Perhaps now isn't the best time for me to share this; it still feels fresh and raw. But maybe I am engaging in my own form of exposure therapy.

(note: discussion + images of motor vehicle accidents and hospitals)

When I found myself in that car for over an hour with a broken spine and multiple injuries, I had to trust, let go, be open to help and whatever might happen next.

It was Christmas Day, a beautiful morning filled with gifts, pancakes by the pool, and listening to my new record. We were on our way to a family gathering that afternoon, with Jamie and Jesse happily chatting in the back seat. Then, suddenly, I heard Rob shout and saw a car jump the median strip in front of us.


What followed was a horrific high-speed impact.

I remember Rob got out of the car and I went to do the same, but the wisdom of my body gave me a hard no. I am glad I didn’t move, even with my desperation to comfort Jesse who was screaming. I longed to go to Jamie, who was unresponsive some time. 

I dug my elbows into the seat, riding the ways of consciousness, battling the temptation to simply pass out. I had to rely on my learned ability to stay fully present, even amid fear and pain. With the fear, with the pain. One of my vertebrae had burst, and I shudder to think of what might have happened to my spinal cord had I panicked or moved. 

This is where meditation and yoga can literally save you.  I knew my body well enough to understand something was very wrong. Rob had already gotten Jesse out of the car and laid him on the median strip to tend to his injuries. I couldn’t move, but decades of training kicked in. I braced my spine in a safe position and focused on my breathing, reaching out to hold hands with and reassure Jamie, who was in and out of consciousness.

Everything I had learnt from a lifetime of practice kicked in..

Don’t panic.
Listen to your body.
Connect.
Trust.
Breathe.
Relinquish what you can’t control

As my family members were taken away, I felt the pull of despair, the urge to become hysterical or try to control everything.   My practice helped me stay still, which reduced the potential damage of my burst spinal fracture. I found comfort in holding the hand of a stranger who came to sit with me. I remained in that position for over an hour while the fire crew worked to free me. Eventually, they removed the car roof, and I felt my brother-in-law kiss my forehead before I was placed on a spinal board and taken to the ambulance.

In the emergency room, I eventually learned that my eldest was transferred to the bed next to me. Although I couldn’t turn my neck to see him, I could hear him. I didn’t know where Rob and Jesse were or if Jesse was alive (he was—just with seven broken bones and at PCH). I had to trust the expertise of those around me and surrender control completely.

I had to trust, let go and be open.

This is often misrepresented as simply “going with the flow,” a notion common in spiritual circles. But this is not passivity. When Jamie was placed in the same hospital room as me, I felt distraught. Unable to move, I couldn’t care for him. He needed an adult family member present. I had to advocate firmly and clearly:

“He is under age; he can’t be here alone. He needs an adult.”

The trust, letting go, and openness we talk about does not mean bypassing difficult conversations. For the two nights of his trauma ward stay, an adult was present with him. A dedicated yoga practice allows us not only to relinquish control when necessary but also to speak up, even when we feel vulnerable. Yoga can help us advocate for ourselves, people we love and world that needs us.

The next five weeks are a medical horror story in hospital. The anchor in the midst of the madness was breath and connection. With many hours alone, I placed my hands on my chest, and breathed deeply. A lifetime of dedication to practice allowed me to turn my attention inwards to find freedom and peace, in the midst of deep trauma and pain. The days were long and my dear friends created a roster to visit me each morning, with Rob sitting vigil by my bed each evening.

This was an invitation to deep connection. I couldn’t talk, hadn’t eaten for a week, and was on oxygen. Breathing was laborious, so we held hands. It was intimate, to hold my friends’ hands for hours every day. Their love and warmth became my anchor, a remedy for the cold, impersonal environment of the hospital. Through their touch, I felt anchored to love, warmth, and connectedness.

I trusted, let go and stayed open.

There was a level of vulnerability that was raw—a trust that needed to be fully embraced. Spiritual practice invites us to radically trust, let go, and be open.

We are conditioned to resist, but what we resist persists. I didn’t want this experience; I didn’t want this initiation into suffering and sorrow. Yet, it began the long journey of transmuting pain into something meaningful. Which is why I am sharing the journey with you all, because often we feel alone in our difficulties, but we are not.

I have often wanted to give up and will discuss recovery in another blog. I can’t control the outcomes of my medical investigations and surgeries. Trusting, letting go, and being open have become my only means of survival in difficult times. 

It requires curiosity and deep love. It demands tenderness with ourselves and a connection to what truly matters in life. Healing can't be rushed.

The only way out is through. Learning to trust, let go, and be open in small moments prepares us for life’s inevitable difficulties. Will we wake up each day and choose healing?

Though it hasn’t been long, it feels like eons. I am choosing healing, trusting, letting go, and being open. My hope is that you will too. This is why our May Yoga Educational Immersion is named:

Trust, Let Go, Be Open

Join us for our  Upcoming Immersion Events. Want to attend for free? All events are free on a Community Membership.

With love,

Jean x