t bother”. This happened all the time. One time, when I was 7 or 8 years old, we visited my grandparents. It was my second or third year playing violin and I wanted to play a duet with my grandfather. Instead of being a proud moment for me. It ended up being traumatic. He complained about my playing from the very beginning - unable to read music, inadequate musical interpretation. Clearly inadequate music instruction. He died about 2 years after that.

When I was in 3rd grade, my world fell apart. I learned to read before I was 5 years old. By 3rd grade I was way ahead in math as well. Part way through that school year, something changed. I was no longer able to comprehend what I read. Handwriting became difficult. The math I used to be able to do in my head I couldn’t even do on paper. I become increasingly frustrated, scared, and started acting out. Nothing made sense and I felt like I was letting my family down.

It turned out that my eyes didn’t converge. In other words, when I read the left page, I read only with the left eye, while suppressing the right one, and vice versa. It took 9 months of visual training to get my eyes to work together. I caught up and proved to myself and others that I could overcome severe life challenges. One silver lining was my unique reading style. It enabled me to absorb more written information than normal. 

Then in 2014 my life changed again. I felt antsy all day and decided to go for a bike ride to get some exercise.  It was a sunny, warm afternoon on Friday, June 13th. I resisted the urge to stay home and ignored the little voice in my head that said, “don’t go.”

I cycled out of the neighborhood and towards a 45 minute loop into the Oakland hills.  While there were a lot of cars out, the first half of the ride was uneventful. I circled back along the ridge to begin my descent home. 

I turned onto a 4 lane, divided road with wide shoulders and sweeping turns. Being an experienced cyclist, I felt comfortable going fast on this road.  A few hundred feet down from the top of the hill, a car entered the road. I figured that the car would accelerate to a consistent speed like most others. No. For the next 1/2+mile the car would brake erratically, slowing down, then gathering speed up to about 45 mph, then slam on the brakes again. I could not see a reason why they braked so erratically, so I tried to go around the car.

As I started to make a move towards the left lane, the car braked sharply again and I saw that I would run over some tree bark in the street. What I didn’t realize was that it covered the Botts Dot (reflector) for the fire hydrant. When my front wheel hit that, I swerved. I managed to keep the bike upright but ended up in the left gutter against the curb with the left pedal up. A short distance ahead, there were huge potholes in the gutter. I knew I had two choices. Up and over the median before the railing, into on-coming traffic and certain death. Or, leave the bike and hope I survive. I chose the second. I flipped over the handlebars, landing on my right shoulder blade and elbow. That broke my collarbone in three and my right ulna in two. I skated for awhile upside down on my head and forced my neck to remain straight because I knew that if I didn’t and survived, I would likely be quadriplegic. While I was conscious for transport and treatment, I don’t remember that much due to the traumatic brain injury (TBI) I suffered from the impact and tumbling. 

It took me six months to recover from the most acute injuries. The next two years were proving my brain still worked at near pre-accident levels and addressing chronic pain. Today I continue to work through retained trauma that remains in my body.

After the accident I had share my gifts fully and authentically. The stakes felt too high not to.

Inspired by the way a dear friend lived richly, shared all her gifts fully and died with tremendous grace in 2016, I became a coach. Coaching felt like a natural fit - where all of my gifts could be welcomed and appreciated. My recovery, and journey through coaching, has been a path of rediscovery and returning to my authentic self.

These experiences support me in my mission to cultivate courageous leaders that regenerate their leadership by reconnecting to their innate wisdom and honoring their own unique gifts.