When I was 14 years old, I was hit by a car
and had to relearn how to stand up, walk, talk, and write.
While I don't remember actually slamming into the windshield,
or breaking the side mirror off with my head,
I do remember waking up on the ground, seeing my shoes down the road,
and hearing someone tell me not to move because I had hurt my head.
I remember seeing brown stains on the shoulder of my pink sweater,
and I remember reaching up to touch my wet hair, realizing it was soaked in blood.
I do not remember what happened next because I had slipped into a coma.
A sharp piece of bone had lacerated a major blood vessel
and a blood clot the size of an orange was pushing my brain out of my skull.
I was flown in a helicopter to Children's Hospital in Washington DC,
and when doctors used a bone saw to open up my head,
the clot erupted, shooting the bone onto the ground,
where it could no longer be used for putting me back together.
I then remember waking up and seeing my mom smiling,
and telling me I was going to be okay.
After a few days in the hospital, I was ready to go home.
But when I tried to stand up, I fell to the ground.
When I tried to talk, I could not always find and form the words.
And my handwriting, well, it looked like something my kindergarten self had done.
Then I heard the words that would change my life.
Doctors told my parents not to expect me to be able to do the things
that had once come so easily.
Those words motivated me to start over.
And since then, I have honed the three major steps I took to begin again
throughout all of my experiences.
Step 1 involves unlocking the impetus.
Step 2 requires navigating naysayers with truth and love.
And step 3 necessitates collaborating and communicating with empathy.
By cultivating a practice of starting over,
I have worked to build more empathetic school communities
so that all children and the adults who care for them feel supported and loved,
regardless of whether or not they have suffered a traumatic brain injury.
So how did I start over?
Step 1, or unlocking the impetus, began when I heard those fateful words,
"She may never be the same again."
This was the motivation I needed to prove them wrong.
Once I was released from the hospital,
I remember crawling up to my bedroom,
but I would eventually progress from standing to walking.
I pushed myself, ignored the headaches, and believed I could improve.
I worked with a homebound teacher on my academics,
and let me just tell you, it was hard, slow, and frustrating.
I remember wanting to throw my Algebra and Spanish books out the window.
But every morning, I would get up, and start again.
I have believed in possibility and pushed myself to defy the odds
in so many of my experiences.
Relearning how to walk propelled me to take on challenges,
particularly in the area of doing things that have never been done before.
In the year 2000,
I was hired to create The Center for Leadership and International Relations
at James River High School.
The premise of this program was to provide opportunities
for students who wanted to make a positive difference in the world,
and I found other teachers, students, and parents
who believed in what that could look like.
But I also heard naysayers who said things like,
"You think you can teach leadership to high schoolers?
What a waste of taxpayer dollars!"
These doubts, coupled with the excitement of starting a program from scratch
unlocked the impetus and motivated me to push through a challenge
and believe in what could be.
Thinking about unlocking impetus as both a 14 year old, and as an adult,
leads me to step 2 in cultivating a practice of starting over,
which I like to call, navigating the naysayers with truth and love.
When I eventually returned to school after my accident,
I encountered a wide range of responses from my teachers.
Most were like my Algebra teacher,
who enveloped me in a hug immediately upon seeing me.
She believed in me, and when I struggled she helped me learn the material.
Unfortunately though, not all people are like my Algebra teacher.
The week I returned to school, I was only supposed to stay for half days,
so that I could ease back in.
On my very first day back,
I asked my Spanish teacher for a pass to check out through the clinic,
because her class was in the middle of the day.
She replied to my request by loudly stating,
"Well isn't that convenient? We have a test.
Don't you think you've missed enough time already?"
Completely embarrassed, I stayed and took the test, a test I would fail.
I chose to navigate this naysayer
by avoiding her for the rest of the semester.
Years later, I have realized that not saying anything and avoiding naysayers
is worse than responding to them in a harsh manner.
One of my mentors shared a method he uses for delivering a difficult message.
He recommended saying what needs to be said with truth and love.
This approach has pushed me to be direct,
while also seeing the humanity in every person I encounter,
especially the naysayers who are difficult.
I see people as human beings, who deserve to be treated with respect and kindness.
After a few years in the Leadership Center,
I had to have a very difficult conversation with a parent
about how her daughter was making poor social choices
that were negatively impacting her academics.
Following this meeting, the parent wrote a letter to the superintendent
in which she referred to me as "the emperor with no clothes,"
implying that the Leadership Center was not substantive
and that I was too stupid to even realize it.
Once my worst fears about not being good enough
were shared with all of the people I respected,
I realized I had two choices:
I could retreat like I had when I was 14, and was scared of my teacher,
or I could summon the courage to see the humanity in this person,
to take the high road, and continue to be kind,
because obviously this mother thought she was protecting her child.
Don't get me wrong though,
I didn't suddenly invite this family over to my home for dinner,
but I definitely developed a thicker skin.
I am a proponent for taking the high road whenever possible,
and I have also come to realize that step 3,
collaborating and communicating with empathy,
is essential in cultivating a practice of starting over.
Remember how earlier I mentioned that I ignored my headaches?
I definitely struggled with communicating my needs and asking for help.
I thought I could do everything on my own.
That is, until I saw the F in PE on my report card.
Now let's back up for a second.
Remember, I had an actual hole in my skull,
I had a doctor's note expressly forbidding me from physical activity
of any kind, because of this hole.
So when I asked my PE teacher if there was anything I could do to improve the grade,
she told me how insulting it was that I never reached out when I was at home
to find out what I should do.
As much as I tried, I had a hard time seeing the humanity in this one.
So I eventually enlisted my parents and the assistant principal
to help me figure out what to do.
I learned that collaborating on a game plan
and communicating along the way are critical.
People want to help us
and they provide perspectives that we can't always think of on our own.
Oh, and they can also remind us that we're not crazy,
especially if you happen to have a hole in your head.
After over a decade of successfully building a program,
I started over yet again, and accepted a position that had not been done before
at Saint Christopher's School, a JK-12 all boys school in Richmond, Virginia.
While this experience provided even more opportunities
for me to hone all three of my steps for starting over,
I have learned the most about the value of collaborating
and communicating with empathy.
Recently I worked with an incredible team of colleagues
to design and facilitate our school's accreditation process.
We engaged our faculty and staff
to work together to confront data from our constituents,
challenging them to identify areas that needed to be improved.
As my team members presented our findings,
I saw people who embodied genuine collaboration
and communication with empathy.
People who are living our values of honor, courage, respect,
honesty, kindness, and humility.
I saw the heart and soul of our community coming together.
The reasons why our boys and our families loved this school.
I sometimes wonder how I would be different
if I had this kind of an environment
when I returned to school after my car accident.
You have heard me share a few examples of what I experienced as a student,
and I ask you, is that the kind of environment
we want for our children today?
How can we as educators strengthen our school communities
so that all of our students and teachers feel supported, trusted, and loved?
I believe that cultivating a practice of starting over
so that we can empathize with others is key.
You don't need to have your own near-death experience
to develop your process for starting over.
Instead, consider asking yourself these questions:
What unlocks the impetus inside you, and how do you channel your responses?
Can you see the humanity in all you meet,
particularly the people with whom you don't agree?
And how do you collaborate and communicate with empathy?
Together we must choose to start over,
not just at the beginning of each year,
but every single day.
This may seem harder than going at it alone,
and it will definitely take more time,
but I promise you, it is well worth it.
Join me in choosing to start over,
so that we can build stronger communities together.
Thank you.