Sometimes our greatest lessons come from the moments that change us forever. Healing has not happened all at once for me. It has been a lifelong journey that began with a childhood accident and eventually led me to rediscover joy, purpose, and visibility. My scars tell part of the story, but the rest is about finding the courage to live openly, to help others do the same, and to understand that healing continues in every act of kindness and self-acceptance.

I was born in Albany, New York, and have called Tucson home for 27 years. For decades, I worked in healthcare leadership before founding my own company, First Impressions Image Consulting. Today I am an author, coach, and speaker, and I serve as Board Chair of the American Red Cross of Southern Arizona. But long before those titles, I was a frightened little girl who carried a secret.

When I was two and a half years old, my mom took me to a neighbor’s house for a mother-daughter tea. The table was set with cookies, cups, and a large coffee urn that had just finished brewing. As I climbed up to reach for a cookie, the urn tipped, scalding me with hot coffee and trapping the liquid against my body. In seconds, forty percent of my body was burned, some areas down to the bone. I was rushed to the hospital, where my parents were told they did not know if I would live or die. There were no burn units or pediatric ICUs in 1956, only terrified parents and doctors fighting to save a little girl.

The weeks that followed were filled with pain and experimental treatments as doctors worked to help my burns heal. My parents stayed strong, but the fear of losing me never left their eyes. Eventually I was well enough to go home, but life was different. The physical wounds had begun to close, yet the fear and shame they left behind stayed with me for years.

As a child, I withdrew into silence. I hid behind my mother’s skirt and rarely spoke. At school, I never raised my hand, even when I knew the answer. By the time I was a teenager, I could not look in the mirror without shame. I believed I was damaged goods. Though my scars were mostly hidden under clothing, I was sure everyone could see them and would turn away.

For years I tried to disappear. I hid behind my clothes, my career, and even my smile. I spoke with my hand over my mouth until I got braces at 50. Fear became my constant companion. I was afraid of heights, small spaces, and fire. I was even afraid to light a match.

Surviving was not something I thought about. I simply did it. Thriving took much longer.

Healing began with small, steady acts of courage. One of the most important moments came when I enrolled in a phobia course after moving to Tucson. I had always been terrified of snakes. I could not even look at a picture in a book. Over several months, I worked with a PhD student who helped me face that fear step by step. I started by looking at photos, then toy snakes, and eventually held a live corn snake named Max. That experience showed me that fear loses its power when we face it in small, deliberate steps.

Not long after, another opportunity helped me grow in a different way. A hospital administrator where I worked saw potential in me and sent me to Dale Carnegie training. That experience gave me a sense of confidence I had never known. Later, a rheumatologist named Dr. Joel Kremer took a chance on me, hiring me for what began as a six-week trial and became a six-year position. When he encouraged me to take a job that required traveling alone, I was terrified. The thought of eating by myself and staying in hotels alone felt impossible. But I went, and with each trip I became stronger. What once felt frightening began to feel freeing.

Still, the deepest healing came later. In 2019, at a fundraiser, I broke down in tears while listening to a woman speak about children in burn units. I told the audience I wished my parents and I had had that kind of support when I was burned as a child. Afterward, a woman approached me and said, “You have a story to tell.” At first I brushed it off, but she persisted. Over months of conversation, she convinced me that sharing my story was not only important for others, it was essential for my own healing.

Once I began speaking openly about my burns, people leaned in. They did not turn away. They told me about their own scars from fires, car accidents, or illnesses, many sharing their stories for the first time. I realized that we all carry hidden pain. When one person speaks their truth, it gives others permission to do the same.

Writing became the next step in my healing. For years I had journaled, and those pages became the foundation of my books The Accident and Becoming Visible: Overcoming Trauma Based Fears, Phobias and Self Doubt. My husband gave me the best advice: just write. Do not worry about spelling or chapters, just write. Each time I did, I released a little more of the fear I had been holding.

Today I am 71 and thriving. I take yoga and pilates, I walk every day, and I smile often and freely. People say my smile is contagious, and I believe it. When we share kindness and positivity, it changes the energy around us.

I no longer see myself as damaged or less than. My scars are part of my story, but they do not define me. I have learned to say no when I feel overwhelmed, to trust my instincts, and to breathe through discomfort using the 4 7 8 method: inhaling for four, holding for seven, and exhaling for eight. Small tools like this remind me that fear no longer controls me.

My work now focuses on helping others build confidence and reclaim visibility. Through First Impressions Image Consulting, I coach people to strengthen their presence and communication skills because we never get a second chance to make a first impression. Through the Red Cross, I advocate for fire prevention and for supporting survivors in recovery. Through speaking engagements across Arizona and beyond, I remind audiences that trauma does not define who we are, how we rise from it does.

Every time I share my story, someone tells me theirs. A veteran burned in combat. A teenager recovering from a house fire. A woman scarred from an accident. Each of us has a story that matters. When we hide our pain, it keeps us small. When we share it, we begin to heal.

I have come to understand that surviving was not the end of my story, it was the beginning. I used to ask, “Why me?” Now I ask, “What can I do with this?” The answer is simple. Use my experience to help others feel seen.

Healing begins when we stop hiding.

Bio:
Gayle Petrillo is an author, coach, and speaker based in Tucson, Arizona. She is the founder of First Impressions Image Consulting and serves as Board Chair of the American Red Cross of Southern Arizona. Her memoir, Becoming Visible, shares her story of resilience and the power of embracing one’s scars, both visible and invisible.