An accident and unwanted surgery released me from my own personal prison of unrealistic expectations.
February 1, 2025, was a beautiful Saturday. I read in Christian Business Almanac that it was Bike to Work Month. Knowing I would soon be moving far from the office, I thought, “What a great idea! I am going to do that the entire month.”
There were signs that I shouldn’t, like my bike hanging way high above my head in the garage and although I tried, I couldn’t get it down. But oh, no! That wasn’t going to deter me. (I’m a stubborn overachiever.)
I proceeded to have the mailman, who is not much taller than I am, get the bike down, and off I went. I was uber-vigilant as I rode beside busy streets. My Apple watch would ping, giving me directions, and my inner wisdom kept telling me, “You know where you’re going. Don’t be distracted by that watch.”
I made it to my destination, but I didn’t make it home.
On my return trip, my phone was ringing in my backpack, so my watch began to ping excessively. I was no longer on a busy street; I was in a neighborhood. Against the very clear inner voice telling me to ignore the watch, I took my hand off the handlebar for a split second to send the caller to voicemail.
I knew even before I did it that it was a mistake. But the constant distraction pinging on my wrist, vibrating my nervous system, had to stop.
And that’s exactly what the watch and I did: immediately the bike stopped.
I’m not sure how fast I was going, but the abrupt stopping of my front tire hitting a hedge threw me off the bike onto my shoulder.
I actually laughed the whole way down. A walker across the way who obviously didn’t want to get involved asked, “Are you OK?” without missing a step.
“Nope, I’m not OK,” I replied, as I laughed. He must have thought I was crazy. He kept going, but an angel named Leslie pulled over and sat with me until my daughter, Chloe, could pick me up.
I had torn the ligaments and the labrum, and dislocated the shoulder. I was a mess.
I often say we never get hit by the bus we see coming, and I certainly didn’t see this one.
Interestingly enough, on January 2, I declared “Health is Wealth”—and I have been plagued with health challenges ever since. Be careful what you speak out loud. There’s power in your proclamations and you will be tested to see if you can bear the weight of what you said.
Chloe took me to Jewett Orthopedic, where I was turned away and sent to the ER. There I was told the bad news and to follow up with the orthopedic surgeon Monday. My stubborn pride said, “I don’t need surgery,” even though my shoulder looked horrible, my mobility was limited, and the pain was excruciating.
A few weeks later I had to swallow my pride. I couldn’t do anything that I used to. I felt like a bird with one wing completely grounded.
When I saw the surgeon, he told me I needed a two-part surgery—first part putting in the cadaver parts and hardware to hold it all together and the second removing the metal four to six months later. I didn’t want to have one surgery and now I was being told I needed two.
I began to procrastinate again but kept hearing my own advice in my mind: “Do today what your future self will thank you for.”
I knew the right thing to do was also the hard thing. So I made an appointment with the surgeon to move forward with both surgeries.
At that appointment, he reevaluated me and said he could make the repair in one procedure. I almost cried with relief and gratitude.
Everything they say about shoulder reconstruction is true. It’s a long and rough recovery. The surgery went well, but I continued to make stubborn ignorant mistakes that pushed me into deeper pain than the initial injury itself.
It’s interesting that we have to absolutely get to the bottom of the pit (or end of ourselves) to be open to receive true transformational healing. My husband often says, “If you’re going to be dumb, you better be tough.”
Well, I’m here to tell you that’s true. I’m now at the point where I see the wreck as one of the best things that ever happened to me, my family, and the people I work with. It brought me to deeper levels of intimacy with God, myself, my husband, my children, and my team.
It has made me understand where I was standing in God’s way. It made me realize where I was holding back others from developing into their best selves. I saw my husband loving me at a new level, and my team stepping up to fill the void of my absence at extraordinary degrees.
Most importantly, it has given me the gift of receiving help, something I’ve struggled with my entire life. I’ve never found it easy to ask for help even though I know we’re supposed to depend on God and one another.
As I struggled with not wanting to be a burden to those around me, I realized that we’re not a burden to the people who love us. When you love someone, you want to help them. I learned to ask for help and not feel unworthy of receiving it, and to open my eyes to a better way of enjoying this journey.
Because I was forced to slow down, rest, and let go, I’ve had time to reflect on things I was doing that we’re not meant to do at all. I won’t pick up those things again even when I’m able.
Shoulder reconstruction recovery is painful but get this: I figured out that if I could get into a particular position and stay still, the pain would disappear. It gave a whole new meeting to Psalm 46 which tells us, “Be still, and know that I am God.” For me it was, “Be still, and you will not feel the pain.”
While I was still, I would ask God to break the chains that bound me—chains I could see and those that I couldn’t. I’m telling you, God broke chains within me that I didn’t know I was still (or ever) bound by.
Life doesn’t always go as we plan, but we can glean goodness in every dark valley. We can come out stronger on the other side and of tragedies and catastrophes, knowing God is with us all along. I often say pain can be a great teacher and, in my case, a great preacher if we allow it to be.
One of my superpowers has always been to see the silver lining in everything. As I write this, I’m still not fully recovered. I’m making progress and facing months of rehab and that’s OK. Because I have learned that for whatever life I have left, I will let God do the heavy lifting. I will let him show me the next step. I will let go of always trying to be in control so that God can do what he wants to do in me and through me all the remaining days of my life.
Michelangelo, the artist who sculpted the statue of David, said he just chipped away at everything that wasn’t him. Breaking my shoulder broke off not just ligaments that were critical to my strength and stability—it broke off things I could not see that were never mine to carry.
We are God’s masterpiece. Our bodies are a work of art and a gift from God. What we do with them is our gift to God.
I will never again take my mobility, my strength, or my wellness for granted.
We are called to be a light on a hill, but if we are not well, we will not show anyone what a true flourishing life looks like.
They say people like to watch you rise but, more than that, they love to see you fall, so I figured I would share with you my epic fall and what I learned along the way.
