Uncategorized – Page 2 – Small Bites and Little Victories

I’m on a Diet, but I had Rose and a Cheese Plate for Dinner…

I decided a few months ago that June 1st was going to be my official start to summer. Not just because I could, without judgement, start wearing my white jeans, but because June 1st was when I told myself I would start the season of being kinder to my body.

I am not as nice to my body as I could be. Honestly, sometimes I’m downright mean. I say unkind things about it in my head (and sometimes out loud to my boyfriend who I am sure REALLY appreciates it!), I don’t feed it the right food, I eat for comfort, I drink to giggle, I don’t do the exercises I should do in order to make myself into the strong badass human that I want to be. I don’t give my body and mind quiet time to rest and meditate, and Lord knows my body and mind could use a goddamned break.

My body does SO many nice things for me! It keeps me healthy, lets me move around in the world, keeps all of my systems going. It takes care of all of that stuff so I can focus on, taking subways, working, being a good friend, writing, making phone calls, laughing – all of the stuff that I love the most. I thought that summer could be a time that I dig deep and instead of just focusing on the stuff that I love doing – I could think a little more about how to keep my body as healthy and strong as possible.

This summer my hope is to start treating my body like a gift that I really cherish, that is deserving of excellent care and nourishment – instead of as being an afterthought. I mean, I am really careful with all of the fancy things that I own, why can’t I be just as nice to the body that I own. Also, I am going to try SUPER hard to stop talking shit about this body that has been run over by a truck and still does most of the stuff it has been build to do.

Now, that being said, yesterday was Day 1, and I KILLED it during the day – I ate tons of delightful, nutritious things that were what I chose to eat vs. my normal penchant for easy complex carbs. I felt very, very proud of myself, until about 5:00. Then the weather was so stinking lovely, and it basically screamed “its rose weather!!!” at me. And when the rose calls, I feel that it is my duty, as a lover of joyful things, to answer. Sooooo, I ate cheese and drank rose and laughed and felt really lucky to be a person alive in the world in that very moment – most importantly – I didn’t get mad at myself. Instead, I went to bed, set my alarm for 6 am, and on day 2 of this little plan, I did an hour and a half of cardio, and then ate some organic fruit like a hero.

I’m far from perfect, but for the first time – I am not going to tell my body that, and I am going to treat it like it is.

It was so pretty, and I didn’t want to hurt its feelings by not drinking it ❤

Mismatched Moments

Last week I was invited to speak to my friends mom’s Book Club in West Hartford, Connecticut. There are barely words for how excited I was about it! First of all, I loved that they had read my book, I love moms, I love the suburbs, and I was pretty confident that there was going to be wine and cheese plate at this event and I LOVE wine and cheese.

I am really lucky because I work virtually, so I can work from anywhere, so I planned to work from a coffee shop in Hartford for the day. The most important thing to me was that I wanted to be set up and totally ready to work at 9:00 am. So I got up at 5 so I could take the earliest train into Hartford. I showered, straightened my hair, put on my “I’m an Author” outfit, and did some basic eyeliner and mascara so I wouldn’t creep onto the Amtrak train looking like a sleepy zombie. In the half dark, I rooted around in my sock drawer to find a pair of socks that I could wear under my black boots, and for the life of me I couldn’t find a matching pair.

I did, however, find two that were approximately the same. I didn’t think that it would be a big deal, who sees socks anyway? I am a busy lady – I had a train to catch, and if I am going to be honest, I was way more concerned about getting to Penn Station in time to get a buttered flagel (that’s a flat bagel, its amazing) from Zaro’s ,then my socks.

When I arrived in Hartford, a light snow flurry started to fall, and I was so charmed as I drank my fancy coffee and used the free wifi that came with it. As the day continued, the snow kept falling, and falling until it turned into a full on blizzard. The cute little black booties I had put on happily that morning now seemed really inappropriate.

When I arrived at my friends mom’s Book Club meeting, another thing became very clear – those snow soaked black booties were absolutely not going to be be worn into this lovely persons home. I was going to have to take off those boots, and expose my shame – that even though I wrote a book, pay my taxes and work full time, I am not capable of putting together two matching socks.

This is something that I do often, I don’t match my socks. In the grand scheme of things, it never seemed that important to me to have something match that no one could see. I was always paying attention to different things. This oversight is something that I get teased about. And it gives me this feeling that my not wearing matched socks, or needing someone to call my phone just to confirm it’s in my shit show of a purse makes me a scatterbrain, and kind of childish.

