This is a story about coming to terms with yourself."
It has been 13.5 years since the accident…
A plane crash. An eight-seater aircraft that, on that bright summer morning, carried a young woman — one deeply in love. In love with herself, with life, with a man she had planned to build her future with… But life had its own plans.
The plane crashed somewhere in the fields near Tukums. Four fractured vertebrae. Paralysis of the lower body. A wheelchair.
Life split into "before and after."
The surgeon’s words — "It’s all in God’s hands."
The unwavering support of my family and friends. Their faith that I would walk again.
What followed was an incredibly painful journey back to myself.
I went through it all — complete rejection of my new reality in a wheelchair, the unwillingness to wake up in the mornings, the desperate hope for a miracle, anger at myself, endless rehabilitation, alternative practices, stacks of books on self-development and psychology, strict self-discipline, and an aching desire to feel happiness again.
And yet, seven years later, life split into "before and after" once again.
No, I didn’t start walking.
I simply started LIVING.
Imagine waking up one morning and realizing you have wasted seven years of your life—your youth. You spent it chasing a future that never came, lost in illusions.
Fear. Pure terror.
I didn’t want to live like that anymore.
A serious conversation with myself.
And then, I made a choice.
To take full responsibility for my life.
To stop waiting for a miracle and simply live.
To breathe deeply.
To chase my dreams.
To travel solo.
To skydive.
To seek inspiration—and to inspire.
And, as it turns out, to become an example for someone else.
