The Day That Changed My Life

It was warm and sunny that morning. September 11, 2001 would be a great beach day. I could tell, as soon as I walked out the door.   It was something you could feel, living at the beach. I felt it in the air that morning. The sky was a beautiful blue and the sun warmed my face. It started off as the perfect day. Until it wasn’t.

Disliking my boss might have literally saved my life and prevented my experience from being worse.

That morning I planned to take an earlier train, which meant less sleep. My exhausted body overrode the decision to go into work early. As a human being and outside of work, I’m sure my boss was a good person, father, husband and friend, but working for him, was my least favorite thing about my job. Honestly, who wants to go to work where you feel used and unappreciated, especially going in earlier than necessary?!  

A typical commute from the LIRR to the subway. Waited on the platform for the next train to arrive. UGGH… wall to wall people. My thought was… no way I’m starting my commute packed in like sardines on a warm day. Not today. Something told me to wait. Maybe an inner voice?  At that time, I believed it was a guardian angel, my best friend from high school who died 10 years earlier. Whatever it was, I was guided to wait for the next train. Thankfully, it was less crowded. 

The train stopped. The conductor announced we weren’t moving due to an emergency. If you’ve rode the subway, you know it’s nearly impossible to understand the conductor over the loudspeaker. It’s usually a combination of mumbling and static paired with screeching of the subway cars as the train barrels through the tunnel. This time I heard it loud and clear.

We stopped for what seemed like a few minutes. The doors opened and I got out, along with everyone else. My thought was… an emergency?!?  Probably not, rather, a typical subway experience.  

Got my bearings once out of the subway at Chambers Street and headed towards my building. I worked at 1 WTC on the 35^th floor.

There were people and photographers with big cameras running in the direction I was headed and others running the opposite way.

As I got closer, I looked up and noticed there looked to be a fire on the higher floor of my building. It seemed absolutely ridiculous, so I continued on, hurrying. I was concerned I was going to be late for work. A fire? Highly unlikely, though it looked like a movie scene from Die Hard. Maybe something was being filmed that I hadn’t heard about? Standing there I tried to count the floors to see if I could get up to my floor because I didn’t want to be late.

Seems crazy, right? Trauma does strange things to the brain.

It was the beginning of the cell phone era and I was lucky enough to own one. My phone rang. It was my parents. They said, they’re not sure what’s going on, possibly an attack, a plane went into the building. I distinctly remember them saying, “Get out of the city. Go to Penn Station and get on any train to Long Island and we’ll pick you up”.

As soon as I hung up the plane hit the second building. Right in front of my eyes. I saw it all.

People murdered. Falling to their deaths.

Humans in their very last moment of life. Taking their last breath.

The smell of jet fuel swirled and permeated the air.

Paralyzed from shock. I could not move.

No idea how long I stood there but the next thing I remember I was standing under the awning of a bodega, crying and shaking. Uncontrollable. Inconsolable.     

I never felt so alone. Yet surrounded by so many. After all, it’s NYC, there are people everywhere.

Terror. Abandonment. Fear. Panic. Shock.  

Nervous system activated and on HIGH ALERT.

Part of me died that day. I felt it.

To this day I don’t remember the noise. As if watching a movie – complete pandemonium with the volume turned off.

It’s been said that time is an illusion. My experience with time that day was anything but normal. Completely distorted. Lost all sense of time.

I don’t remember having the capacity to move my feet or body, but after leaving the bodega, I noticed a female police officer and asked for directions to Penn Station. She pointed and my trek began. In brand new four-inch heels, a combination of running and walking. Crying and shaking. The entire way.

Deafening silence continued.

Moving through the city like a zombie.

On auto-pilot.

Completely disassociated.

Made it to Penn. Standing in front of the boards searching for the next train out of NYC.

The boards went blank. LIRR shutdown. No more trains running to Long Island.

Frozen again. Panic set in, once more. Now what!!??

Fear and hopeless with no way home. I couldn’t think straight.

Then a miracle appeared. His name was Jerry Wosleger, only I didn’t know it then. I only knew him as a colleague who was married and had a lot of kids. We’d say hi and bye as he ran out of the office every afternoon to catch the train home to his family.