In that moment where I was standing in my mismatched socks in a strangers living room, I don’t think about the many, many times that I have absolutely had my shit together. Because even though the mean voice in my head would like to tell you different, I keep it together a lot. I pay all of my bills on time, I have travelled around the world by myself, I know how to rent a car, I’ve been gainfully employed for 12 years, I remember to tell my parents I love them before I hang up the phone, I can tell from the tone of a text if a friend is having a bad day – and I know that they need a call, I try my best to be a good person, who is loving, and kind – and sometimes when I am focused on those things, making sure the striped sock and the polka dot sock match under my boots just doesn’t seem that important.

The reason why these mismatched moments feel so intense is they are an external reflection that there are parts of my life that aren’t perfect. But to be honest, even though its not a perfect life, it is usually pretty seamless. But, I don’t congratulate myself when I move through life like a hot knife through butter, instead I assume that this level of ease is normal. It isn’t. Life is messy, and as my mismatched socks will tell you, so am I.

So, as I slipped off my boots and left them by the door, I exhaled and said what I have said to myself before every challenge in my life ‘all I can do is my best’, and I walked into the kitchen with a huge smile on my face started to hug strangers – which felt amazing.

Then I sat in a circle in the living room and talked with his wonderful group of women about the worst thing that ever happened to me, and I had the joy of listening to their lives, and what was happening in their hearts, and I cried and hugged people so hard I could feel their heartbeats.

With tears in my eyes, cheese in my belly and a glass of wine in my hand I wasn’t thinking about my mismatched socks. I got the feeling that the people that were there weren’t thinking about it either. The focus was on something bigger, brighter and more important than the difference between polka dots and stripes.

Mismatched socks and broken daffodils are picture perfect to me.

Getting Schooled by Middle Schoolers

In the last few months, I have had the honor of getting to talk about myself in front of groups of other people. It is terrifying and amazing and wonderful all at the same time. In the moments before these talks I feel like I am going to either giggle out of pure joy or throw-up in front of a bunch of strangers. It is awesome!
The most recent talk that I gave was for a group of middle schoolers in Vermont. Their guidance counselor had read my book, and had invited me to come and speak to the kids. I was the most nervous I had ever been – 7th and 8th and graders are terrifying! I know they scared the crap out of me when I was one of them. But this seemed like an amazing opportunity to share a part of my life with them, and maybe be helpful in some way. The talk wound up being really lovely, and the kids were absolute gems. They asked some hilarious, thoughtful and intense questions – and I did my best to answer them honestly, without fear and and with intentionality – it felt meaningful, overwhelming and so, so real.

I left there feeling hopeful and positive about these kids, the future of our country and how important it is to be kind, open and vulnerable to each other. I thought that some of you might be interested in it – so I’m sharing it below! Just imagine that you’re sitting on the carpeted floor of a library while you’re reading it to get the full effect 🙂

Hi, I am Katie McKenna, and I wanted to thank you so much for having me here! Your guidance counselor was kind enough to invite me to come and speak to you all because I just published a book, entitled “How to Get Run Over by a Truck” I have to tell you that this isn’t just an INCREDIBLY clever title – I was run over by an 18 wheel truck while riding my bike in my neighborhood in Brooklyn. I KNOW! It’s totally bonkers. Even though it happened to me, I sometimes have trouble believing that is something that someone could go through and survive.

This is also really hard to believe because now I look pretty normal, you would never know that I broke all of my ribs, punctured my lungs, ripped a hole in a few of my organs, and fractured my pelvis in 5 places. You wouldn’t notice that I have a plate in my back, or that I’m in pain all of the time – which to be totally honest is kind of a bonus!

It’s a pretty awkward conversation starter, and if I can avoid it, I absolutely will! I realized every single day that I am so lucky that my injuries weren’t worse, and that I have the ability to walk, talk and look like any other person on the street. When my crash happened, I was conscious – so I remember every moment of the experience and what happened after. I remember hearing the crack of my bones under the weight of the truck, I remember asking the EMT’s to please take me to a good hospital, and I remember a perfect stranger stopping his car on the side of the road, coming to my spot on the asphalt and praying the Our Father with me,

The EMT’s did take me to the best hospital in the area, which was more than a few miles away. Because they didn’t usually go there (they weren’t used to people with tire track on their stomach making requests) they got lost on the way there! They actually had to stop and ask someone on the street directions. I knew that it wasn’t funny, but in the back of the ambulance I started to laugh – which I am sure was VERY unnerving for these EMT’s!

When we did get to the hospital, they sped me through the emergency room and the doctors and nurses were running next to my gurney – and I have to tell you it is JUST like on TV. I didn’t think that it would be, but it totally was. If I hadn’t been really concerned about whether or not I was going to die, I am sure that I would have thought it was really cool!

As they were preparing to put me under for surgery, I asked the doctor who was the closest to me if I was going to live, and she looked me in the eyes very hard, and told me that I was probably going to die – which was one of the most terrifying moments of my life.

