Nine years.
It has been nine years since that awful night when life as I knew it was ripped out from under me. Nine years since everything shifted—since the trajectory of my world suddenly bent in a direction I never expected.
Nine years.
It somehow feels like forever ago and yet also like just yesterday.
Even now, I still feel the ripple effects of that night. Driving in the snow this week stirred up old fear I wish wasn’t still tucked so close to the surface. I found myself waiting for the other shoe to drop—a tension I’ve lived with ever since.
And that’s the strange thing: life is going well. Genuinely, beautifully well. But it was going well before the accident, too. I had finally become a nurse. I was living on my own. I had my first big girl job at Akron General. My life felt steady, hopeful, full of promise and momentum.
Then it all changed.
There are moments that become dividing lines in our lives—the kind where time splits into before and after. Where a single night becomes the landmark everything else measures itself against.
For me, the accident is that line.
It changed the trajectory of my life in ways I am still living, still learning, still navigating.
And yet…
I am still here.
I am still breathing.
Still loving.
Still healing.
Still living a life I almost didn’t get to keep.
Every year, I choose one word to anchor my heart—something to shape how I move through the months ahead. For 2026, my word is ABANDON.
Not reckless abandon.
Not careless abandon.
But the noun form:
A complete lack of inhibition or restraint.
This year, I want to live my life with abandon—the life I’ve been given back. I want to love my husband and my child with abandon. I want to chase my dreams with abandon. I want to pursue Jesus with abandon. I want to lean fully into the life right here in front of me, instead of living in hesitation, fear, or waiting for something to go wrong.
I already know this about myself: I love hard. I feel deeply. I show up with everything I have. And while that sometimes feels vulnerable and messy, I do not regret loving that way. Not for a second.
So this year, I’m making choices that help me live presently and intentionally.
I want to be with my people—not just near them.
I want to show up in the holy moments and the hard ones.
I want to embrace the messy glory of being alive.
Nine years later, I am still here.
And this year, I choose to live—fully, openly, and wholeheartedly—with abandon.
Fearless at Heart 