It seems I’ve always been unlucky or prone to accidents. My first accident happened when I was about six years old. My older sister Lonisha, who was only 12 at the time, was responsible for taking me to and from school. She used her bike for transportation, with me perched between the handlebars. One afternoon, another bicyclist crashed into us. I must’ve flown off the bike. Trauma has a way of altering our memory, so while I don’t remember the accident in its entirety, I remember enough to recount it. I just recall our negligent mother bathing us in a tub of peroxide. She never took us to the hospital, so clearly, the accident wasn’t that bad, right?

My next mishap also involved a bicycle. I was twelve, riding my bike home when my long skirt got caught in one of the wheels, causing the bike to cartwheel with me on it. If it hadn’t been for my helmet, which shattered into tiny pieces, I wouldn’t be here to tell the story.

My third accident is easier to recall. I was 19, heading to my job as a customer service manager at Sports Authority. It was a hot August 3rd, and I had my earbuds in, blasting a song by Drake and 2 Chainz called “No Lie.” As I crossed a T-shaped crosswalk, I looked right and left but didn’t hear the approaching car. Suddenly, I was hit by a car. I rolled from the hood down the windshield and crashed onto the hot concrete. Later, I found out that the driver was a 70-year-old woman exiting a U.S. Bank. She didn’t see me and was driving at 30 miles per hour—a speed that, with the direct impact, should’ve killed me. Thankfully, there were eight witnesses to back me up. My mother found a lawyer who only managed to get me $5,000 for this ordeal. Education has since taught me that we picked the wrong lawyer. But then again, my mother was full of mistakes.

My last accident was the most detrimental and hardest to recover from. It was my last year obtaining my second degree. At the start of the semester, I was driving home from work, attempting to change lanes when I crashed into a median and flipped my car. Dramatic movies had me convinced that I needed to get out of the car immediately, fearing it might explode. I used my right hand to break out the driver’s side window and crawled out army-style, then rolled over and lay there waiting for help.

At the hospital, the doctor noted my two front teeth were gone, my nose was broken, and my right hand was severely impaired from all the glass. He told me I’d never be able to use my right hand to its full ability again. Recovery was incredibly tough. My college pushed me to take medical leave. I almost did until one of my rainbows appeared to aid in my recovery. My sister attended school with me, took notes, and helped me complete assignments. Having totaled my car in the accident, my best friend at the time would pick me up from school or send her boyfriend. When she couldn’t, I’d carpool with colleagues, and if they were planning to skip the day, I took the city bus. My best friend also gave me full hand and body massages, which I believe helped my hand heal quickly. She even made a concoction of coconut oil with coffee beans for me to use in the shower to help restore my skin. Eventually, my right hand healed fully. That doctor was wrong.

As a speaker, losing my front teeth was a devastating blow to my ego. I had to learn a new way to talk, tucking my top lip over my teeth to avoid the cruel judgments of others. I noticed a drastic difference in how people treated me without my front teeth compared to when I had them. On a plane ride home to California, the person next to me looked at me, shook her head, and said, “It seems like everyone in Vegas is on drugs.” I took this personally because, being naturally petite and missing my front teeth, I looked like a drug addict. Eventually, I got dental implants, and my body healed fully within a year.

I often say I’m like a cat with nine lives. By my count, I’ve got five left. My journey through these accidents has taught me resilience and the power of never giving up, no matter how tough the odds.