Even after I was run over, I still had hope that I was going to live. I had thought that if I was awake and didn’t have brain damage that meant that there was some way that I would make it out of this ok. But hearing the doctor say that I was probably not going to make it almost extinguished that hope. Luckily for me, I am VERY stubborn, and as they put the mask with the anesthesia on my face, I thought to myself: don’t stop fighting just because of what she said Katie. She doesn’t know you. You just got run over by a truck and stayed conscious – that’s gotta count for something!

After that, I went into 10 hours of emergency surgery, where 4 hours in, the doctors came out and told my parents that I was internally bleeding, and that I had an hour to start clotting or I was going to die. With just 15 minutes left until they were going to let me go, I miraculously started clotting. My family was like, thanks a lot Katie, really had to make us sweat there! I said, I just wanted for you to get the full – I would really really miss her effect! It was incredibly successful! When I came out of surgery the doctors told my family that it was truly a miracle that I had made it out alive. If I am going to be honest with you, in that moment, I didn’t feel miraculous – it felt like the opposite of a miracle. It felt TERRIBLE! It was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

I woke up in the ICU, hooked up to a million machines, incredibly confused, sad and also shocked that I couldn’t feel my body from the ribcage down. I laid there and willed my legs to move, but they wouldn’t. For the first time in my adult life, I didn’t have control over my body – and that was so scary! The main reason for my confusion was because I thought this kind of stuff didn’t happen to good people. I felt that this is the kind of stuff that happens to bad guys in action movies – and don’t get me wrong I wasn’t perfect, but mean I wasn’t a Russian spy in a James Bond movie so I was pretty sure I didn’t deserve this! I did volunteer work in my spare time, I recycled, I was nice to puppies and babies – I felt like I had checked all of the boxes!

I was in the hospital for over 2 months, and when you are just hanging out in a hospital bed by yourself, you have time to think about these big questions – so I thought about this A LOT. I wondered why the universe would let this happen to me – what I had I done? I kept thinking and thinking about it, and I finally came up with the answer – nothing.

I hadn’t done anything to deserve this – but being a good person didn’t keep me safe from terrible things happening. It wasn’t going to serve me to worry and try to figure ou the why- I just had to accept that it had happened, to see what I could learn from it, and do everything in my power to move forward.

I’ve lived a lot of life, and from my experience I can candidly say that these things can comes at you so so fast. I think this is part of the reason why Linda asked me to come to talk with you guys today – not just to make sure that you’re mindful of trucks when you’re riding your bikes, but also because all of us get run over by a truck at some point in our lives, right? We have this one pivotal moment that takes our vertical world and turns it horizontal, and we have a choice in the moments after that trauma – we can give up, or we can try to get back to our vertical world degree by degree. I chose the latter. The reason why I share my story is because when I was trying to rebuild my life, I couldn’t find a story that spoke to me – that made me feel hopeful that things could and would get better. My goal is that my story can be one you can think about when you’re feeling hopeless.

My first step to building a new life, was to stop feeling sorry for myself, and the next step was to figure out what I could do to find my way back to happy. Looking back there were 5 things that made it possible for me to get through this challenging time: they were humor, controlling what I could control, goal setting, forgiveness, and to keep punching.

I did stand up comedy in New York City for a few years before this crash, and as hard as I tried it was almost impossible for me to find something funny about getting run over by a truck. But I kept trying! Making other people laugh has been one of the greatest joys of my life, and I took it as a challenge to find whatever humor I could in this situation:

For example the first night the friends who I grew up with were able to come to see me in the hospital I was still very weak – and I am sure that they were scared to death. I still had gravel from the road in my hair, I am wearing a hospital gown and for the first time in my life I felt awkward in front of the people I’ve known since I was your age. To break the silence, my friend Kerrin, says, “Katie, you look so good!” I stared at her, and I said “Kerr – do I look good good? Or I do I look got run over by a truck good?” Suddenly, all of us are laughing, and in this completely uncontrollable situation – I found somewhere that I could feel in control. I felt like myself. It was magical.

As I’m sure that you can imagine, the pain that I was in was pretty unbearable. I was given a morphine pump to manage it – but it felt like the pain was never getting better, and I didn’t want to be a person who had to cart a morphine pump around for the rest of her life, so I started to create small goals for myself – I tried to press the pump fewer and fewer times per hour. It didn’t have to be much. Only once and I was so proud of myself! I lived for those little victories. When I was going to physical therapy I had low expectations for myself, but it was really important to me that every day I tried to push myself a little further than I had the day before
I think that’s something that I learned while I was recovering too – how to be excited and proud of those little wins. We put so much pressure on ourselves go bigger, get the A+, join all of the clubs, get into the best college – we only feel successful when these big wins happen, that these tiny wins get lost. They don’t feel like a big deal, but I am here to tell you, as a person who has built her life back by stringing together these tiny little victories – they are a big deal, and you owe it yourself to celebrate them. For example, I took the train to come up here from New York, and I was actually early, so I bought myself a fancy coffee, and then high fived myself when I got on the train, which was kind of awkward for the other people who were on the train because it just looked like I was sitting there doing one single clap to myself.

