“It seems like you’ve done a ton of work on yourself this year, which is just amazing,” she said.

“I have. I’ve really been, uh, leaning into the discomfort and embracing the idea of healing. Which is why I’m here.”

I fiddled with my sweater and bracelet on my left wrist. I tucked my hair behind my ear and looked my new therapist in the eyes. She smiled, and she looked down at the Trauma Timeline I wrote out for her. My timeline, which I named Trauma Timeline™, is a chronological list of my life’s happenings that have led me to where I am today. I decided it’d be beneficial to walk into therapy with a written account of what’s made me, well, me. It’s simply a list of facts. It’s also, quite possibly, the most Virgo move I have ever pulled.

Age 10:

- My mom got married.
- My mom got pregnant with my younger brother.
- We moved away from New Orleans to a very small town.
- My grandparents’ house, the house I grew up in, burned in a house fire.

I made a note after age ten that said, “This year was a doozy!”

After speaking with my therapist about my tenth year of life and how monumental it was in my development, we discovered, together, a whole host of behaviors that were directly correlated to the feelings of abandonment and loneliness ten-year-old Kaitlyn experienced. The discoveries were fascinating.

The last time I went to therapy, I was living in California, and my therapist told me I was born into grief. That one sentence she said to me has never left my brain. That one sentence fueled a three-month process in writing an essay I titled “Coffee and Copenhagen” about my great-grandfather. That one sentence changed my life.

This go around, my being born into a state of grief was confirmed. I’m neither happy nor sad for this confirmation. It just is what it is. But it gives me a better idea of the cards I’ve been dealt, and I’m eager to discover and uncover tips and tricks to better navigate my life.

Things like my anxiety, or my abandonment issues, or my worries around loved ones dying, or my incessant need to triple and quadruple check my house before leaving just in case there’s a candle that’s been left lit.

The year 2019 rocked my world, but the kicker here is that I’m about to rock 2020’s. As a matter of fact, despite some recent events that had every opportunity to derail me and knock me to the ground, I already am rocking it. Between a significant car accident in December that I haven’t quite opened up about to receiving some major health-related news from someone I deeply care for, my perspective on life has changed dramatically.

Overnight, it changed.

In a matter of seconds, it changed.

When I got back from Los Angeles on December 7, 2019, all I wanted was to get through the holidays and pack my bags and hightail it back to L.A. And then December 19, 2019 happened, the night of the car accident, and I was reminded of the fragility of life and how much I had been taking for granted.

While I still want to be back in L.A. writing and acting and making movies (and I will be), I want more than just those things.

I want to fall in love again. I sincerely do.

I want to be a mother.

I want to have a family of my own.

And, prior to that night, I didn’t really think those were things that I wanted. I was okay with never getting married and never having children. But then I was hit by an SUV and, for a brief moment, I thought I was dead. And I remember thinking, “Wait, I’m not done yet.”

And that’s because I’m not.

I’m not sure if I believe everything happens for a reason, but I believe we can find meaning in what happens around us if we have enough self-awareness, gratitude, and openness. Truth be told, for the entire month of December and a week or so into January, I was angry that someone ran that red light. I was filled with rage, I was depressed, and I felt fragile in every sense of the word. Now, almost seven weeks later, I see things differently.

I don’t believe I was destined to be in a major car accident, nor do I believe the person who hit me was fated to have made such a huge error in judgement, but the thought that both of us needed to be woken up to something in our lives has crossed my mind.

For them, perhaps they needed to be reminded the importance of driving the speed limit, or not texting and driving, or, I dunno, stopping when the light turns red.

For me, perhaps I needed the reminder that I am surrounded by people who love me and who care for me and who, in a moment’s notice, are willing and ready to cover me in love and support. Perhaps I needed the reminder that my body, after rest, medical care, and therapy, is resilient and should be cherished and respected more by it’s owner. Perhaps I needed the reminder that even my wildest dreams are not wild enough, and I must dream harder and wider and dare to explore having it all. And believing that I can and will.

So, perhaps, December 19, 2019 was a night when two people who needed reminders just so happened to cross paths. And we did. And what resulted was a disaster, don’t get me wrong, but in the rubble, there is beauty. There usually is. It just takes us awhile to find it.

And I think I finally have…

• I found a brand new opening chapter in my novel, the one I started last February after my break up.

• I was reminded that I am loved and, if I need them, people will show up for me.

• I experienced a bought of depression, anxiety, and PTSD so debilitating, I opened up about it to family on Christmas Day, thus resulting in a familial promise to be more open in communication with one another and more understanding.

• I found the courage to seek out therapy to continue on my journey of healing.

• I received permission to rest.

• I was reminded that life is fragile, so while we’re here, it’s best we live.

• I was given the gift of an open heart after it had been sealed shut for nearly twelve months.

Life doesn’t make sense most days. It really and truly does not. It doesn’t make sense that we’re put through trials and tribulations, it doesn’t make sense that good people get sick, it doesn’t make sense that you’re driving home and get t-boned so aggressively, your car resembles origami. It doesn’t make sense.

What does make sense, however, is that we’re given opportunities to rewrite our story and rewire our brains to make sense of all that doesn’t.

Does that make sense?

Had it not been for that night, I’m not sure I would have had the courage to tell my family about how small I’ve felt in my lifetime, and how hard it’s been to walk through life carrying such a heavy secret. I’m not sure I would have considered how beautiful it is to open your heart to someone and fall in love, regardless of the outcome. I’m not sure I would have truly thought about having a family of my own, because, to me, I couldn’t have that and a career in entertainment. But now I know that’s not true.

I can have it all, because I say I can.

I deserve abundance. I deserve joy. I deserve love and community and safety. I deserve to achieve my wildest dreams, and I deserve to dream even bigger.

And I needed the reminder.

And we often get what we need when we need it.

And it rarely makes sense.

“It seems like you’ve done a lot of work on yourself this year, which is just amazing.”

“I have. I’ve really been, uh, leaning into the discomfort and embracing the idea of healing. Which is why I’m here.”

I’m here.

I’m not done yet.

And that’s the one thing, and sometimes the only thing, that makes perfect sense to me.