Poem: Shattered (Ready for More)

I was in a car accident a couple of weeks ago. By the grace of God and fate, I’m okay. But this accident has been shattering—not just because of the inconvenience it caused, but because of what it revealed.

Before the accident, my spirit was already unsettled. Internally, I was fighting a quiet but relentless battle of the mind. My thoughts were filled with tension and unrest after a realization surfaced: I was unfulfilled, and I was ready to embark on a journey toward my purpose. During that time, I prayed every day, “I’m ready for a change.” What I didn’t know was what that change would look like, or how it would arrive.

Well, be careful what you ask for, some might say.

At first, I told myself this was something I had asked for—that maybe I had been ungrateful for the life I had, and God was teaching my soul a lesson. At the time, I felt unhappy, lost in the societal matrix, and overwhelmed by stress.

I can remember periods in my life marked by intense inner turmoil. I was at a job I dreaded every day. I was unhappy with my home life, my finances—everything. On my way to work, I’d have thoughts of crashing my car into a highway barrier—not to end my life, but to force everything to pause. I wished for a reset without knowing how to create one. There were days I wanted to fall into a kind of conscious coma, to wake up months later and simply resume life wherever it landed me. I hated my life in those moments. I wanted relief. I wanted change.

Around the time of the accident, I was once again praying for a reset—but without those destructive thoughts. I’d grown beyond them, realizing they weren’t answers but escapes, and that hurting myself would only hurt the people I love most—especially my son. Instead, I learned to turn inward through prayer, meditation, and reflection.

When the semi-truck hit me, my car began swerving across the highway. I had to force my way toward an exit ramp just to come to a stop. The accident could have been far worse, but I maintained control—even while terrified. I hadn’t felt fear that intense in a very long time.

Afterward, I was left reflecting on who I was before the accident, who I became during it, and who I am now. At first, I downplayed the incident. I told myself it was just an isolated event, that because I survived without fatal injuries, I should simply be grateful and move on. I told myself I wasn’t entitled to want more.

But that was the voice of my old self—the insecure little girl with unanswered existential questions. I’ve grown since then. I’m becoming a woman more at peace with herself and her purpose with each passing day. Those limiting thoughts surfaced briefly, then faded.

I’ve been learning to reroute my thinking—away from insecurity and self-criticism, and toward growth, spirituality, and forward movement. So why would this moment be any different?

After deeper reflection, this is what I realized:

Pre‑Incident

I had been praying for change—real change. Not just saying I was ready, but willing to do the work that growth requires. I no longer identify with who I used to be. I’m prepared to practice patience, discipline, and spiritual effort to evolve into my higher self.

The Incident

In a way, this accident was exactly what I asked for. It became a test of faith and purpose. In the past, I had imagined crashing as an escape from unhappiness. But when faced with real danger, I didn’t surrender. I didn’t let go of the wheel. I fought for my life. That moment revealed something powerful: I want to live. And my purpose is not finished.

Post‑Accident

Now I understand the accident as a catalyst—a wake‑up call. I have too much to live for: my son, my family, my friends. What happened tested my faith and my character. I prayed for the strength to become a higher version of myself, and this is the beginning of that transformation.

No one ever said change would be easy. No one promised it wouldn’t require grit, struggle, or surrender. But we don’t learn the most about ourselves during comfort—we learn during hardship. I refuse to let this moment derail my purpose. If anything, I’m grateful, because it realigned me with the path I believe God has for me.

I’m done trying to control every outcome. This is a test, and I choose faith.

I wrote this poem because I’ve been learning about resistance. I’ve been listening to The War of Art by Steven Pressfield, where he defines resistance as “an internal force that actively opposes creativity, growth, and meaningful work.” It’s an invisible force that rises whenever we pursue our calling or step into our potential. It shows up as fear, procrastination, self‑doubt, distraction, and rationalization.

I now see how resistance has shaped much of my life. We’re taught about resistance in physics—as something that disrupts the flow of energy—but rarely are we taught how resistance lives within the human psyche. So many of us move through life on autopilot, unfulfilled, because we’re afraid to confront it. Society often exploits this fear, trapping people in unsatisfying jobs, relationships, and routines—because governing ourselves feels harder than being governed.

But I don’t want that anymore.

I’m ready for more.
I’m ready to let God work through me in ways I never allowed before.

So here I am—shattered, but ready for more.