Two years since everything changed.

Two Years Ago, Everything Changed

A story of survival, permanent loss, and why slowing down can save a life

I didn’t wake up that morning knowing my life was about to split in two.

That day was supposed to be one of the happiest milestones of my life

my studio’s grand opening. A dream I had carried for years. One I worked relentlessly for. Late nights, early mornings, sacrifices no one saw, faith when doubt tried to take over. I built that space from the ground up. It wasn’t just a studio it was proof that hard work, passion, and belief could become something real.

I never made it there.

The car accident should never have happened. It was caused by someone who wasn’t paying attention someone in a rush. In a moment that wasn’t mine to choose, everything changed.

I almost died.

I was trapped inside my car, unable to move, unable to get out. Smoke began to fill the vehicle. I kept passing in and out, my body slipping away from me while my mind stayed painfully present. Panic set in not for myself, but for my family.

I called my husband, terrified. My voice shaking. I told him to take care of the kids. I told him to tell them how much I loved them. I didn’t know if I would get another chance to say it.

I couldn’t escape. I was stuck.

Fear turned into prayer. I begged God from the deepest place inside me.

Please don’t let me die. My family needs me. My children need me. Please don’t take me from them.

And then something happened that I still cannot fully explain.

A man came from nowhere. No one saw him arrive. No one knows who he was. He cut through the airbags, forced my door open, pulled me from the car, and placed me safely on the side of the road.

And then he was gone.

To this day, no one can identify him. No witness remembers him. No name was ever found. But I know without question that he was an angel. Sent exactly when I needed saving.

That day, I survived.

But survival didn’t mean I walked away unchanged.

My injuries were severe. Two torn rotator cuffs. Damage to my spine and neck. Muscles, ligaments, and nerves ripped, stretched, and broken. Bulging discs. Permanent damage. I lost 30% of my hearing. Pain became my new normal.

What followed wasn’t weeks or months.

It has been two years.

Two years of physical therapy.

Two years of needles in my neck, head, and spine.

Two years of doctors’ offices, specialists, scans, and unanswered questions.

Two years of tears some from pain, some from grief, some from exhaustion.

Two years of PTSD moments my body refuses to forget even when my mind wants to move on.

Two years of learning how to move carefully. How to sit, stand, sleep, lift, and exist in a body that no longer works the way it once did. Two years of adjusting my life around pain, limitations, and the fear of making things worse.

I am not the same person I was two years ago.

And I don’t think I will ever be her again.

This accident is something I will be dealing with for a long time possibly forever. With permanent pain. Permanent damage. Permanent changes. I have to be mindful of how I move, how I work, how I live. Things I once did without thought now require caution.

And yet I am still here.

Not because it’s easy. Not because I’m “strong” every day. But because I survived something that should have taken me away from the people who need me most.

This isn’t shared for sympathy.

It’s shared for awareness.

No matter how late you are slow down.

Pay attention.

Put the phone down. Take the extra second.

Because when you get behind the wheel, it’s not just about you.

Driving is a responsibility not only to yourself, but to every other person on the road. One rushed moment. One distracted decision. One assumption that “nothing will happen” can change someone’s life forever.

It changed mine.

If this story causes even one person to pause, slow down, or choose to be more present behind the wheel then sharing it was worth it.

Today marks two years since everything changed.

And this is my truth.