Two weeks before I moved into college, I was in my first car accident. That night had been like any summer evening for a teenager living in a small town. There was nothing to do. So, I decided to take my younger sisters to get ice cream. My parents let me have the car, and for a reason I don’t remember, we headed to the grocery store instead of the Friendly’s down the street.

At the store we picked out a half gallon of rocky road and a few bottles of soda. We checked out, then my sisters and I piled back in the car. I took a left out of the grocery store parking lot, and began to head home. We didn’t even get a mile down the road when the person in front of me stopped short. The person in front of them, had stopped to turn left, and was waiting for an opening in the on-coming traffic.

On every account, the accident was my fault.

I was going faster than I should have been down that street, and I wasn’t paying enough attention. My car hit the back of the car in front of me. At the moment of impact, my sister sitting in the front seat was bending over to pick up bottles of soda that had fallen sideways. The airbags deployed hitting her face at full force. The car started smoking—either from the airbags or the engine, I am not sure which.

I panicked. 

I told my sisters to get out of the car because I didn’t know what would happen next. Someone must have called the police because soon, they were there. Then, somehow we got a hold of my parents. My two strongest memories from after the crash are my dad standing at the site of the accident, and my sister’s face red, swollen, and cut from the airbag. She had to be taken to the emergency room.

Not having kids myself, I can’t imagine the emotions that go through a parent when they find out their teenager not only was in a car accident, but that she also caused the accident. All I remember is how I felt afterwards. I felt as if I disappointed my parents, but that didn’t compare to the fear and guilt I felt. Though thankfully, my sister’s injuries were mostly superficial and she would heal, knowing it was my fault she got hurt was terrible.

I didn’t want to drive ever again.

But when many parents would be taking away their kids’ car privileges, my dad made me get behind the wheel. The next day, he took me out driving. He told my mom he didn’t want too much time to go by before I drove again, because he knew my fear of it would only grow. As the old saying goes, he knew I had to get back up on that horse.

When we make a mistake the hardest thing is to try again. Whether it is a car accident, in a relationship, or even in our career, failure can make us think—that’s it. Game over. With it comes a tidal wave of shame that knocks us down and empties the breath from our lungs.

We think we are finished. 

We can’t imagine getting up, let alone facing the people who watched us fall. But it is these very moments that make or break our life. It is these very moments when we want to hide under the covers, bury our faces in chocolate or tortilla chips, and binge on Netflix, that we are faced with the greatest opportunity of our lives. We can give up. Or we can take what we’ve learned from our fall, and do something even greater than what we were doing before.

Having my dad make me get behind the wheel so soon after the accident, was the first time someone taught me that we can’t let fear win. That we can’t give up, even if we’re the ones at fault. Yes, it is going to take courage. Yes, it will be messy. But we have too much left to offer the world to give up now.

What failures have made you want to give up?

What has helped you get back up on the horse?

 

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