NOT GUILTY!

Posted by Nicki Peasley 1 Comments

Two years ago, I was in a car accident.  And it was my fault.  Hurting someone is my worst fear.  And on the first day of spring 2009, that fear became a reality.

Guilt is a toxic fuel.  And I allowed it to run me for most of my life.  “I’m sorry” was my childhood mantra.  In adolescence, I was compelled to confess to my parents every bad choice I made.  In early adulthood, I took on the world’s pain and guilt as a social worker.  How could I be living this charmed life in the midst of such despair?  I would actually make up stories that would produce the guilt I felt I needed to operate.  And the fact that I am of German descent, well, that guilt took on a life of its own. 

At the scene of the accident, I was in shock.  I totaled my car and another carrying a woman and her 3 children.  People ran out of their homes to help.  The police and the ambulances were there almost immediately. I can still hear the sound of the children crying and my heart breaking.  “It’s all my fault. I did it.” I repeated like a mantra, the guilt of a thousand life times pouring from my lips.

I remember trying to get to the other driver—ready to fall on my knees at her feet—and being repeatedly restrained by well-meaning neighbors and police officers.  “You can’t admit fault, Nicki.  You have to protect yourself.”  But the truth was, I wanted to be condemned right there.  I was guilty.

Miraculously, no one was seriously injured.  We were shaken and sore, but a hospital visit confirmed no physical injuries (other than my burned wrist from the airbag).   While my body healed, my spirit was crushed.  “It was an accident,” friends and family tried to reassure me—to no avail. 

Against everyone’s advice, I wrote a letter to Wanda, “the victim.”  Yes, I admitted my guilt.  I offered my sincerest apologies for inflicting harm on her and her family.  My sister, Holly, delivered it with a bouquet of flowers. And I waited by the phone for Holly to call with news of how “we” were received.

“Nicki,” my sister was crying, “she was so gracious, so forgiving.”  And then the most beautiful statement Holly could have made, “She was YOU.”  Wanda was an African American single mom, unemployed, and by Holly’s observations, struggling to make ends meet.  But my sister saw beyond her outer layers to her core—“She was pure and beautiful—and human, just like you.”

I had gained redemption by the person I needed it from the most, but I still had to go to court.  My friend Ed, a lawyer, was with me for support.  “Let me do the talking,” he said, well aware of my compulsion to crucify myself.  As we waited to be called, I noticed a familiar face a few rows in front of us.  It was Wanda.  Against Ed’s advice, I went to sit beside her.

We looked into each other’s misty brown eyes and it was as if we had known each other our whole lives.  We both had a lot we wanted to say to each other, but were warned twice by the bailiff to be quiet.  So we just held hands and waited to be called.

When it was our turn, Wanda and I approached the bench, arm in arm.  Ed followed behind, shaking his head, in disbelief.  “Judge, in all my years practicing law, I’ve never witnessed this before.  I think I’ll let the victim speak first.”

Wanda told the judge that she was there to ensure that I “didn’t get in trouble.”  She said she saw me look both ways, before crossing into her path—that it was truly an accident, the result of a blind spot, and she and her children were fine. 

With that, the judge looked at Ed and smiled, “I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed this before either… case dismissed.”

Wanda and I hugged each other and then we hugged Ed.  We would have hugged the judge and the bailiff, too, but we restrained ourselves. When I recount this event, the storyteller in me wants to add that the whole courtroom was cheering.  In their hearts, I believe they were.  After all, everyone in that courtroom was a witness to a bridge being built between races, between socio-economic demographics, between social expectations and the hope for a united humanity. 

So, you might be saying to yourself… lovely story, Nicki, but what does this have to do with leadership?  My response:  EVERYTHING.

Wanda was and I’m sure still is a shining example of one who leads and lives from her character, her inner essence.   Wanda could have easily fallen into the victim role, fulfilling society’s expectation to file a lawsuit.  Instead, she consulted with her core and took steps to realize a bigger vision—forgiveness for the sake of forgiveness, unity across differences.  Wanda remained true to herself and spoke her truth with authenticity, compassion, and courage.  That’s leadership. 

And in this process, I learned that guilt is a fuel I can do without. It still creeps up now and again, but Wanda’s forgiveness, that I continue to carry in my heart, gives me the strength I need to resist it.   From the bottom of my heart, Wanda, thank you for showing me that love is all we need to build a better world.  Lead on, sister!  I’m right behind you.

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Nicki Peasley I am the CEO of my home, managing a team consisting of a 40 year old, an 11 year old, an 8 year old, and a 6 year old. In my spare time, I am the YOUth development director for Bounce, writing curriculums and working (playing and learning) with elementary and middle school youth.