IN OUR WORDS
A little more room to explore.
There are some things that ask for more space than a conversation, a post, or a passing thought can hold. This is where Chris and I give ourselves that space — to write from our own lives, experiences, questions, observations, and the work we do every day.
Sometimes we’ll write about what we’re learning. Sometimes about what we’re living. Sometimes about the things we can’t stop thinking about.
These are our individual voices, perspectives, and stories — shared in the hope that something here might open a door, spark a question, or help you see something in your own life a little differently.
Article 1 10.2.26
In Kristie’s words
In honor of our 30-year reunion, I am retiring “Most Accident Prone” and the journey of that moniker…
“We are the Senators, the Mighty Mighty Senators. Everywhere we gooooo… People want to knoowwww… Who we are… So we tell them…”
Gosh, I can barely remember what I had for breakfast today, but give me my high school fight song and I am right back on Highland Avenue running through some wall, trying to win a game.
Thirty years ago, this was me (Shoutout to the BMHS Class of ’96! Woot woot! See you this weekend! 🙌). And I wasn’t faking it. If you look closely enough, you can see the effects of it all in my eyes. What I didn’t know when this photo was taken was just how long the road ahead of me would be.
And here’s the thing: that injury and subsequent surgery would mark the beginning of a real decline in my health. It would become a decades-long journey through intense daily pain, insomnia, chronic fatigue, and fibromyalgia, eventually leading to a Lyme diagnosis—all of which are now in my rearview mirror, thanks in large part to the fact that I, and the closest people around me, never stopped asking questions.
When I was in my twenties, doctors told me I would be chronically ill and disabled for the rest of my life. I didn’t believe them. I knew that just meant that they weren’t my people.
Someday I’ll write another post about growing up with parents who taught us never to quit. That family creed has been woven into who I am for as long as I can remember, shaping the way I’ve faced challenge, searched for answers, and kept moving forward. More than anything, I believe it’s what carried me through and helped shape both who I am and how I got here.
And in the absence of an explanation, there was the joke.
Most Accident Prone.
Twelve high school athletic seasons. Twelve injuries. One for every season. Everything from a manageable broken finger to the torn ACL that ended my competitive athletic career. The running joke was that I was accident prone.
Except it wasn’t really funny to me.
I just wanted to ball.
Sports were how I knew myself. They were a huge part of how I understood who I was. So when that ACL tore and that part of my life suddenly disappeared, to say I was devastated would be an understatement. That injury began a years-long journey into a pretty heavy darkness—what I have come to call my dark years. Some say they were the best years they had with me. We definitely had the laughs (and photos - deep gratitude for all the yet to be invented internet capability of social media back then with our underdeveloped brains) to support that theory.
U-C-O-N-N! UCONN! UCONN! UCONN! With my Hale 9 girls, the Lady Huskies basketball team, and my FIT crossover into NYC in what should have been my senior year of college (apologies to my parents for that brilliant financial move), I was always moving and grooving somewhere…while also trying to find my new way, because I had lost the only way I knew myself to be.
Sports were my identity. And until that identity was taken away, I didn’t realize just how much work it would take to find my way into whatever version of me I was becoming next. It took a tremendous amount of love, support, and therapy to find my way out.
Shoutout to John Szarlan at UConn (RIP—he was one of the best of the best). I still hear him often in my head saying, “Kristie, don’t should on yourself.”
To Meredith Yuhas and our standing Saturday morning, two-hour weekly processing sessions at 9 AM, regardless of what my Friday night foray had been—or the one-hour drive to get to her. (Well worth it). She was the first person that introduced to me how much the brain loves patterns, and how unoriginal my daily thinking was based on this.
To Carl Heinemeyer, who walked me through the SUPADARK… and out the other side.
And to Debbie Kaplan, who for the last 17 years has helped me unwind who I am, why I am, and how to be a better version of who I am through all of the miraculous and devastating ride these years have been.
And to all the ones I love and have loved—my family and friends who rode with me through all the iterations of my life. There have been many seasons when life asked a lot of me (and you), and I hope we had enough laughs together to balance it all out. My gratitude runs deep for each of you—for who you have been to me, for walking alongside me, and for the deeply necessary timing of your arrivals and the places you have held in my life.
But one thing that was too big a part of the ride was that the injuries didn’t stop after high school. And neither did the explanation: You’re just accident prone.
Do you know how incredibly frustrating that is when your body keeps getting hurt and all anyone can tell you is that you’re apparently just really good at getting hurt?
Fast-forward almost 30 years.
November 2024.
I tore my hamstring off my pelvis, dislocated my femur, and tore my glute.
Crutches for 10 months.
I only started driving again this summer.
But this time, something was different.
I kept going after IT, with my PIM (partner in magic), Chris D’Arcy.
Not just:
How do we get me walking again?
But:
Why does my body keep doing this?
Why the tearing?
Why the injuries?
Why this pattern, over and over and over again?
Today, thankfully, I understand my body very differently than I did 30 years ago. We can call it Ehlers-Danlos syndrom, and hyper-mobility. And I can also go deeper than that and look at the ways trauma and the patterns of my life have lived in my body.
Over time, I began to see a pattern: When life became too much, tearing seemed to be my body’s particular language.
ACL.
MCL.
Ligaments.
Tendons.
Hamstring.
Glute.
Dislocated ribs.
Psoas.
Erector spinae.
And that’s just the tip of it. The list goes on…
And somehow, there has been something extraordinary hidden inside all of it.
My need to answer my own questions—to understand what was actually happening, and to keep looking when the answers I was given weren’t enough—eventually led me to one of the great callings of my life.
First, it was through energetic modalities that opened a completely new door to understanding my life experience. Then came Biomagnetism, which changed my life—but that is a post for another day. And eventually, after following that thread through years of questioning, learning, exploring, and discovering, I found myself at what feels like the end of the rainbow of it all, at least for now to where the Resonance Platform was born.
From my journey and Chris’s. From two people who kept asking questions about our own lives, our own bodies, and our own patterns—and kept going until we found ways to answer them. And now we’ve built something that allows you to begin answering your own.
For me, after a lifetime of being told I was “accident prone,” I’m ready to find out who I am when that story is no longer mine. To heal what has been tearing me apart. To restore my body. To get stronger than I can remember being. And yes—to rollerblade again. Coming soon! Who is flying on their wheels with me??
This became my work. And in many ways, it took a lifetime to get here. Maybe that’s why I’m so damn excited about putting this work into other people’s hands. Because you don’t have to accept “that’s just how I am” as the end of the story.
You can ask better questions.
You can understand what has felt unexplainable.
And sometimes, when you finally understand the pattern, what has felt immovable for years can begin to move.
So yeah.
Thirty years later, I’m officially retiring Most Accident Prone.
I’ve fake-laughed at the joke long enough.
Time to see what I can really do when there isn’t a barrier holding me back.
Which, by the way, has always just been myself.
What are you ready to retire?
P.S. If that question brought something up for you, Chris and I hold monthly Zoom community gatherings on the second Saturday of each month. We come together to dig in, go deeper, support one another, learn from each other, and get after what’s ready to shift.
You can register here to join us at our next gathering.
I hope to see you there.