Something that people often ask me about is forgiveness. They wondered if I ever met the truck driver who ran me over. I actually never have. He tried to see me to apologize but I was still in the ICU and wasn’t allowed to have visitors. While I was in the hospital recovering I tried not to think about him too much – giving a face or a feeling to the pain and the challenges that I was going through seemed like it would be really toxic for me. I kept with this mindset until Christmas time. I had been released from the hospital, but I was still unable to walk and was confined to a wheelchair. During that holiday I watched how my family had to change their whole life around for me. I saw it in small things, my little brother and sister came home from college and they didn’t get spoiled by my parents, and have their favorite meals made, have their friends come over. We didn’t get to do all of the traditional things that we had done together, because it was too difficult with me in a wheelchair, and everyone was too busy making sure I was ok.

It was in those moments that I felt the angriest. I wasn’t mad for myself (ok, I’m not a saint I was a LITTLE mad for myself) I was mad that my family who had done nothing wrong, had to suffer because of what this driver had recklessly done. When I finally let myself get worked up, really mad and allowed myself to blame him for all that he had done to me, my family and my life – I found that I didn’t feel better – I just felt hateful. I realized that holding onto that anger wasn’t going to punish this person who doesn’t even know what my face looks like. It was only going to hurt me. So, in order to heal myself, I knew that I had to forgive him. So I did, and I felt a million times lighter. Which was an incredible lesson to learn.

I think that my biggest takeaway from my entire experience, other than being more careful when biking, is that there is a strength inside of all of us that cannot be quantified, explained or taken for granted until we are put into truly challenging situations.

Since my accident, I haven’t forgotten how challenging my life had been while I was recovering in the hospital, but I had lost sight of how incredibly hopeless and helpless I was. As I had mentioned, even before I went into surgery I had been told that I wasn’t going to make it. Then as I was recovering I was told I was never going to walk again. Later during my rehabilitation a doctor told me that I shouldn’t expect to live anything resembling a normal life, that what I had hoped my life would look like, was no longer a tangible possibility.

All of these men and women telling me “no” were all medical professionals. They were leaders in their fields. They thought they knew what was going to happen to me and my crushed little body — because they understood the facts, and the science. But they underestimated one thing: me. They underestimated what “no” would mean to me. They couldn’t quantify the passion, anger, power, and resilience that was ignited in my body when they told me that I couldn’t. So, I made it my mission to show them what they couldn’t see. I have never known purpose that was bigger than that.The driving force behind that resistance was one phrase: Keep Punching.

When I was in the hospital, every night when visiting hours were over my parents would come over to my bed where I was hooked up to about a million machines and kiss me goodnight. My dad would linger for an extra moment, and would whisper in my ear “Katie, you have to promise me one thing before I go. Will you keep punching? I know you’re in the corner, in the fight of your life and you’re getting the tar kicked out of you — but will you keep punching? Don’t give up. Keep swinging, OK?”That was enough to help me to fall asleep with hope in my heart, and a willingness to wake up and fight for one more day.

For a lot of people in our world, they are in the corner in the fight of their lives too. There is darkness right now, there is no denying that. Every single person is going through their own personal challenge that no one else can see. What I want to make sure that you all know is that there is more strength in you than you have ever imagined. Sometimes it takes being run over to truly find it. Keep punching, you guys. As long as we all do that, we will be able to find that light, and it will be beautiful.

The light comes to greet us every single day, we just have to be strong enough to let it in.

Subway Stories

A week or so ago I got a photo from a woman who I hadn’t seen since college (but who I followed like whoa on social media – her life is bonkers beautiful!) it was a picture of a woman on the subway reading my memoir!

My book. In the hands of a stranger. On a New York City subway. I let out an audible gasp of joy! I’m not sure if this is true for every author in New York, or for any author anywhere, but a small part of my dream has always been to see a stranger holding my book on subway. It felt like a huge compliment that they would take me with them as they went about their commute. That my little voice was taking them into my life: they were with me at the hospital at Elmhurst, into the physical therapy room at Glen Cove, to the family room in the house I grew up in, to that same subway where I covered my tears with think tortoise shell sunglasses. It was incredible!

