My Muay Thai coach called me “fearless” today. No one has ever called me that before.
The summer before I had my car accident, right after my first year of undergrad, I was living back at home. My parents, who were in the process of splitting up, were both home at the same time one afternoon. (Greg, my dad, was NEVER at our house. He had other homes.) He was threatening Mom, that he was going to mess up her reputation, her credit, her financial capability. “When I’m finished with you, you won’t even be able to buy a candy bar in this town.”
A few minutes later, I came out of my room and, ignoring Greg, said, “C’mon, mom. We need to go buy a candy bar in this town.” And went down the stairs.
I didn’t remember any bit of this until mom told me about it a few years ago, and my first reaction was, “Holy shit, that’s ballsy!” It was like it happened to someone else, but as memories came back, I remember doing it.
I was that girl. Maybe not always wise or appropriate, but ballsy. It was fearless. I kind of miss being that girl, because I haven’t felt like her in a long time.