A Second Pass at Life

We were given an assignment for cognitive psychology: we had to write a deep self-reflection on our lives through Erikson’s psychosocial stages, how we think our development has been, where we stand, etc. I realized that I had gone through these stages twice: first naturally, and then after my accident. A thought came to me: what if you could hit a reset button in your mind after experiencing a life-altering trauma? The idea intrigued me, so I asked the professor if I could write about it. She was happy that someone was giving it genuine thought instead of just using ChatGPT to get it done, and I was instantly given the green light.

Naturally, I started writing on the due date. I was traveling a lot that day, so I decided to work on the train, just like old times, graduation nostalgia and all that.

I was amazed to see that I could write a 3,000-word assignment during train travel, round trip of course, and submitted it at 11 PM, one hour before the deadline. The credit goes solely to this blog site. It has made me capable of writing consistently and thinking in a structured way. I was essentially getting a ready-made blog out of that assignment, which was a great side benefit.

So here, I’m going to reflect briefly on each phase, don’t worry, I’m not writing a 3,000-word blog here. xD

Trust Vs Mistrust

Before my accident, I considered myself securely attached, though tinged with mild anxious attachment. Much of this came from bullying during my school years. My weight and appearance made me a target, which slowly chipped away at my self-worth. Still, despite that, I grew up in a loving family environment with parents and a sibling who consistently supported me.

Romantic relationships introduced another layer to this conflict. I had a partner during my accident, someone with a more avoidant style of attachment. Her presence during my recovery was selective, sometimes supportive but often absent when I needed her most. This created a deep sense of mistrust in terms of romantic dependence. It was as if the accident stripped away illusions: I realized I could not rely on her, and I ended the relationship. Interestingly, I did not experience the same low self-worth I had battled during adolescence, instead, I broke free of chasing unavailable people.

Rebuilding trust was still necessary. I felt a professional hesitancy creeping in; mistrust was not limited to romance but extended to my ability to depend on others in collaborative settings. I took deliberate steps to restore trust. A vivid incident stands out: while river rafting in Kullu, I jumped into the cold water. In that moment, I had no option but to trust my companions to pull me back. It was symbolic, a conscious confrontation with mistrust. By surrendering, I reclaimed the ability to trust others again, both personally and professionally. You can read the incident here: The Day I Put My Life on the Line

Autonomy vs. Shame and Doubt

Before the accident, I had a mix of autonomy and doubt. The bullying and low self-esteem of adolescence had added shadows of shame, but by adulthood I had cultivated enough independence to function confidently.

After the accident, however, autonomy had to be rebuilt from the ground up. I had to teach myself the most basic tasks all over again: dressing, bathing, eating, and even walking after a leg sprain and long bed rest. Though friends and family were willing to help, I deliberately insisted on doing these things myself, asking them only to step in if I truly failed. It was my way of reclaiming my agency.

Each small victory reinforced autonomy. The first time I buttoned a shirt with one hand, or managed to bathe unaided, I felt not only capable but liberated. Unlike in childhood, there was no shame in failure, I approached every task with determination rather than self-doubt. By the end of this stage, I had emerged with an almost absolute sense of autonomy. If I could rebuild my daily functioning after losing an arm, then there was nothing in life that I could not attempt.

Initiative vs. Guilt

I had always been inclined toward initiative, even as a child. During recovery, this trait amplified. Once I had physically regained enough stability, I looked outward, toward my career. Despite the trauma, a few clients had stayed with me, and I resumed working. Soon after, I enrolled in an advanced digital marketing course. The decision was strategic: I wanted to fill the knowledge gaps that my unconventional entry into the field had left, and I wanted to reconnect with networks of colleagues and potential employers.

In this period, I pushed myself to explore new opportunities. I applied for clients, pursued a full-time job as a real estate digital marketing manager, and consciously sought experiences that would strengthen my skills. The four months after I was medically cleared felt like a whirlwind of initiative. I was actively countering guilt, the fear that I would become irrelevant in a fast-evolving field. By taking initiative, I re-established momentum in my life and avoided being paralyzed by the weight of what had happened.

Coming Up Next: The most intense battle of my life: The Purpose to Wake Up Tomorrow.