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I was an active kid living in Canada. I’d been skiing since I was 3, so winter always beckoned me back to the sparkling snow. One sunny weekend, the snow rested beautifully and the powder ran deep. We’d skied all day and were packing up when something pulled us back for "one last run." Little did I know, that run would alter the course of the next third of a year. I pushed off and started down the slope. The next few seconds would change everything. I hit a patch of ice on the steepest part. I tried to regain my footing, but gravity had other ideas. I completely lost control and got swept down the mountain, doing literal somersaults. Skis are designed to release on impact. One did, but the other one never came off. After seconds of unintentional ski-acrobatics, I finally stopped myself towards the bottom, but it was too late. My leg was broken. It was a complex fracture that would almost leave me with permanent damage. Everything that came next was a blur. As the ski patrol swirled around me, their voices faded into the distance. My mind was still trying to catch up with reality. I was in a world of pain, and for the first time in my life, I felt so utterly helpless. When we got to the hospital, we got some good news. The doctors would be able to fix my leg without surgery. But they would need to get creative, and the healing time would take a while. The next 4 months were filled with stillness as I recovered from the accident. This stark contrast to my previously ultra-active life was pure torture. I was sidelined, reduced to a spectator while life went on without me. When my leg finally healed, I couldn’t walk normally for a while. 4 months of immobility had taken a huge toll and it felt like a giant slap in the face. Though I eventually made a full physical recovery, the mental scars remained. I was never able to ski the same again. That fearlessness and confidence I once had was gone. A few years later, I gave up skiing altogether and switched to snowboarding. Snowboarding was freeing. It was a clean slate. It didn’t carry all the bad memories that rained on my experience every time I put on skis. And I don’t like rain. I’m not the band Garbage. I’m not happy when it rains. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/69a88fa0d63dd23e928b02b9/9ce8f982-d83e-473a-8269-14ab8bc41ddd/Test3.jpg New Page - Seeds of inner confidence After the skiing accident, my mom’s perception of my body changed and she started seeing me as fragile. She wouldn’t let me do sports other kids took for granted, afraid I’d break my body again. Her perspective hung over my childhood like a dark cloud, ready to rain doubt on any athletic endeavor I wanted to pursue. But deep inside, I knew she was wrong. I just knew it. I knew she was greatly underestimating what my body was capable of. I knew that her perception was limited to what she saw. And she didn’t see the big picture. But I did. And that was the important part. I saw my body when it was performing at its best. That’s what really mattered. She didn’t own my body, I did. I wasn’t going to let someone else write the narrative of what my body could and couldn’t do. That story was mine to write. Mine and mine alone. From that point on, I cultivated an inner confidence that would carry me through many challenges ahead.