My life has been an interesting journey that almost ended abruptly.

I grew up poor. My father committed suicide when I was nine. I was molested as a child. The first time I had sex, I was raped. These stories became what fueled me as an adult. I wanted to design a life completely different from my childhood—and I did.

After working my way up the corporate ladder, I started my own company and grew it to over a million dollars, within 18 months. I wrote a book and got it published, then I became a sought after conference speaker. For all intents and purposes, I was successful.

I looked happy—and I thought I was. I had achieved everything I wanted.

Yet, it still wasn’t enough.

It seemed that it didn’t matter what I achieved, I always had to raise the bar and achieve more. I couldn’t stop to appreciate any of it.

When my company hit a million dollars, I set my sights on 10 million. When I got onto the speakers circuit, I set my sights on becoming a highly-paid keynote speaker. When I got published as an author, I set my sights on the New York Times best-seller list.

Work, work—and more work.

But then it caught up to me—in March of last year, I had two minor strokes.