Over the past couple of days, I've had this nagging feeling that I can't seem to shake. This tiny bit of dread hangs over my head, reminding me of all the small things I'm not in control of: this morning's train from Paris to London that goes under the English Channel, the cold I picked up four days ago that I can't seem to kick, the airports and flights I'll have to navigate in order to get home – all the necessities of travel resulting from the Adidas skate tour that's leading up to tomorrow's release of my pro shoe.

So, really, there's no way I can be upset. This is all I've ever wanted and everything I've worked for finally coming to fruition. As someone who has battled an anxiety disorder for nearly three decades – and yeah, I'm only 30 - this looming dread is nothing new. When it rears its ugly head, I cope by using a ton of tools, one of the main ones being skate. So I know that while I woke up anxious, today's agenda – organized around hitting London's best skate spots – will automatically help to silence the doom-and-gloom voice in the back of my head.

As I skate at each place, that doom feeling isn’t really going away. I’m not fully enjoying myself, but I do it anyway, thinking the continuous movement might eventually help. By late afternoon, we reach the last spot: the Wandsworth Roundabout. You know, the infamous location in the opening scene of Stanley Kubrik’s A Clockwork Orange. I don’t make the connection at first, but afterwards, it’s so clear. And creepy.

About five months before this trip, I did something a little out of character and got a psychic reading done. A friend suggested a reading, and I thought, "Why not?" After all, I was in a time of transition – coming out of a breakup, about to turn 30, moving houses – it could be interesting.

Skeptical, I got on the call. The psychic began to tell me things that she couldn't have known were already true or, very shortly after, became so. One of her predictions was that I would go to Paris this summer. Nailed it. Another was an explicit warning to stay away from A Clockwork Orange. Huh? It felt like such a random, throwaway comment. I decided to disregard it.

Six months later, here I am, standing at the edge of the Wandsworth’s banks. The psychic’s words come rushing back.

Two of my friends just ate it going down the same steep bank I’m standing on. I feel off. Honestly, this whole place feels off. What if I fall too? Or I don’t turn in time and land on my ankle? What if I break something?

I take a deep breath. I trust myself. I’ve done this trick a million times. I’m in control. It’s fine. I’m fine. I drop in.

When I attempt an ollie, I land wrong — right on my ankle — and hear a snap. Are you kidding me? Sitting at the bottom of the bowl with my foot dangling in the air, I know I’m facing the worst injury of my career. I could panic and let my mind run wild with how bad this might be, go down the rabbit hole of surgeries and recovery. Of not getting to skate.

But oddly enough, I don’t.

Those thoughts try to surface, but I shove them back down with a slow and steady breath. This is…fine? Maybe not. But I would be fine. Yes. A calm comes over me as I settle into the mindset of letting come what may.

The rest of that trip is a blur. But not a bad one. With my broken ankle booted up and feeling a bit loopy on painkillers, I’m surrounded by friends for my pro shoe release. And it is just as rad as I hoped it’d be.

The months after surgery are defined by one word: healing. My entire focus is on coming back stronger. Since I can't skate, I lean into my art – my other coping mechanism for anxiety. I spend whole days painting and drawing, And some days I do nothing but sit on my couch and binge my favorite shows. Normally, inactivity like this would be a trigger, but right now, I know that rest is equally as important as my physical therapy.

Anyone who's recovered from a major injury knows that the mental wounds are just as real as the physical ones. I now have to practice everything I've learned in physical therapy, so the same injury doesn't happen again. I'm relearning things that have been baked into my muscle memory for decades. I'm relearning how to take falls and how to run out of stuff to avoid. I now have this hypervigilance about how my body works, and nothing feels the same as it did before. It probably never will. But that's okay. From cast, to boot, to minimal weight bearing, I stay focused on my goal. And when it comes time to ditch my sweet, sweet walker, I ease back into being on a board with surfing. It's slow, but I am coming back healthy.

It’s been over a year since my injury, and I’m still figuring out how to connect all the mental to the physical. I don’t fully trust myself in either aspect. Yet. And that’s okay, too. Looking back now, the timing was pretty hilarious: I broke my ankle the day before I launched my pro shoe.

I spent decades allowing my anxieties to determine my actions. It’s taken me 24 years to learn how to tackle them and accept the situations I can’t control. No telephone psychic, nagging cold, or bad luck from a creepy movie made me break my ankle. People get hurt — especially in the skate world. And after this past year, I know that whatever comes my way, worst-case scenario or not, I’ll be just fine.