I stared at that picture and another thought creeped into my head – holy shit. This stranger knows a lot about me. Like not 3rd date a lot, but like more than my family knew about me until about 2 months ago. She is basically 325 pages of my inner most thoughts. I purposely took everything that I was feeling for months, and put it on display for someone else to consume on their trip home. It was amazing that anyone would be interested in what I was thinking while I was laid up in the hospital and also made me feel so transparent.

Since I was a little girl I have put an immense amount of pressure on myself to say and do the right things, to not let friends or my family down, to follow the rules. I wanted for others to feel like I had it together – even if I was falling apart on the inside.

When I looked at that photo I thought to myself, ‘Well sweetheart – whatever you’ve been trying to project is not a concern anymore! Everyone who’s read your book has seen behind the curtain. It isn’t just your friends, family, ex-boyfriends, former managers and old crushes who might have read about the times when you were selfish, insecure, totally broken and did I mention a bitch (because lets get real, you were also kind of a bitch) but now total strangers know that about the time you removed your own catheter. You don’t have anything left to hide!’ I had never felt so liberated, and so vulnerable, at the same time. It felt terrifying, but it also felt really right.

What I want to say to you sweethearts, is try to be your true self, to tell your story – honestly, openly and without fear. I promise that there so many people who will accept you, delight in you and happily keep reading.

May I also add that this lovely woman’s nail polish is on POINT ❤ Thanks so much to the lovely Cary Neer for the photo!

Lazy is not a Four Letter Word, but $%&* is

I have been working pretty hard on my hustle lately. Like yesterday, I woke up at 5 am, wrote for an hour, sent some sales ideas and edits for a friend, wrote an article about what you should and shouldn’t say to someone who has been through a trauma, drafted emails to a bunch of different physical therapy schools to see if they might want someone who has been a patient to talk about their experience to give a different perspective to students, I followed up on all of my personal emails. After I closed my computer, I strapped on my sneakers and power walked 4 miles as I watched the sun rise over my sleeping Brooklyn neighborhood.

I got home and showered, made myself some coffee and then sat down at my computer to start my work day, and the first thought that came into my mind as I opened my laptop for the second time that morning was Jesus Christ Katie. You are so lazy

Let me repeat myself for clarity: Jesus Christ Katie. You are so lazy.

Soooooo, that was awkward.

From a young age I had been taught that in order to be successful not only do you need grit, but you also have to hustle harder than everyone else. I believed that pathway to success is built by working hard, by being intensely determined and not giving up until you have won. This frame of mind has been so incredibly helpful to me in almost every aspect of my life, but sometimes it can backfire.

I felt it backfiring yesterday morning at my desk. My frustration and anger at myself expressed itself as tears stinging my eyes. I went down the rabbit hole I dug for myself, and I started to think about the fact that I am still not as thin as I wish I was, that the apartment isn’t immaculate, that if I had been better, faster, stronger I would be more successful. That maybe if I hadn’t taken those extra 2 minutes in the shower that I would come one step closer to winning – but instead there I was, in front of this computer feeling like a failure.

I let the tears come, I took a deep breath, and I walked around the block until I couldn’t see any commuters walking to the L train, and then – out loud – I told that voice that has just made me cry, to go fuck itself. I continued to tell that voice that I was doing everything that I can, and if that shit wasn’t good enough then too fucking bad. And by the way, I truly needed those extra 2 minutes in the shower (I like to leave some conditioner on the end of my hair for a few minutes at the end of my shower, it feels luxurious and I FUCKING DESERVE IT!)

I continued in that vein, until I started to repeat myself and ran out of curse words. Then I stopped. and I exhaled. I shut my eyes, breathed in, and headed back down the blocks I had just walked down mumbling curse words to the mean voice in my mind, and I felt lighter.

I felt like I was walking back towards reason. As if with each step I was learning how to respect how hard I’ve been working. Although I’m not seeing the full results now, I do know that I am trying my fucking best – and today that’s going have to be enough.

Take those extra two minutes to do whatever you want to. You deserve it, I promise.

Imperfect Perfection

I got up this morning at 5 am to workout. As I dressed in the gray morning light, it reminded me of the years that I would force myself to get up at 5 am and drag myself to my computer to bang out bits and pieces of my memoir for the 2 hours I had before commuting into work. It was the quietest that my Brooklyn neighborhood was all day. It felt like I was the only person awake in the world. It was lonely, but it felt right.

I struggled to put my feelings into words. I wanted to be honest with myself about who I was, how I felt and who I was trying to be. I did my best not to flinch about my ugly feelings, to stare deeply into my own mortality, fragility and also to dive in deeper past the negativity, to the beautiful hidden places where joy lived.

