The Night I Was Knocked Unconscious: Wake-Up Call

I woke up in a pool of blood with the worst, blinding headache I’ve ever had in my life.

I had no idea what happened.

I don’t remember this part clearly because, of course, I immediately passed out again.

Roughly twelve hours later—we never quite figured out the exact timeline with the doctors—I woke up again in bed with the same unbearable headache.

I had no idea what day or time it was, and it took me about forty minutes to crawl far enough to get my phone.

My first call was to my mother.

“I have a horrible headache, and I feel awful,” I told her. It was the only thing I could think to do.

She asked where it hurt, and when I touched my head, I felt a goose egg—like something out of a cartoon—right on the top of my head. A literal half-egg.

There was blood everywhere. No wonder my hair felt so… sticky.

I looked around and noticed a small puddle of blood on the bathroom floor.

That’s when I realized something was seriously wrong.

Did I drink too much and black out?

I was, after all, in the “it’s always wine o’clock” phase of my life—using alcohol to avoid trauma and numb feelings.

But no. Not this time.

In the middle of the night, I had gotten up to pee and didn’t see the big black Great Dane I was fostering, asleep on the floor.

I stepped on her.

As she jumped up, I twisted to avoid hurting her—and that’s when I cracked my head on the granite countertop and knocked myself unconscious.

And had an out-of-body experience.

There I was—out of my body—in my natural, non-physical state of being.

And in that moment, I decided I wasn’t done with this human experience.

I wanted to come back and do things differently.

Being in that state—this out-of-body experience, which I’ve also accessed many times in deep meditation and as a child—is indescribable.

Many of us experience magic in childhood, but we forget our superpowers as we age.

In that state, I was so clear about what a gift it was to be me. I knew why we chose to come here—to Earth—to experience life in this way.

Then I was back in my body.

And it was time to go to the hospital.

I couldn’t remember how to do very basic things.

The brain injury was so severe that the doctor told me:

“No music. No books. No lights. No walking. Nothing that elevates your heart rate at all.
And…
NO THINKING.”

All I could do was meditate.

So I did.

With all that stillness came deep introspection.

After the injury, my psychic and intuitive abilities became much stronger. I just knew things I shouldn’t have known.

It felt like I had regained access to the database of consciousness—the unified information field I had played in so naturally as a child.

I began seeing geometric patterns in everything. I perceived auras again.

I became acutely aware of how interconnected everything and everyone truly is.

And as the months of healing unfolded, I started noticing patterns in my own life that no longer served me:

Self-sacrifice.
Feeling unworthy.
Unhealthy co-dependent relationships(click to read about my now perfect soul mate manifestation).
Playing small so others wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

I also saw how severe bullying and abusive relationships had shaped coping mechanisms that sometimes harmed others—being defensive, shutting down, people-pleasing, withdrawing, being careless with my words, or unreliable.

Finding the delicate line between accountability and compassion is still a practice.

But I could finally see the patterns I had been unconsciously replaying.

Something about that head injury scrambled my internal software—like wiping my hard drive back to a different state.

Being knocked unconscious was the wake-up call I needed to realize I had been living parts of my life unconsciously, repeating old trauma loops.

What I came to understand is that sometimes it takes a disruption—physical, emotional, or existential—to interrupt patterns we’ve been replaying for years. Trauma doesn’t just live in memory; it lives in the nervous system, habits, and relationships we unconsciously recreate. Healing isn’t about erasing the past—it’s about becoming aware enough to choose differently.

The months of recovery were long and, at times, difficult—yet I felt overwhelmed with gratitude.

I was happy. I knew everything would be okay.

Even now, years later, I still struggle with certain tasks that were once easy, and I can’t tolerate drums or loud noises.

That head injury did something similar to what people describe with plant medicine or psychedelic therapy—scrambling neural pathways just long enough to allow for reprogramming.

It reminded me just how precious it is to be temporarily human.

If you’re navigating connection, alignment, or growth in your own life and want support, I’m here.

Together we heal.
Together we grow.
Together we evolve.

Love and gratitude,

Sandy