In my last blog, I started recounting my efforts to get an a license in skydiving. Despite several injuries, I was still at it. In one particularly notorious jump, I’d just come to a few hundred feet off the ground during one jump.

And then I passed out again. Fortunately, during my dogleg turn, I had lined myself up as best I could before reaching approximately 100 feet. I regained consciousness again briefly.

Everyone was yelling, “Flare!” This is the maneuver used to land. My fear response really kicked in and I began to flare like hell. But I flared too high and began falling too fast and ended up landing on my butt at about 15 miles an hour. (Spectators at the drop zone reported different speeds and different heights – but the end result was the same.) The people watching said I literally bounced off the ground.

This had not been in my plan.

It was a few days later that I was told by an emergency room physician that I broke my sitz, or pelvic, bone in four places and fractured my vertebrae in two. I refused medical treatment at the drop zone for fear of retribution for my teammates. After all, some of them were still on active duty. If we called for medics they would have to shut down the drop zone for a period of time to do a full investigation. I was a civilian jumping with a mixed group of military professionals. My primary goal after I landed alive was to protect those who served around me. I would deal with the pain later.

All I knew when I landed was that I was numb from the waist down. People were running to help me from far and wide across the drop zone. Some were Marines, some were Navy and some were Air Force. This a drop zone where the Army Golden Nights and the Navy SEAL LEAP Frogs practiced. They all saw me hit the ground and also noticed that something was poking out from my jump suit. Their faces were full of curiosity mingled with horror. Could it be a broken bone?

I wish it had been a bone! Instead, it was my fully naked butt hanging out from the torn spandex leggings and my favorite black-and-red jumpsuit (a gift from a pilot friend).

Everyone gathered around me to try to inspect my injuries, but I had no time for an examination. I needed to be at the airport in a few hours to fly to Los Angeles for a prior engagement. I foolishly become angry at people trying to provide me with medical attention. Didn’t they know I had more important things to do?

I was eventually allowed to drive home and managed to put on a suit for my engagement in L.A., even though my bones were literally in pieces.

That day was a valuable lesson for me.

There were many opportunities to assign blame…to my instructors, the heat, my prior injuries, etc. And I came pretty close to using blame to assuage my embarrassment. But the fact is, sometimes, there is no blame; stuff just happens and the best thing to do is take it in and move along. And that absolutely awful event not only could have been worse – but it eventually made for a great story.

Have you had something happen to you where you not only injured yourself (emotionally or physically) then realized that you couldn’t blame anything but rotten luck on what happened?

Thanks for sharing.

For questions about this post or for information on becoming a fearless leader, contact Dr. Cathy Greenberg and The Fearless Leader Group at (888) 320-1299 or by email at hello@fearlessequalsfreedom.com.