I spent my lunch hours tucked out of sight in unused cubicles in the back of the open trading desk where I worked – editing, crying, laughing. My evenings would bring me back to the same spot at the little desk in my bedroom, eating pretzels sipping tea and trying to get all of my memories out, writing with the fervor of a dying woman who didn’t want her life to get lost to time.

I wrote to make the pain more comprehensible, I wrote for old Katie because her story deserved to be told, and I wrote for the the stranger living somewhere in the world who might need a story like this, when they are feeling particularly hopeless. I wanted to tell them that the impossible happens all the time, we just don’t talk about it. It’s ok to be scared, it’s ok to laugh, it’s ok to cry – I usually do those three things in tandem. Even though I was writing this at my little desk by myself in Williamsburg – I wanted for the stranger to know, that they aren’t alone. I’ve been there too.

I tried to make this book possible by myself, I sent it out to 75 agents across the country, I received their rejections, their emails and letters that told me that I wasn’t a good enough writer that the story wasn’t compelling enough, that no one would ever buy this book, I should hire a ghost writer. I took it to heart and I swallowed the rejection alone.

Then, I found Inkshares, and suddenly other writers were telling me that this book was something they thought was worth reading. From there, I found all of you, and I heard you saying “We believe in you. We’ll make this happen – we can do it together.” And just like that, I wasn’t alone any more. How to Get Run Over by a Truck stopped being just my story – it became all of ours.

I know that it is an imperfect piece of art, but it is a reflection of me and all of the pieces I tried to fit back together. I love you for opening up your hearts to this story, to this book, and to me. There is no other way I could imagine bringing this book into the world today. Thank you for standing with me. To me, you are perfection.

Questions from Strangers

I got invited out for drinks the other night with a few of my friends from college. During the course of the night we met up with some of my friend Chris’ colleagues. Chris is an incredible person who is more excited about your victories than you are, and he so sweetly introduced me as his friend the author who is having a book published in a few weeks. The question that comes next is one that I am delighted by and dread in equal measure.

“What kind of a book is it?”

I try to fight my embarrassment while saying that I wrote a memoir, because what is douchier than a person writing 300 pages about themselves after they haven’t even been on the earth for 40 years? Nothing, you guys, there is nothing douchier than that.

Then they ask what the title is, and I tell them How to Get Run Over by a Truck – and as I look into their confused and interested faces, I usually follow up with, “because I was run over by an 18 wheel truck a few years ago,” and then I watch as the puzzle pieces in their mind come together.

“Yes,” I nod “that actually happened to me, and I know its super weird. It is even more confusing because I look totally normal.”

There is is usually an awkward pause or two, and then I get asked some of the best and most intimate questions that have ever ben posed to me.

I completely understand why the questions get so deep so quickly. I mean, I was the one who wrote down the most horrific moments of her life into a book for public consumption. I chose that, who wouldn’t want to ask questions?!

I want to welcome people into my experience, without awkwardness. Which is made much simpler by the fact that just looking at me you would have no idea that this happened to me. I look like every other person you’d see on the subway, but with an uncharacteristic smile for a New Yorker, a very slight limp and I have a tendency to dance to myself when the song coming through my headphones is particularly awesome. It is a shock to everyone who meets me that this could have happened – I seem so normal. It feels like I could be you, because in truth, I am you.

We all have these horrible heartbreaking moments, that can run right up to moment where we are laughing until we cry. Some days we meet people who strip us of our humanity, and in the next ten minutes we run into someone who makes us feel like the most important person in the whole world. Our lives are a mishmash of all of these beautiful terrible moments, that can run us over like a MAC truck.

I speak about what happened to me because there are people who need to hear it. People who are knee deep in the ugly part and they want to be reminded that at some point soon, they will laugh again. And you might feel weird, or even a little bit bad about it – but you aren’t alone in that moment. I’ve been there too. And honestly, I’m happy to talk about it. You can ask me any question that you want.

I do, let’s talk about it.

Help: The Scariest Word in the English Language

During the course of my short little life, I’ve forced myself to do a lot things that have scared the crap out of me. I have done stand up comedy even when I was pretty sure I was going to bomb. I started a job in finance even though I could barely do basic math, and didn’t reallllly understand what the stock market was (up good? down bad?) I put all of my innermost thoughts and feelings about the worst experience of my life into a book for errrrrybody to read (My former boss bought a copy…*meep*). I try to face my fears with the aggressiveness of a 7 year old running after the ice cream man with two dollars in her fist and a serious jonesing for a Choco Taco. C’mon we’ve all been there…if I’m going to be honest, I’m there right now! I’d run an obstacle course for a SnoCone every.damn.day.

