Second chances

Hmmmm. A second chance.

What exactly is a second chance?

Maybe it's a second chance to do test corrections on a math exam. Maybe it's a second chance for the love interest in your favorite romance novel. Or maybe it's a second chance at life.

Lately, I've found myself wondering how many second chances I've been given in this lifetime. A second chance to change my perspective. A second chance to become a better person. A second chance to keep going when things felt impossible.

What really got me thinking about this started with a few things.

First, this past week marked a year since one of the worst things that has ever happened to me. I was sexually assaulted.

I've debated whether I would ever say that publicly. I don't even know if this counts as saying it publicly. Well, it's my blog, and it's online, and technically anyone can read it. But it happened to me. And it can happen to anyone at any time.

A year ago this week, I was depressed. I felt physically unwell and mentally exhausted. I don't know how to describe that specific kind of pain to someone who has never experienced it. And obviously, I would never wish it on anyone.

The closest thing I can compare it to is dying without actually dying.

It's the kind of pain where you constantly think about what you could have done differently, even though you know you can't go back and change anything. It's like a part of you dies. Someone takes away your ability to make decisions about your own body for their own selfish and cruel reasons.

There's nothing sweet about it. Nothing romantic. Nothing redeeming.

I feel like people tend to look at you differently when they learn something like that. And I think that's part of why I've hesitated writing about it, or even just talking about it. Although I don't want anyone's pity or apologies, it is something that happened to me. Pretending otherwise won't fix anything or make me feel better.

But I refuse to let it define me.

Sometimes, when something terrible happens, you become angry at the entire world. You want someone to blame. You want to scream. You want to slam every door shut and never open it again.

And I definitely have done both of those things. My mom is never very happy about the slammed doors and my yelling... lol.

I actually haven't talked much about what happened to anyone. Besides the forensic nurse I spoke with that night at the hospital, I've mostly kept it to myself.

I spent ten hours at the hospital the night after the assault.

And part of me has felt like everyone else kept moving forward with their lives while I stayed stuck in the same place.

It's hard.

I started going to therapy afterward—shoutout to my therapist, she's amazing—and because of her, I finally feel like I'm ready to share at least a small piece of my story.

A year ago, on that day, I sat in a hospital.

This year, I spent the day walking around my hometown and eventually found myself sitting on the steps of my local church. I wouldn't say I'm the most religious person, and I didn't even go inside. I just sat there and watched people walk by while cars passed down the street.

It was so peaceful and the weather was perfect. And I had the cutest ballet flats on. (Shoutout Chanel.)The summer wind kept brushing against me in the nicest way while people walked by, completely unaware of the thoughts running through my head.

Healing isn't linear, but I think that's proof enough that I'm slowly but surely moving forward. Like how wind flows through on a hot summer day.

But this post isn't really about that.

It's about second chances.

I'd say I'm one of those people who has somehow experienced every possible situation in life, unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you look at it.

I even slipped on a real-life banana once.

This past Friday night, I was involved in a pretty serious car accident.

Unfortunately, I can't share all the details due to legal reasons. What I can say is that I did everything right. Nothing illegal happened on my end. It was simply a freak accident.

For a moment, my life flashed before my eyes.

I was in shock. Anxiety took over my entire body. And for a second, I wondered if this was the second chance people always talk about.

I spend a lot of time preaching about loving life and staying positive despite all the terrible things that happen in it. But sometimes that's easier said than done. Sometimes life feels like it's stepping on you over and over again until you're crushed beneath the weight of it all.

My car is completely totaled. But honestly, who cares about the car? I'm just grateful that everyone involved walked away with another chance to live.

As I sat on the way to the hospital Friday night, I couldn't stop thinking about how strange it was. Almost exactly one year after one of the worst experiences of my life, I found myself facing another terrifying moment.

And that's when it hit me.

Life keeps giving me second chances.

As I'm writing this, I'm sitting on my front steps listening to "Young World" by Slow Pulp. It's kind of ironic considering the song keeps asking what it feels like to be young.

I don't even know. Probably amazing? Just kidding. I'm still figuring that part out.

Even on the days when I feel hopeless, exhausted, angry, or completely defeated, life keeps giving me another sunrise. Another conversation. Another opportunity to start over.

The sun always rises. And the moonlight always shines. And right now, the summer wind is gracing my soul. Maybe I do love summer. Not gonna lie, I hate on it, but it's not so bad. My neighbor's little kids are running back and forth outside while I write this. The older sister keeps pushing her younger brother around in a stroller. Every few minutes they're yelling at each other, and then thirty seconds later they're laughing again like nothing happened.

It's funny how life works like that sometimes.

Things fall apart. Things hurt. And somehow, life keeps moving anyway. Maybe that's what healing is—not moving on, but moving forward.

Not to keep bringing up music throughout this post, but there's another song I've had on repeat lately: "Dirty Mouth" by Alice Phoebe Lou.

There's a line in that song about getting your body back and being able to do what you want with it. The first time I heard it, I kind of just sat there for a second and thought, "Is this play about us?"

And it really stuck with me.

That's another part of healing too. Learning that what happened to you doesn't get to own you forever.

I survived what happened to me, but healing has taken much longer. It still is. Maybe it always will. Maybe I'll be 80 and still thinking about it from time to time. If only there was a machine that could help me erase a memory.

But if you had told me a year ago that I would be sitting here writing this on my own blog, I don't know if I would've believed you.

But somehow, despite everything, I'm still here. And I'd say that's what a second chance really is. So I guess the moral of today's story is simple: Live. Live freely. Tell the people you love that you love them. Tomorrow is never promised. But today is your chance to do everything you've been waiting to do.