‘Where am I?’ I wake up with a start surrounded by bright, unnatural light. ‘It’s OK, calm down, relax. You’re in the hospital, St Mary’s Paddington.’ A nurse grimaces at my total confusion.

‘What the hell happened?’ I start to whimper, noticing some dried splatters of blood on the floor.

‘You were mugged. But you’re going to be fine.’ She nods kindly and then rushes off.

By this point I have mentally and visually checked out my whole body from head to toe and it is my head that is the damaged part. There is blood all over my blouse and my hair is glued up in spikes like a gothic punk. I have no recollection of what happened after I stepped away from the cashpoint around midnight. It is now about 7am so I have been lying here for a few hours.

I have never been mugged before. That is not to say I have not experienced a ­­­whole gamut of horrible episodes, but the difference was that I was usually the instigator. To clarify, I should mention that my background includes living in Los Angeles fifteen years ago where I became a crystal meth addict. My journey­­­ down that path was rapid. Being a white, middle-class female I went the cheque fraud route, with some shoplifting thrown in for good measure.  But I also spent nights roaming the streets, often 'dumpster diving' — obsessive ‘treasure’ collecting from skips — and spent other nights alone roaming the streets of the Venice district, looking for my stolen car so I could steal it back. (I succeeded, I should add.)

Because of these unusual and dramatic interludes spent out on the streets in a city where guns are almost commonplace, along with gang-style violence, I suppose I viewed the streets of London as fairly safe. As the years passed I defrosted; my frightening mask that screamed ‘Don’t fuck with me’ fell away. In truth, I have become a very different person. Part of this will be down to the obvious, like quitting drugs and maturing in age; but the most significant changes are through my practice of chanting and following the Buddhism of Nichiren Daishonin.

When I met this practice almost twelve years ago I was a rather beaten down woman of thirty-two. I had been living back in West London for five years. I was off drugs, but I had a sad soul. I was forced to leave LA for legal reasons and deep down I knew I’d disgraced and let down myself and my family. On my return home to London I had placed all my dreams and passion into becoming an actress. Initially this ambition had fuelled my new life back home, and I had energy and commitment, as well as some talent and looks. But I gradually realised that many are called, but few are chosen. (Ironically, my first professional acting experience had been in LA in a Budweiser commercial. I had turned up as high as a kite to my first ever casting — and actually got the job. This was probably not the greatest outcome as it gave me the idea that acting was somehow tied up in my destiny. Yes, I've always been a touch dramatic!)

Considering how much I loved acting, I­­­­­­­­­­­­ never really prayed about it very much, but instead I chanted about healing the scarred and broken relationships with my family, and in particular my mother.  She had never really forgiven me for getting involved with drugs and I suppose blamed herself in some way. She had been brought up by a single, alcoholic mother and had never dealt with the fall-out within her own childhood and adult life, so my seemingly sudden change for the worse had floored her. In truth, my unhappiness had been bubbling away since I was very young and sent away to boarding school at age nine.

Throughout my 30s I continued to chant and practise, sensing profound paradigm shifts within myself, my inner growth. After many years of near-change, many upsets and tears, I finally felt the big change had happened between myself and my mother. It was as if our whole relationship had been ‘re-born’: we communicated in a totally new way that included genuine respect, support and honesty. It was with that joyous spirit I headed out to the West End to a work party on a Monday night three weeks before Christmas.  I now work in the casting side of the entertainment industry and even though I’d had a long day I figured some festive drinks and networking may be a good and fun idea in these trying times.

I had a lovely evening speaking with a host of new people; I was feeling particularly open and friendly, not necessarily always the case with me, I have to admit. The party was on the top floor of a private members’ club called Century near Piccadilly Circus. Around midnight I said my goodbyes and headed to the nearest cashpoint to get money for a taxi. Then the mugging. . .

I took the day off work to recuperate; my inner turbulence was mixed with sadness and vulnerability. I tried to recall what had happened but could not. I shed some tears. The next day I got up and washed off as much of the blood as possible around my head wound so as not to startle people on the Underground and went into work.

As the day progressed I realised I was actually feeling really positive: I was even counting my blessings! Anyone who knows me will find this hard to believe — I am certainly no Pollyanna type — but I genuinely felt that something that needed to shift had actually done so with the bang on the back of my head and subsequent concussion. In Buddhist terms we call this karmic retribution. What amazed me was that for the first time ever I was not feeling like, or playing, the victim. My self-pitying tendencies had not gone into overdrive, another new experience.

My handbag had gone with my mobile and my wallet, but amazingly five days later the wallet was returned to me in the post along with my driving licence. The kind stranger who’d sent it had found it discarded in a street in Kilburn.

I am not going to say I am happy to have been mugged, but the experience has shown me I can remain positive in the face of mindless criminal violence. The attack could have had a far more unhappy ending. We chant to be happy, but also for the strength to face whatever difficulties occur in our lives, and I have just had vital proof of this. As Nichiren Daishonin says in one of his many letters to a follower: ‘Suffer what there is to suffer and enjoy what there is to enjoy.’

The night of the mugging I had noticed that the streets of Soho seemed even more populated than ever with the homeless and disenfranchised; seeing them had pushed my guilt buttons. Maybe that, combined with my own usual complacency, my past causes and the power of the Mystic Law, had offered me a wonderful life lesson about the value and dignity of life — of my own and everyone elses’ in this difficult and unjust world.