I was hit by a car while typing emails on my phone. It made me see my relationship with work had to change.
Melissa Petro
- Melissa Petro is a freelance writer based in New York with her husband and two young children.
- In July 2020, she was hit by a car. Despite her injuries, she didn't take off time to fully recover.
- Over time, Petro says she realized she needed to slow down and reevaluate hustle culture.
I've always prided myself on my ability to hustle.
I went to college on a scholarship, won a prestigious fellowship in my twenties, earned multiple degrees, and worked nonstop for years to become a successful freelancer. My first pregnancy barely slowed me down, and motherhood took hustling to a whole other level, especially throughout the pandemic.
Then, in July 2020, eight months after the birth of my second child and in the midst of last summer's shutdowns, I was struck by a car while crossing the street.
Miraculously, I wasn't seriously hurt, but injuries from the accident dramatically impacted my daily life and impaired my ability to work and parent. Moreover, the incident fundamentally changed my attitude toward work — and hustling.
Life can change in an instant
I don't remember being hit. One minute I was composing a work email on my phone and the next I was laid out on the road staring up at the grill of an SUV.
By way of explanation for plowing through a pedestrian in a crosswalk, the driver said that he saw me stop at the corner. He was right, I thought. I probably stopped for a moment and then kept walking.
I told the police it was my fault, conceding that I hadn't been paying attention. I felt embarrassed and tried to refuse medical treatment until I noticed blood all over the street. That's when I called my husband, told him what happened, and said I'd be home just as soon as I could.
We had two small children. One of them was still breastfeeding. My career was bustling. Less than a week earlier, I'd signed with a literary agent. All this in the midst of a pandemic. There was no time to be hit by a car.
After getting stitches and a battery of X-rays and MRIs, I checked myself out of the hospital against medical advice
Everyone has their own unique story of how they've suffered through the pandemic. Some of us have been sick and lost loved ones. Single folks describe their loneliness while parents bemoan shuttered daycares and virtual learning and inhospitable work-from-home situations.
But in spite of the logistical headaches on top of anxiety, fear, and grief, we all carried on.
Never mind a fractured nerve in my wrist and other injuries on top of pandemic-related obstacles, I tried and failed to work and parent just as normal.
I cleaned, cooked, and looked after my two toddlers while the entire left side of my body blossomed into one big bruise. I participated in our pod just as I'd been doing for months, making snacks and tidying after my neighbor's kids as well as my own even though I was covered in contusions. I masked up and took taxis to doctor's appointments in spite of my anxiety and in between virtual meetings with private students. I typed essays and marked students' papers even as it pained my wrist.
A week or so after the accident, my left breast stopped producing milk. Months later, I remained haunted by intrusive memories of the accident. I couldn't stop thinking: What if I'd had my kids with me? What if, instead of me, it had been one of them? I felt angry and lashed out at my family. Underneath my anger I felt powerless and inadequate.
The pandemic brought on new challenges — but life was challenging before COVID-19
I started working with a therapist to deal with the PTSD and took a deeper look at what motivated my need to work as hard and as often as I did.
I learned that shame, which arises from feelings of inadequacy, can make a person disconnect. It fosters self-neglect and can lead to workaholism. Shame makes us feel angry and blame others. It makes us blame ourselves even when something is clearly not our fault.
The accident wasn't my fault, but the way I'd been living since the accident — and let's face it, for most of my adult life — was a maladaptation, an overcompensation for a feeling of lacking I'd been running from my whole life.
As a consequence of the accident, I've learned to slow down. This past year, I let go of low-paying clients that once drove me crazy and focused more on bigger fish I enjoy working for. I also focused more on my book, even though the project doesn't pay (yet). I stopped hustling and worrying so much about money and started living more in the day.
By most standards, I'm still incredibly productive. Still, life's too short.
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