In a state of panic, a glimmer of hope. In a sea of hundreds of people, maybe thousands, I noticed Jerry on the escalator coming down towards where I was standing and he saw me. That, was absolute divine intervention. We embraced. I know we exchanged words but I can’t recall.

We waited on the long line for the payphone. Him, to call his wife at the time and me, to call my parents.

We exited onto 34^th Street to begin our walk back to Long Island.

I always had a love for shoes. Today wasn’t the day for shoe shopping but if we were going to walk to Long Island, I told Jerry, I needed comfortable shoes. We stopped and I bought a hideous but comfy pair of “old lady” walking shoes. 

My youngest sister worked around Grand Central so we stopped at her office to see if she was there but she left earlier. The security guard let us use the phone. Jerry called his wife and she called my parents with an update.

I recall slowing down along the way at a bar that had its doors wide open, TVs on, broadcasting unimaginable images. I’m sure there were other stops along the way to rest, get water and call our families but my memory was fragmented.

Somber and surreal, walking with so many others over the 59^th Street Bridge, I recall the noise of vehicles, though strangely paired with a silent eerie feeling.

Jerry had a Walkman and was listening to the news, providing updates as we walked. The towers had already fallen and we’d seen the smoke earlier as we walked through the city but it was on our walk over the 59^th Street Bridge that I remember. The grey smoke looming over the city.  Unfathomable.

The final pit-stop before heading to Long Island was McDonalds at the end of the bridge, to get more water and a bathroom break. As we walked out towards the street, a man in a coffee truck pulled up and offered us a ride. He was headed to Freeport. It was close enough to where we were headed, so we accepted.

Being a sassy LI girl, since all three of us had to sit in the front seat, I told Jerry he had to sit in the middle. My thought was… some men can still be perverts, even in chaos and I couldn’t handle one more trauma today. We laughed and he obliged. It was a tight squeeze but he graciously sat next to the driver.  

Somewhere between Queens and Long Island I finally had cell service and called my father to pick us up. We were dropped off in a shopping center. It was around 3pm when my father picked us up and then dropped Jerry off at the train station to pick up his car.

I remember seeing my family at my parent’s house and eventually going home and listening to my answering machine. Messages from loved ones, people I met on vacation and friends from across the globe. It was too much to take in. I fell into bed from emotional, mental and physical exhaustion.

My insides still trembling.

Much of what happened in the days and years after are a blur.

All except the panic attacks, depression, PTSD, anxiety and nightmares. That I remember, because they controlled me and dominated my life. Every single day. For about a decade.

I remember three things from the next seven years of my life – the rest, completely blank.

Nightmares persisted. Saw a man in my dreams who I saw falling from the building. It haunted me on and off for years.

Most sounds triggered me, sirens in particular, would set me into a panic.

Gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe. Impossible to catch my breath once a panic attack started. Anxiety almost all day, every single day for years. It was exhausting.

Hypervigilance was my new norm.

Always scanning for an exit. How do I get out? Can I escape?

I didn’t want to be around people, yet I needed them.

I wanted to be hugged, to be held but couldn’t communicate my needs.

It felt overwhelming to ask for help because I didn’t understand what was happening.

I stayed in bed a lot and cried. When I slept, I had nightmares.

The emotional pain was unbearable. I wanted to die. For the first few years, every single morning I woke up, I was disappointed I was still alive and breathing.  

My daily thought was… how am I supposed to live like this? Is this going to be my life forever?  

So many feelings and emotions. It was a mixture of grief, confusion, panic, horror and sadness. Blended with shock, overwhelm, fear, survivor guilt, loss and nightmares. Combined with despair, resentment, anger, rage, lack of safety, dread and nervous system overload – many of them happening together, most of the time, for years.

I needed a “How To Guidebook” for understanding what was happening to my body and a separate one for my emotions.

Within two weeks I was at a psychiatrist’s office for a cocktail of medications for depression, anxiety and sleep issues. I didn’t know anything else at the time, so it seemed appropriate. I was desperate. They were my crutch for three years which allowed me to function, minimally. However, they created a host of other issues – and that’s a hot topic worthy of a separate discussion.