This way of living usually works for me: I see a fear and I fight to overcome it. I use the weapons at my disposal: positive attitude, a good worth ethic and a complete and total lack of shame. The problem is that when these things do not work, I feel like a total and utter failure. Why wasn’t I good enough/smart enough/capable enough to fix this on my own. Saying that I can’t handle something scares me, and it makes me feel weak.

What I’ve realized over time is that it isn’t weakness that drives someone to be truthful about challenges that they can’t overcome by themselves, it is bravery. Saying that something isn’t working the way that you’ve been doing it isn’t failure, it is the first step towards the solution. I have found so much freedom in calling a friend and saying, “I am feeling like a hot mess, insert issue here has been happening and everything that I’ve tried to do to fix it hasn’t made it better. I want to crawl up into a little ball, burrow down deep into the ground and never come out again. What do I do?”

Amazingly, the person that I am talking to usually has a solution that I would have NEVER come up with by myself. and suddenly I don’t feel as lost. An added bonus is that the person that you talked to was able to be helpful, and that makes them feel good about themselves.

Currently, I have all of the galleys (this is the early edition of How to Get Run Over by a Truck) that I am supposed to be handing off to bookstore owners, and book buyers in bookstores around the City and asking them to consider carrying it (so exciting!) This is something that I had assumed I was BORN to do. I love talking to strangers, I love books, I love sales – all signs point to easy peasy lemon squeezy. At least that’s what I thought the signs would point to – until I walked into a bookstore and got so scared that I panic bought a book and walked out without even talking to the cashier! For the first time in my life I was speechless. I felt embarrassed. I felt like a failure.

I immediately called my best friend Leah, and with shame in my voice told her what happened. I didn’t know how to fix it, what did she think I should do? She gave me some really wonderful advice and techniques for how I could approach it next time. She made me feel like I shouldn’t be ashamed of myself and reminded me that this kind of stuff is hard! I felt so much better about myself, and also a lot braver because I had her words of confidence ringing in my ears, that I went back into that book store and SUPER awkwardly pitched my book to the cashier. Mind you, the cashier was the wrong person for me to talk to, and my knees were shaking, but I did it! And I know that I wouldn’t have been able to do it unless I had asked Leah for help.

The only way that broken things get fixed is if we acknowledge that something is wrong, and then do the scariest thing of all – ask for help.

I know, being vulnerable is hard. I’m with you.

Playing Catch Up

My body and I have been in a little fight of late. Nothing huge mind you, we’re still on speaking terms. I’m just a little colder to the ol’ bod than I usually am. I’ve found I’m quicker to anger and not as patient with it as I’d like to be. It may be because its creeping up on spring (even though it doesn’t feel like it in Brooklyn today – brr you guys, BRRRR!), and my body is still holding fast to my sweater bod (Rude! Doesn’t it know that its almost sundress time?!) Or, it could be because I’ve been having some additional health challenges of late that have made me feel like my body has turned on me. Like we’re just not on the same page. Which feels sad, and kind of confusing.

When I woke up this morning to go work out, I was still feeling my feelings about my body and I made a decision that something needed to change. I needed to do something to feel like my body was my own, that it was strong and capable and that I loved the shit out of it. I walked to the gym in the half drizzle and thought about what would make me feel like we accomplished something meaningful – like we were a team again.

By the time I scanned my card at the gym I knew what had to happen, my body and I were going to race. When I ran track in high school I felt the most comfortable in my own skin when I was racing. My muscles were working, my mind was clear and for that period of time I felt whole.

I decided that I would try to run 3 miles as fast as I possibly could. I was racing against the dark feeling of distrust I had of my body, and I knew that today of all days, I needed a win. I got on the elliptical machine (my fave!) put on the most inspirational, badass music I could find – and made a promise to myself that I was going to push beyond what my mind and body thought I was capable of to get to that 3 mile mark. And then, I let go.

I stopped worrying about what the medical test results were, I didn’t think about how I looked in my yoga pants, all that I thought about was how fast I could get those little numbers to tick up to 3.00. At around 1.3 miles I started to smile to myself, giddy at the way every part of me was working together to be successful, delighted by how fast I was making my legs move.

When I got to the 3 mile mark I got the feeling I was hoping for: clarity, joy, oneness. I hopped off the elliptical with wobbly legs, and a renewed love for my imperfect body. I ellipticalled that 3 miles in 20 minutes. The fastest I’ve gone in a long time. Fast enough to outrun my anger, and just fast enough to catch up with myself.

You Amazing Humans

It has been a long while since I’ve written on this blog, and for that I absolutely apologize! To make up for being MIA – I wrote an incredibly long post. If you need to get a snack, or maybe go to the bathroom before you read – go for it. I’ll wait.

