What your discomfort is trying to tell you

This morning on my Facebook feed, I came face to face with the pictures.  It’s been six years and still when I look at the photos, I get a bit of PTSD and my breathing becomes a little shallow.  And it all happened in what felt like a blink of an eye.

I was cruising along in my mini van, when I was passed on the left by a big black pickup with a cute dog in it.  His tongue was flapping in the wind and he leaned out the window sucking in all those smells only dogs get the privilege of knowing.

What came over him in the next 30 seconds, only his wee doggie mind will ever know.

He started to jump out the window.  Travelling at over 75 miles per hour on a busy Interstate, the dog decides he wants to fly, and his owner is desperately trying to keep him in the truck.

I watched in horror as the truck veered into my lane and the dog jumped out of the cab, both truck and dog landing in my lane.

What happened next is a series of miracles and the moment my life changed in the most astonishing way.

Swerving to miss the truck and dog, I lost control of my mini van and rolled over twice at high speed, landing crosswise on the Interstate.  I still can’t decide how I feel about shutting down and Interstate highway for over 2 hours or the fact that my girls listened to the account of the accident on the radio coming back from theater camp in the Twin Cities.

What I know for sure, is that while my vehicle was rolling, I never felt safer, more supported, or loved.  I still get all teary when I think about those few seconds.  My angels are the bomb!

The list of miracles was staggering. 

Never have I been happier that I’m shorter.  The driver’s side was crushed and if I had been one inch taller, the results would have been catastrophic.

I sustained zero injuries.  Just a single piece of safety glass in the palm of my left hand.

As I sat upside down in my van, across two lanes of high speed traffic, I wasn’t hit by another vehicle.

I was the only person in the car, my girls were at camp and my dog at home.

The two vehicles behind me that stopped held earth angels.  One man was an injury rights advocate and the other man had been a witness to 3 rollovers in one year.  Both provided invaluable guidance.

There was a tow truck three vehicles behind, so basically on site, to deal with the wreckage.

My blood pressure was normal when I arrived via ambulance at the hospital and they couldn’t believe I was perfectly fine, even though I kept saying so.

Within in two hours of my accident, I was home ordering pizza with my family.

The rental car , which was the only one available in my area, was a freaking Volvo XC90, full tripped out and the safest car on the planet.

I received three times what a 2001 mini van with 256,000 miles was worth from the insurance company.

The other driver and his dog survived without injury.

All amazing miracles, but the most transformative is that I wasn’t the same person.

After the accident, I felt like I was stuck, missing my purpose, and that there was something more I was destined to accomplish in my time on this big, beautiful planet.  I spent two years, trying to find my way to the surface, feeling overwhelmed, fearful, and not recognizing my life.

What I didn’t know at the time, was that all the discomfort was a result of my own spiritual growth.  My skin felt itchy, like it didn’t fit any more.  Which was true.  I’d outgrown some old beliefs and was struggling to figure out my new way of living.

Discomfort happens when we’re ready to make a change. When the old way of living or a limited belief needs to fall away.

I’ve experienced this many times in my life, none so dramatically as my car accident six years ago, but each time my skin feels itchy, I know that I’m leveling up.  Essentially becoming a truer version of me.

I’ve felt this way again in the past few weeks and perhaps you have too.

Ignoring the discomfort, never makes it go away.  You need to lean into it by asking yourself, “what is it I need to know more about?” and then seeking the answers.  Everyone’s experience is unique, each of us have different lessons, and we grow in our own way.

The promise on the other side of the discomfort, is knowledge and connection.  You’ll discover more about your truth, purpose, and gifts.  Each of which will allow you to impact the world from a place of compassion, love, and understanding.

I’m forever grateful to that dog who wanted to fly.  His choice impacted my world in a way that’s indescribable.  My faith grew, I became a coach, my art evolved, I left the safety of my small world and connected to a bigger one through volunteerism, and I discovered that I am always supported and loved.

Where will your discomfort lead you?  The possibilities are exciting, if you’re courageous enough to sit with it and let in lead you.