The tens taught me the lesson of how to survive. The twenties will teach me the lesson of how to thrive.
What a decade, y’all! I’m sitting here writing this but I don’t even know if I have enough words to express what the last ten years have been like for me. First, I’m grateful for all things. I know approaching life from a place of gratitude opens the doors for more gratitude to flow in. In spite of every obstacle against me, in spite of every loss, in spite of every dark day, I persevered and I survived. I lived in a sowing season, and now it’s time to reap.
I learned more life lessons in ten years than I’ve learned in the entirety of my 32 years, and I know there’s a purpose in the pain even if it hurt (and sometimes still does) like hell. I learned how to lose gracefully and still ignite a spark of hope within, because keeping the flame alive provides light for the path I travel. I learned we are souls and our bodies are the vessels in which we reside. We are essence and energy and we exist here to learn. It’s not about what we get, but it’s all about what we give. Wealth isn’t only about money or material things, wealth is having peace within yourself, regardless of what’s going on around you, and that’s something no salary could ever give you. Be and stay true to you and claim that abundance.
I learned I give light, I give encouragement, I give fire and a passion for anything and anyone that matters to me. I learned my father raised me well, and my siblings and I are, without a doubt, carrying his legacy with us. I am so thankful for all of the time I had with him, because he established a foundation for us to only go up.
If things don’t feel good, find some good in it. If you can’t find the good, create something good and focus on that. I understand pain down to the very core of the soul, but I also understand purpose. Not everything that happens to you is about you. Sometimes things happen solely because we need to have our story to share, and we can’t empathize if we haven’t traveled that path. I did that. My stroke made sure of it, because not only did I face my own mortality at 24 years old, I had to begin a “new normal” I was not ready to start. It was very much do or die, and I chose to do, even if some days I felt like I might die.
I am petite, but I am also a powerhouse and nothing or no one will stop me once my mind is made up. I will stand, even if I stand alone. I will speak, I will use my voice and I will listen. I will help other stroke survivors (and those who love them) traveling down this path, because I’ve been there done that and have the scars to show it. I remember feeling like I was in a foreign land without a compass, guide or map. I remember being absolutely terrified that I would “just suddenly die” because I was no longer within the four walls of UT Southwestern. I remember the isolation, difficulty accepting or understanding, and devastation of watching everything I thought I knew, all I thought I would have, and everyone I thought knew me, just disappear literally overnight. There are no words I can share to express this type of pain, and I can feel the swelling in my chest as I write this, because I know I do not want anyone to suffer in that place by themselves. I am here because I’m supposed to be here. I am here for you, and I am thankful I’m able to communicate.
I’ve said it before, but had the stroke taken place in the same lobes, but on the left side of my brain, it’s very likely I could’ve lost my ability to speak or understand words at all. It’s due to aphasia, and the thought of it makes me want to cry. I remember having some issues with language early on in my recovery and that’s what showed my dad something actually did change. Some days I still have slip ups with using the correct word but the wrong way. For instance, I would write “I can here you” or something like that, but I meant “hear.” It’s actually kind of scary to experience, because you know what’s right, but your brain literally doesn’t function well enough to notice it or correct it. I will be “eight years old” in my new normal, in February and I still have days where my processing of language is slower. There is such an odd feeling of being trapped inside your own body and knowing what you know you know, but not being able to express it. It’s really quite alarming, and I just know if I can help even one person know this could be one deficit they have because of their stroke, then my own suffering is totally worth it.
Eight years is a long time, but not in the “new normal.” Life is different now, but life is still good. Some things have stayed the same, while some things have changed. One constant, though, is how I process sound. When too many people are speaking at once, my brain still processes the words as a foreign language. I don’t even know how to explain it, but even if I know they’re speaking English, my brain cannot make sense of the different sounds, so it just jumbles everything up. I can handle it a bit easier now, but it’s very tiring (in a neurological fatigue way) to me if I have to be in a loud-chaotic environment with too much noise at once. I have developed really good boundaries with myself and with others, and that helps me to keep moving forward! The more tired I am, the less I can handle, so I will just shut down or shut off. Usually this means putting on headphones, but I will also leave a place if I need to, because I know once I start flooding, it won’t be long before I become extremely irritable and/or a migraine develops.
Speaking of migraines, I know what it’s like to feel so bad, you really do wish you could just pull your head off of your body and get a new head. Thankfully I am well controlled now, thanks to Aimovig, but I do still have “bad brain days.” On those days, I just have to shut down because I can’t focus or function and I don’t want to be mean to people or myself. I have to be quiet and be in the quiet.
Quiet. That’s how the majority of my year was, last year. I spent nine months just trying to process what actually happened (graduating college with honors is a big deal and even more so when you did it with an acquired brain injury, after an eight year break from the first time you went to school) in the four years prior, and since I had time to just be, everything came rushing in. I had to process that I really did do it, I really did keep that promise to myself and my dad, that I would finish school and I would graduate with honors. Sometimes it still shocks me, because it seems so surreal but it really happened! I am so proud of myself and I know this is only beginning.
In the quiet, I had to process the death of my dad and since I knew I wasn’t handling it so well but I didn’t want to turn to an unhealthy coping mechanism, I chose to get back into therapy. I have a great psychologist and she has helped me so much. I learned about delayed grief and I turned back to writing (not publicly) to help me express what I was feeling and get it out. I had to be still, so really even though it was not easy, it was necessary that I did not immediately start working like I’d planned to do. None of my job interviews (if I even got to that point) resulted in an offer and I was so upset for so long. However, one day when I got tired of being tired, I told myself to to step back and think of what did happen. I did get back into therapy, I did make myself an exercise regimen I could stick to, I did spend time reading and reflection of what is still good. I needed that stillness. Just because it doesn’t look like anything is happening doesn’t mean nothing is happening, it means you can’t see it externally yet, but the change and growth is happening within. That is a major lesson and it’s one I will carry with me for as long as I live.
I learned it’s okay not to be okay. I learned you can go there, but don’t stay there. “There” being wherever you go to feel whatever you feel, and just letting yourself be there and feel it. That’s okay, it means you are being true to yourself and allowing yourself to go through the cycle. Do not let it stop you from living your life, though. If you’re still here, you’ve still got purpose, and you need to trust in that. Find some way to release it and be kind to yourself, because you’re always a work in progress.
The tens taught me how to survive. The twenties are going to teach me how to thrive. I release the past decade in gratitude, standing strong in my power and following the path of purpose. I give thanks for all that was. I welcome this new decade with an open heart, and give thanks for all that is and all that will be.
The lesson lately has been “keep going, keep growing” and that’s exactly what I intend to do. I am blessed to be here and I am excited to see what “all good things” looks like, lived out. I welcome balance and peace as I continue to move forward in this life of mine. I can feel this hope deep inside of my soul, it makes my body feel electric and I know it’s because there is greater and there this more ahead. All that was lost is not a loss, and there is a lesson to be learned, regardless.
If you’re reading this, I hope you’re doing and feeling well, wherever you are. I hope you have a great new year and always remember to keep the faith, keep the fight.
2020, let’s do this! It’s only up from here!
Faith, by fire. 