For many weeks, every day, I spent hours on the phone with friends sobbing or with an EAP counselor while staring at the massive pile of newspapers that held the stories of those impacted. I needed to know about every one and their story but I was in no condition to handle it.

There was the “me and my life” before 9/11 and the “me” after. Post 9/11, I was a shell of my former self, completely disconnected from her. I didn’t know her anymore.  

It had been too painful to feel anything, so I shut it down. My brain and body were in full agreement.

If I didn’t feel, I couldn’t hurt any more than I already did. I was at maximum capacity.

I struggled with why I was even here. What was the purpose of surviving this catastrophic event?

Two different 9/11 support groups led by two psychologists, who were wonderful. With permission, they video recorded the sessions so we could measure our progress. By the end of the program, I noticed a slight change. I didn’t seem as zombie-like but still shell-shocked. I guess it was progress, but what next?

Individual therapy wasn’t the answer either, though it served until it didn’t. Talking about trauma endlessly wasn’t what I needed. My body was holding trauma and memories of what I witnessed. Regurgitating what happened and how I felt wasn’t going to move mountains. I was done.  

In 2008 I was introduced to Nichiren Buddhism. My sister knew I was still in a dark place and desperately needed help. She introduced me to a friend who’d been practicing this Buddhism under the guise of “let’s go out for drinks”, then casually share about it. It was a spiritual practice that was doable. I needed peace in my life so that’s what I chanted for along with a few other things. Within two weeks the depressive feelings and anxiety weren’t as heavy. No idea how it worked but it got my attention.

I hadn’t known peace, since very early childhood, if ever. It was a gentle re-introduction.

Buddhism opened the door to allow other experiences into my life.

Energy work came next and had a profound impact. I learned how to ground, reconnect to my body, meditate and release stuck emotions.

Learned about generational trauma, entanglements, unresolved trauma and how it influenced my response to 9/11.

Over the years I received body work, such as Myofascial Release, Craniosacral Therapy, experienced the power of embodiment and somatic practices, EMDR, Silent Counseling and more modalities than I can recall.

I felt cared for and tended to by teachers that understood trauma.

There was power in being seen, heard and validated.

It helped me release and process emotions.

Finally, there was momentum.

I sensed I had a long way to go but pretty cool things were happening and I felt better than I had in a decade.

Couldn’t deny my new reality.  I was feeling more optimistic, less depressed and the panic attacks stopped.

With the possibility of hope, I was on a mission to heal.

First myself, then others.

The deeper I went the more curious I became about the body’s capacity to store information – in the subconscious, fascia, cells and the organs.

My healing process has humbled me more times than I can recall.

It wasn’t only about 9/11, though it was the catalyst for my spiritual journey.

Was it easy? Absolutely not.

Was it worth it? Absolutely.

As I healed, I was drawn to train in various trauma-informed modalities because those were the ones where I experienced the most profound shifts.

I reflect often about what I’ve overcome – where I was 25 years ago and where I am now.

No more hypervigilance, panic attacks, depression, anxiety or PTSD.  

Ten years ago, I was diagnosed with COPD and refuse to allow it to control my life.  

My mission became clear about why I survived.

I recently created a brand-new nonprofit, called Peaceful Warrior Rising, born from my personal experience as a 9/11 survivor. We offer holistic healing retreats for those impacted by 9/11 – this includes survivors, family and loved ones of victims and survivors, first responders, service workers, volunteers and healthcare workers who were there that day and supported in the aftermath as well as those living and working in the area. Our retreats bring together people who share a common understanding of that day and the journey that followed. Trauma affects every part of life and the residual impact remains long after the event. Our retreats offer a supportive community, holistic wellness and trauma informed practices to support building resilience, rediscovering hope and a more harmonious way of living.

If you know of anyone impacted by 9/11 who might benefit from attending a retreat or are curious, please share our website, PeacefulWarriorRising.org.

Please like and share on Facebook and Instagram – (our social media presence is in the very early stages).

If you feel moved to donate, we have a GoFundMe (find the link on our website) to support the participants so they don’t have to incur a financial burden to attend the retreat.