I was in a pretty bad car accident several years ago. I had stopped at a traffic light and was waiting for the light to turn green. A car bigger than mine came speeding up and threw me from the third lane onto the first, near the sidewalk. I was lucky there was no other car there, I had my seatbelt on, and I was in a car known for safety. At least that’s what everyone who saw the accident, the cops, told me. Anyway, I still ended up at the hospital pretty upset and angry that I wasn’t going to make it to my meeting with a client of the company.
But there was a policeman who kept following me to make a statement. He kept asking me: “Do you consider yourself a victim, ma’am?” I was so dazed and scared, I said: “Me, a victim? Never!” The policeman came back with the same question as if he was waiting for me to change my mind. I didn’t. I had been through so much in my life, I had seen death in the face, I had started over several times, I couldn’t feel sorry for myself. I had chosen this attitude many, many years ago, convinced that I had to support myself, that I didn’t have the luxury of being a spoiled brat.
Besides, I didn’t like victims. It seemed to me that they placed themselves in a weak position from the start, that they were actually seeking attention, wanting to manipulate others, wanting to be the centre of the universe and otherwise failing. I am still baffled by people who are always complaining about everything and anything, as if they have a sword over their heads, as if someone is holding them tightly to a job, a relationship, a place.
Coming back, I have argued loud and clear that I am not a victim.
I was wrong. In that situation I was the victim of someone texting behind the wheel and not noticing the red light. So he ran right into me. Chance, my guardian angel who was on duty, protected me. I was the victim and I didn’t know how to report it. I was at an extreme as unfit as a victim. Balance, the middle way, is not easy to find. But we’re always searching, aren’t we?
