My Hero’s Journey: From the Impossible to the Incredible

It was a beautiful April morning—70 degrees, not a cloud in the sky. The scent of freshly opened hyacinths and flowering trees floated through the air. It was my birthday, and everything about the day felt full of promise.

I had plans: a productive day at work in the city, dinner at Carmine’s, and Phantom of the Opera with my family. It was all carefully thought out—how I wanted to feel, how I wanted to show up. This was going to be the year I committed to my health, to my purpose, to becoming my strongest self.

Before leaving, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—outfit crisp, makeup just right. I paused, took a breath, and said a quiet prayer:
Let today be memorable. Let it mark the beginning of something new.

Less than 30 seconds later, it happened.

A teenage driver blew through a stop sign and, without a moment’s hesitation, made a sharp left turn directly into oncoming traffic—into my lane.

The side of his car smashed into the front of mine. I had the right of way—but it didn’t matter.

The impact was instant. Sudden. Violent.
Metal crumpled like paper. Airbags exploded from every direction—one striking my chest, another hitting my face. The car filled with smoke and the sharp, chemical scent of airbag dust. My sternum fractured. My chest locked. I couldn’t move.

At first, through the shock and disbelief, I had one absurdly practical thought:
Damn. I’m going to be late for work.

But then I tried to breathe—and couldn’t. Not without searing, breath-stealing pain. That’s when it hit me:
I may not be going to work today… at all.

A driver behind the vehicle that hit me—who happened to be an EMT—saw it all. He stopped immediately, came to my window, and called the ambulance. He made sure I wasn’t bleeding, and reassured me until help arrived. No blood—but no ability to breathe normally either. Something was clearly, deeply wrong.

The ambulance came fast. So did my husband. I was strapped to a stretcher, masked in oxygen, and rushed to the ER.

The nurses kept asking me the same questions—my name, my birthdate. And every time I answered “April 16th,” they’d pause. “Today?” they’d ask, thinking I was confused.

But no—I wasn’t. This really was my birthday.  And so I had chocolate cake with my morphine drip.

The day I thought would mark a new beginning was unfolding in a hospital trauma bay. I couldn’t laugh, couldn’t cry, couldn’t even turn my body. My chest screamed with every movement. I had never heard of a fractured sternum before, but I learned quickly: it holds your ribcage together, and every breath relies on it.

There was no cast, no brace. Just time. Just pain. And just one thing I still had complete control over: my mindset.

And so I made a choice.
If I couldn’t speed up my healing, I could still guide it.
If I couldn’t move much, I could still move forward—mentally.

And I did.

Within two weeks, I returned to work. Carefully, quietly, but with a new lens. That crash didn’t end anything. It refocused everything.

Exactly one year later—to the day—I stood on the deck of a cruise ship named Miracle, celebrating a milestone birthday. The only steakhouse on board? Nick & Nora’s.

None of it felt random.
It felt like affirmation.
I was still here. For a reason.
And it was time to do something with that clarity.

Soon after, I stepped into a new professional chapter—one that demanded transformation on every level. I wasn’t just asked to improve services. I was called to shift culture. To build trust where it had been broken. To turn friction into fuel.

I knew the work wouldn’t be easy. But I had already come back from something harder.

And I knew what it meant to rebuild.

That experience—of being shattered, of choosing resilience, of leading from a place of truth—became the foundation for how I now lead transformation.

Because at the heart of every high-performing service organization are people—and when they feel seen, supported, and believed in, they will rise.

That’s what I do now.
I design transformation that starts with people.
I help teams rediscover their power.
I guide organizations through the impossible—and show them it was possible all along.

Because when you’ve lived through impact at full speed, you stop fearing the hard things.
You become the spark that lights the torch.