The New Normal
Living with a traumatic brain injury
I usually write about this on my Resurrection Day in April. But for some reason and in many ways, I’m being led to reflect on this experience sooner this year. I accidentally found this description of living with a TBI on reddit. It’s the closest I’ve seen that describes my experience. (edited) Read this long post if you want to, but this is really for me. If you know someone w/a TBI maybe it will help you understand their invisible struggle. 20 years ago, I suffered cardiac arrest. In that moment, I didn’t know it, but my life would never be the same.
A Fight for Survival - I tried to return to normalcy, attempting to do simple tasks. But my body wouldn’t cooperate. I could barely stand without becoming weak and nauseous. It turned out that the lack of oxygen to my brain had caused significant damage. It was a miracle that I wasn’t in worse shape.
The Hidden Struggles - What followed was a period of silent battles that no one could see. On the outside, I appeared fine, but inside, I was fighting constant fatigue, confusion, and the overwhelming fog of my brain injury. The exhaustion wasn’t just physical — it was mental, emotional, and at times, soul-deep. I was dealing with chronic pain and couldn’t think clearly or remember things that once came easily. The simplest tasks felt impossible. It was like I was living in a world that moved at a normal pace while I was stuck in slow motion. Despite these struggles, no one knew how hard it was to get out of bed, to push through the day. On the surface, I looked okay, but I was hiding the true weight of the battle I was facing. This constant battle, unseen by others, left me feeling isolated and unsure of how to explain what I was going through. The worst part wasn’t just the struggle itself — it was the uncertainty of whether I would ever feel like my old self again. At times, I questioned whether my struggles were even real, or if I was just being weak. But deep down, I knew something had changed, even if I couldn’t always see it.
A Shift in Perspective / Opening to Vulnerability - But it was in vulnerability, in acknowledging my limitations, that I began to find new strength. At first, letting others in felt like a weakness. It still does. I didn’t want to be a burden. But over time, I learned that vulnerability wasn’t something to be feared — it was a bridge to connection, to let others support me in ways I hadn’t allowed before. Through therapy, through leaning on family and friends, I started to embrace my need for help. It became clear that strength wasn’t about pushing through everything on my own; it was about letting others see me for who I truly was - fragile, but determined to heal. I realized that there was power in allowing myself to be vulnerable, in recognizing that this wasn’t a journey I had to walk alone. And in that, I discovered a deeper, quieter strength — one that came not from what I could do on my own, but from allowing others to help me. I still struggle with understanding that asking for help doesn’t make me weak, it makes me stronger in ways I had never anticipated.
The Long Road of Recovery - Despite the overwhelming challenges, something beautiful started to emerge from my pain and daily struggle, something I hadn’t expected. Each painful moment, each setback, revealed a deeper layer of resilience within me. The progress didn’t always feel like progress, but I began to realize that each struggle was teaching me something new about my strength. I wasn’t just recovering the person I had been; I was building a new version of myself, one that had been shaped by hardship and healing. The darkness of the injury tried to diminish me, but instead, it became an opportunity to break free from the limitations I had once imposed on myself. There were days when I could feel the subtle shifts inside me, a new kind of strength slowly emerging from the pain. Some days, the shifts were barely noticeable, yet I knew they were there, building a foundation for the person I was becoming.
My body and mind were pushing me into a strength I didn’t know I had. A strength that wasn’t about returning to what I was, but about embracing what I could become. It was a strength built on patience, understanding, and self-compassion, not perfection. I learned that true power doesn’t come from being unbroken, but from the ability to adapt and grow, even when the path ahead is uncertain. In the face of adversity, I discovered that my greatest strength wasn’t in resisting the changes, but in flowing with them, learning from them, and becoming something new in the process.
Redefining Strength and Purpose - As time passed, I began to find peace in my new reality. The injury had forced me to reevaluate everything, my values, my relationships, and my understanding of what it means to live a fulfilling life. I now see my brain injury as both a loss and a true gift. It stripped away old illusions about who I thought I should be, forcing me to embrace the person I was becoming. I realized that I was not just surviving; I was thriving in ways I never imagined. The injury has also reshaped my perspective on others, teaching me to appreciate the quiet resilience in those around me. The road to recovery was long and often painful, but it led me to a place of deep understanding and acceptance. My strength, I’ve learned, is not defined by what I once was, but by the courage to face each day with hope, no matter how difficult it may seem.