I’ve been wanting to update my website for a long time, but I lacked the courage. Just looking at this website that I poured so much energy into making, and all the past achievements displayed here was enough to throw me into mental turmoil. But since May 2025, a quiet voice inside me has been urging: “You, you should reconnect with your audience!” Finally, today, my mind is clear enough to write again. And I can say with honesty: I am better.
I still remember the day of my accident vividly. One moment, I was at the height of my life, preparing for two top national flute competitions, and the next, everything went silent. My scooter crash left me with injuries that not only shook my body but also rattled my identity as a musician. Suddenly, the flute—my voice, my craft, my future, felt completely out of reach.
The weeks that followed were some of the hardest of my life. I wasn’t just in pain physically from multiple procedures on my lip—I felt lost. I had spent years pouring everything into music, and now I couldn’t even make a sound on the flute. I feared the damage might be permanent, that the career I had built and the dreams I was chasing were slipping away. The worst part was the self-blame. I felt ashamed to admit the accident came from something as “stupid” as falling off a scooter. I even regretted working so hard that day, because I was on my way home from a bad practice session. What if I hadn’t gone to practice? Would my life be completely different now?
But recovery has a way of teaching you things you never expect. I realized my relationship with music and the flute had become toxic. I had little self-compassion, and this accident forced me to confront that truth. Eventually, I made peace with what happened—not because I justify it (I truly wish it never happened), but because I learned from it. Without this wake-up call, I might have kept pushing myself in unhealthy ways until something worse happened.
I learned to slow down. I learned that progress doesn’t always move in a straight line. Some days I felt strong, other days it was as if I was starting over. There were tears, doubts, and frustrations, but slowly, healing came. And along the way, I discovered that resilience isn’t about pretending everything is fine. It’s about showing up for yourself, even when you feel broken. It’s about leaning on the people who love you, allowing yourself to rest, celebrating small successes, and still holding onto hope that your story isn’t over.
Today, I’m playing again with more gratitude than ever. This May, I finished my last DMA recital and am on track to graduate this fall. I also won first prize in the Piccolo Orchestral Excerpts Competition. These moments feel even more meaningful because of the long, winding journey it took to get here.
Most importantly, I want to share what I’ve learned to support others who are struggling. In the next few posts, I’ll be writing about the things that helped me through recovery. If you are suffering from an injury, please don’t carry it alone. Talk to family, friends, therapists, or teachers. Injuries are far more common among musicians than we admit, but many of us keep silent out of shame or fear. It doesn’t have to be that way.
I also just low-key started a small Facebook support group called The Resilient Musicians. It’s not officially public yet, but if you found this blog and would like to join, here’s the link: www.facebook.com/groups/theresilientmusicians/
I hope this space can grow into a community I created to give back after what I’ve learned, a platform where musicians share stories, encourage one another, and remind ourselves there is no shame in struggle. And if you pivot into another career, that does not mean you’ve failed—it simply means you’ve poured your artistry into a new place.
✨ The next blog post will be about self-compassion—a lesson I had to learn the hard way, but one that changed everything for me.