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It’s time for me to start telling my story.

By The Artful Woman
 It’s time for me to start telling my story. For a long time, I stayed quiet outside of a very small circle of close friends. I shared only enough to stay connected, but not enough to be fully seen. That wasn’t avoidance—it was protection. After my accident, my nervous system and my energy field simply could not take in more input from the outside world. As an empath, I had to retreat in order to survive and heal. But as my strength slowly returns, I feel that silence shifting. I was in a tragic accident on Ortega Highway that changed the entire course of my life. In an instant, everything I knew about my body, my independence, and my future was disrupted. Since then, I’ve been forced into a long and ongoing process of rebuilding—not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. And I’m still in it. Even the simplest things that most people take for granted have become daily challenges. Basic mobility. Using the restroom safely and in time. Navigating transfers ...
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That Time I Fell Out of My Dad’s Pickup Truck

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By The Artful Woman

I must have been around five, maybe six, when I went on a drive with my dad in his pickup truck. I don’t remember exactly where we were going—maybe to pick up car parts or run an errand—but I do remember what happened next.

It was the early 1970s, back when no one thought twice about kids riding in cars without seat belts, much less car seats. As we drove down the road, I was holding onto the truck door. What I didn’t realize was that it wasn’t properly closed—and my dad hadn’t thought to lock it.

Then, suddenly—before I even knew what was happening—the door swung open.

And I fell out.

The truck was still moving when I hit the ground.

I remember the panic in my dad’s face as he slammed on the brakes, jumped out, and scooped me up. He put me back in the truck, making sure I was secure this time. And then… we never spoke about it again.

But here’s the thing—I wasn’t hurt. Not a scratch, not a bruise, nothing. At least, nothing that I remember.

Another moment where I should have been seriously injured—or worse—but I wasn’t. Another miracle.

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It’s time for me to start telling my story.

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