When I was a little girl, I always imagined myself as a dancer. I’d listen to whatever 90’s or early 2000’s songs were popular, spin around my living room, and pretend to be a beautiful ballerina. I imagined myself as a figure skater, dressed in a glittery little gown, gliding across the rink effortlessly and landing each spinning jump perfectly. I imaged myself as a pop star (I was a HUGE Britney fan) strutting and dancing around a stage, belting out the lyrics to my own songs as thousands of fans cheered me on and chanted my name. I spent most of my time day dreaming or reenacting my dream life through Barbie dolls or stuffed animals. As a little girl, I dreamed big and my imagination took me on many journeys of potential future selves. Never once did I ever imagine I’d be taken down a path where I lost my right leg.

During my stay in the ICU, I spent A LOT of time crying. I cried when I thought about the long road ahead of me. I cried when I tried to tell my loved ones what I remembered from the traumatic event of my accident. I cried when my family members and friends told me how happy they were that I was alive. I cried over how unfair I felt like life was. What made me cry the most, though, was thinking about that little girl that once dreamed so big. Thinking about how carefree and happy and healthy she was. I thought about how much she loved running, jumping, swimming, climbing, and playing outside while the wind would blow in her hair and the sun would warm her skin. I thought about her racing with her little brother and stopping to take a deep breath, looking up at the sky through the leaves of the Weeping Willow trees that once stood in her backyard. The whole world was hers. Every possibility glistened like the sun shining through the cracks of the Weeping Willow trees. Her wildest imagination never pictured a world where she wouldn’t be able to do those things as freely and easily. I mourned for her the most. That little carefree girl who believed in endless, beautiful possibilities. I cried for her.

• 

• 

• 

With the trauma I faced, a part of me died (not just my right leg ;)). This often happens with anyone who faces trauma, no matter what kind. In my case, a self-identity I had was put to rest. I was no longer a woman who would wake up everyday, easily get out of bed and walk to the kitchen to start up a cup of coffee. I was no longer a woman who could walk down my stairs whenever I wanted, get in my car, and drive somewhere without hesitation. I was no longer a woman who could look down and see her two legs beneath her wherever she went. I had to accept that part of me had to die– that little girl who raced her brother in her backyard through the Weeping Willows– she had to die. And trust me, friends, I mourned the loss of my old self immensely.

After trauma, you form a new self identity. A new self identity who is a survivor. A new self identity who is a warrior. A new self identity who has faced great adversity and will continue to face adversity. You are no longer who you once were. The beautiful thing about your old self dying is a new self is born. With time, you become stronger and more resilient. You see life differently. You see it as something much more precious and you stop taking things for granted. You start appreciating the people in your life. You start appreciating the little gifts life hands your way. You become a wiser and more enlightened version of the old you. Your trauma itself becomes your only enemy to conquer, any other problems you had previously as your old self ceases to exist or become insignificant.

With time, I am accepting my new fate. I am accepting this new version of myself. I am letting go of my old self because I have no choice. She has passed on. I feel as if I am on my second life. There’s the Kayley before the accident, and the Kayley after the accident. I am no longer who I once was, and that’s okay. I am learning that with technological advances in prosthetics I will run, climb, jump, and walk again. I can still live out all of those beautiful dreams my “old self” imagined as a child if I so choose, it would just be done in a different way. I can still dream big and achieve; I will just do it as this newer version of myself.

We have all faced trauma in our lives. Some trauma may be much more extreme than others (like getting your leg amputated after a boating accident), but all of us have had events or experiences that caused a part of us to die. That being said, you don’t need to experience an extremely traumatic event to appreciate how beautiful life is or to let go of parts of yourself that don’t serve you. Take it from someone who has experienced a tragedy–it’s okay to put the old you to rest. Always appreciate the life you have and always work on growing and changing into the person you want to become. Stop, take a deep breath, and look up at the sky through the leaves of the Weeping Willow trees.

The crazy thing about letting your old self die is it allows a new, stronger and resilient self to be born.