Echoes of the Past -- Creeping up like Ghosts in My mind....

When I close my eyes and think back to those moments — the crash, the sirens, the hospital walls — it feels like a lifetime ago and yet only a blink away. I remember waking up, hazy and broken, realizing that not only was my body shattered, but so was the life I had worked so hard to rebuild.

But here's the part that I want you to hear — really hear with your heart: It wasn't just the trauma that shaped me, it was what came after.

The moments of silence, the dark nights where the pain in my body was matched only by the ache in my soul. The crushing realization that vulnerability wasn’t a weakness — it was the doorway to my healing.

For so long, I had believed that being strong meant carrying it all, smiling through the pain, never rocking the boat. I had learned somewhere along the way that speaking up, demanding more for myself, would cause conflict — and conflict, to me, meant abandonment, punishment, shame. So, I swallowed my truth more times than I can count. I tried to "keep the peace" when in reality, I was at war within myself.

But life — Spirit — had other plans. My body had been literally broken open so that my Spirit could finally rise. There was no more hiding. No more pretending. No more people-pleasing to keep others comfortable while I drowned quietly in the background.

And you know what? In the rubble of that wreckage, in the echoes of my past choices, I found something I had never fully grasped before: My voice. My worth. My right to take up space, even if it made others uncomfortable.

Learning to walk again wasn’t just a physical process — it was a metaphor for my entire life. Each painful step on my reconstructed femur was a mirror of every emotional step I had to take to rebuild my boundaries, reclaim my energy, and say, “No more.”

No more sacrificing my peace to appease others. No more swallowing my truth to avoid confrontation. No more carrying burdens that weren’t mine to bear.

The lessons came hard, but they came wrapped in undeniable truth: It was never about being perfect. It was about being honest. It was about choosing myself, even if it meant walking alone for a while. It was about rising, even when my knees buckled and the tears wouldn’t stop.

I had been through spiritual warzones, emotional heartbreaks, devastating losses — and yet here I stood. Maybe not the same woman I once was. Maybe scarred and stitched back together, but holy in a way that no perfect facade could ever be.

Every echo of my past — every choice, every fall, every time I bit my tongue instead of speaking my truth — was now part of the symphony that made me who I am today. I realized: My vulnerability is my superpower. My journey is my offering. And every scar has a story that deserves to be told.

As fate would have it ---

I would spend the next year and a half learning how to walk again — not just physically, but spiritually and emotionally, too. Each step with a walker, each painful breath through tears I dared not shed in front of others, taught me something that I didn’t even know I needed to learn: that healing is not just about putting broken bones back together. Healing is about reclaiming the pieces of your spirit that you didn’t even realize had been shattered along the way.

There were days I sat in that hospital bed staring at the sterile white walls, wondering if maybe this was it — maybe I had fought enough battles for one lifetime. Maybe Spirit was calling me home. But every time that thought crept in, something deeper would rise — a voice, ancient and familiar, echoing up from the marrow of my soul: "Not yet. You are not done. There are still mountains to climb. There are still souls to touch."

When I finally left the hospital, fragile but alive, I realized that vulnerability — the very thing I had fought to hide for most of my life — was the root of my beauty. I had spent so long believing that being strong meant being silent, agreeable, never rocking the boat. But survival had taught me something that Spirit had been whispering all along: Strength is not found in silence. It’s found in the power of speaking your truth — even if your voice trembles.

Looking back now, I understand that I had been trained by life to be a peacekeeper, a shape-shifter, a "go along to get along" girl. But peace at the cost of your truth is not peace at all. It’s a slow erosion of your own soul.

The motorcycle accident didn’t break me — it revealed me. It stripped away all the layers I had worn to protect myself and left me face-to-face with the raw, unfiltered version of Lisa Dianne. The woman who refused to be silent anymore. The woman who understood that vulnerability wasn’t weakness — it was sacred strength. The woman who would rather be authentically broken than perfectly numb.

As the months turned into years, I pieced my life back together, not into the same shape it had been before, but into something completely new. I learned to honor my pain without living in it - I learned to love without losing myself. I learned to trust the echoes of my past, not as chains to bind me, but as guideposts showing me the roads I would never walk again.

I often say now to my clients — and to myself — that the dark night of the soul isn’t a punishment. It’s a sacred initiation. It’s Spirit’s way of burning away everything that isn’t truly you -- and trust me when I say, I didn’t come out of that darkness empty-handed. I came out with the kind of wisdom you can’t buy, borrow, or fake. Wisdom etched into my bones, stitched into the fabric of my being. Wisdom that now serves as the foundation for the work I continue to do today — guiding others through their own storms, helping them find the light within their own shattered places.

"Echoes of the Past" isn’t just a title. It’s the truth of my existence.

Every scar, every heartbreak, every moment when I thought I couldn't possibly endure one more thing — they all echo through me still. But they do not haunt me anymore, they sing to me. They remind me:

✨ You are not broken. You are breaking open. ✨ You are not lost. You are becoming✨ You are not defeated. You are transformed.

And so, the Adventures of Lisa Dianne continue...Not as the story of a woman who was saved by circumstance — but as the story of a woman who saved herself by learning to rise, again and again, when every bone in her body and every crack in her heart told her she couldn’t.

And I am still rising. With every echo. With every breath. With every brave, beautiful step forward.

As this chapter closes, I invite you to sit with your own echoes — the moments that shaped you, the storms that stripped you bare, and the tender spaces where healing still waits. Because the truth is, no matter how broken we feel, the soul always remembers the way home.

And this? This was only the beginning.

In the next chapter of my journey, I will share how I began to rebuild — not just my body, but my spirit, my dreams, and my identity. How I discovered that rising isn’t just about survival... it’s about reclaiming the fire inside of you that was never truly extinguished. It’s about learning to live — not in spite of what you’ve endured, but because of it.

Stay with me...The best parts are still unfolding. And so are you.

xoxo