The reason why I haven’t been writing on this blog as much as I’d like, is actually because of writing this blog (full circle you guys! Full. Circle) Let me begin at the beginning:

While I was in the hospital after my accident I started writing as form of catharsis. It was a way for me to take all of the memories that kept rushing around my head and put them in one place. As I wrote, I found that not only did I feel better, but I also felt like I had a better understanding of myself and my situation.

I continued to write about my recovery and my life post accident after I got out of the hospital. When I was well enough to go back to work, I made writing my second job. I would wake up early in the morning to write before I commuted into the city, and after work I stayed up late at my keyboard, struggling to get everything that I had been feeling out onto the computer screen.

Once the book was finished, I thought I would try to get it published. I sent out book proposals to tons of agents, I reached out to everyone who I knew who was involved in the publishing world, and in every instance I heard the same things: you aren’t a known writer. Your writing isn’t good enough. The story just isn’t compelling enough. This book will never get published.

I’ve gotta tell you, rejection is bad in general, but when the rejection is combined with someone telling you that the story of you almost dying “just isn’t interesting enough” it really stings. It felt like they were saying that not only was I not good enough, but everything about my life wasn’t good enough. Needless to say, after years of trying and failing, I decided I couldn’t take the rejection any more. So, I indulged in some serious fetal position crying, drank a lot of red wine right out of the bottle and I put all of my dreams of being an author on hold.

Then, on a whim I started to write this blog, and something changed.

While writing this blog I remembered how much I loved to write! It made me feel happy, and it gave me an wonderful sense of clarity. Then there was this incredible added bonus of hearing from people that I didn’t know all of that well that one post or another had really spoken to them. When I realized that writing had the potential to help other people, I knew that I needed to sack up, and try one more time to get this memoir published.

Mainstream publishing had proven to not be the best medium for me to get this book out into the universe, so I started to explore other options. I looked into self-publishing, and in my research I found this incredible company called Inkshares.com. Any author can submit a proposal for a book. Once the project goes live, readers support the project by pre-ordering copies of the book. Once the 750 pre-order goal is hit, they start publishing. It sounded totally perfect for me – I wouldn’t need to talk an agent into thinking that my book was any good, I wouldn’t have to worry if a publisher would be interested in memoirs right now, I could just put the book out there, try my best and be grateful for whatever happened next.

So, I signed up, wrote this project page, uploaded my first chapter, and gave myself 3 months to get to my 750 goal. I decided that the launch date would be January 11th. I was in, I was committed and I was TERRIFIED! From the day that I decided that I would do this, the phrase no one is going to buy this book ran through my head on a near constant loop. I paced around my apartment, I chewed my nails until they were just sad little stubs, and I made a TON of contingency plans if the books didn’t sell. These plans usually included me buying drinks for strangers, or giving them cookies and then begging them to buy a book. It felt like brilliant marketing!

I laid my head down on my pillow on the night of January 10th and felt hot tears dripping out of the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t help but cry out of the fear of the potential rejection, that others would hate it, that I would be told again that I just wasn’t good enough. I laid there and I reminded myself that I didn’t write this memoir for other people. I wrote this memoir for me. More specifically for 25 year old me. It was for that girl who was run over by a whole truck and somehow refused to give up, who didn’t take no for an answer, who found joy in small things even when she was in so much pain. She fought so hard for this little life, and dammit, that girl deserved to have her story told.

The next morning I sat at my laptop, exhaled deeply and I made the book titled How to Get Run Over by a Truck available for pre-sale orders. I sent out emails to just about everyone I knew. I shared the link on Facebook and I crossed all of my fingers and toes that somehow we would get to 750 pre-sales by April 11th.

Then, something truly miraculous happened. People started sharing the link, and reading the first chapter, and amazingly books started to sell. Not just a few books, but hundreds of books and it didn’t seem to be slowing down. I was in a constant state of gratitude and amazement and I kept on bursting into tears. By the afternoon of January 14th, after only three days, I had met the pre-sale goal of 750 books. IT WAS BONKERFACE!!!!!

I got the notification that the 750th book had been sold while I was alone working from home, and I sat on my bed and this heavy and intense wave of gratitude overtook me. It felt like I was being crushed by the biggest hug I had ever experienced. I sat in that moment for a long time, and thought about the immense generosity and kindness that I had just been shown. I didn’t think that a person could be this lucky. I didn’t know what I had done to deserve so much joy. It was one of the greatest moments in my whole life. And it was all because of you!

If you hadn’t taken the time to read this blog, and to be so supportive and so wonderful, I would have never had the courage to try again. It is truly the small kindnesses that we show one another that have the potential to shift the trajectory of each others lives. Thank you for showing me that kindness. Thank you for changing my life.

Magic happens when you believe it can✨