As I watched the TV footage of former president Donald Trump being grazed by a bullet but avoiding death by millimeters, I remembered how I felt when I was shot. There’s survivor’s guilt, bewilderment, fearlessness, gratitude and the gnawing question of, “Why was I spared?” It’s a haunting question that I struggle to answer from time to time. Often, it’s the impetus for me to take a particular action I might not have otherwise.

Before my life was almost snuffed out, I would have described myself as risk averse. I was cautious, conservative and played only by the rules. Afterward, I lived my life differently, with a real sense that there wasn’t time to wring my hands or to weigh the pros or cons of a certain action.

I often speak to high school students. I try to use my experience to make a pitch to an age group that generally considers itself immortal. Even the most jaded have questions about adversity, and many fear failing to meet the expectations of their parents or others. There’s always a hush in the auditorium as I tell 400 teens that I was shot five times and lay on an anthill for 22 hours before being rescued.

I remind them that life isn’t always a series of successes. It’s much more complicated than that. For example, I tell them I’m a three-time loser. I lost for student body president in high school and felt devastated. I lost the first time I ran for Congress, and I lost a race for lieutenant governor of California.

I tell teens that losing is living life fully. Being shot is more than the physical wounds and multiple surgeries to somewhat sew your body back together. It is a daily reminder that life is fleeting — so live your life wisely and fully. Teens with an immortal mind-set don’t contemplate the power of setbacks and losses, but hearing about the nature of the scars on my body rattles them into contemplation. It also helps them work through their own challenges and disappointments. I also tell them how it took me years to put on a bathing suit and walk the beach not caring what people would see or say. I want them to appreciate that they are in control of their lives and their healing.

I want to acknowledge the trauma that we experience as survivors of shootings. I met many of our troops while chairing a House committee focused on the welfare of our service members. They know that a bullet may narrowly miss their heads or end their lives, yet they sign up for the job and preserve our liberty against very dangerous foes. Many have post-traumatic stress disorder after serving in battle. So do civilians who have been shot. My body shudders whenever I hear a 21-gun salute or hear certain kinds of fireworks.

Early on, the one thing I did know was that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life, however long it was going to be, framed as a survivor of Jonestown.

I keep a framed needlepoint in my bathroom that I look at every day. It bears a made-up word: LISDIN. “Life is short, do it now.” I think that is partly why I took on the prison guards union as a state legislator, proposed child support legislation that led to a death threat, and received multiple death threats as a cost of congressional service. It’s also why I could stand on the floor of the House of Representatives and talk about my abortion.

Every time I hear of another survivor, I think back and look forward on my own life. I hope they will survive and thrive, despite the odds and the likely ongoing physical and emotional pain.

I write as I am recovering from breast cancer surgery and await word as to whether radiation will be necessary. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m lucky. The silver lining of getting shot is that I’ve had 46 years of life that weren’t supposed to happen.