One of the reasons I love writing with the Sidetracked Sisters is that after we’re done, we sit and read our words out loud. What follows is a mix of thoughtful edits, helpful suggestions, and the occasional laughter at the absurd lessons we’ve learned—or haven’t.

Sometimes, though, the lessons come before the writing even starts. This week, we were all racking our brains, searching for unwritten, unpublished memories about an injury. It wasn’t easy. We’ve covered this topic from multiple angles already.

I’ve shared stories about my broken leg and even breaking my “va-jayjay.” Judy’s written about her diving drama, Mom almost lost a toe during a bike ride, and Michelle had her ACL rupture saga.

Everything seems a bit anti-climactic after those major traumas.

But let’s be real—my life is peppered with mini-traumas. Little, insignificant ones that I willingly walk into on a regular basis—like nearly every time I cook dinner. You see, I’m a frequent victim of the fillet knife and my trusty mandolin.

According to Michelle, I cut myself about once a week. My personal guess is more like once a month, but who’s keeping track?