My Brain Injury Made My Life Better

On my son’s first day of school, I clasped his tiny palm in mine as we walked toward the end of our driveway to wait for his school bus. It was a chilly December day, and I encouraged him to walk slowly as I carried his brother with my free arm.

A thick layer of ice covered the driveway, and I remember thinking how I should have salted it as I slipped, falling backwards beside my Chevy Blazer. My head broke the fall since I didn’t want to let go of my youngest child, who remained safely nestled in my arms when we landed.

The bus was coming, so I ignored the splitting pain and helped my son climb the steps. I don’t remember much else after this, but I later learned I had fractured my skull. This resulted in a serious concussion with painful, frustrating symptoms that plagued me for more than a year.

And these were major symptoms that impacted every aspect of my life, not minor irritations that I could push through. Many friends were sympathetic, but some just didn’t get it.

“My husband was back at work a week after his concussion,” one friend told me after discovering I still had excruciating pain months after my brain injury.

Another reminded me how her daughter returned to sports just days after her concussion.

“You should be better by now,” an ex stated, as if I could somehow control my recovery timeline.

These comments left me infuriated. What was wrong with my body? Why wasn’t I healing quickly like everyone else? What did I do to deserve this?

My brain injury was awful to the point where I couldn’t even stare at my laptop, iPhone, or TV for more than a few minutes without experiencing intense pain. My head hurt 24/7, and on the rare occasions my head stopped hurting long enough for me to sleep, I often woke up crying in pain. I developed a convergence insufficiency, neuralgia, derealization, spinal issues, and depersonalization. My symptoms persisted no matter what I did, and I cried as the client base I established after a decade of hard work slowly dwindled away.

I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself. I was once an energetic mom, but I couldn’t even read my kids a bedtime story due to my vision issues. I was once a well-paid writer, but now I couldn’t even string a few sentences together without becoming physically sick from the mental exertion. I was once a loyal friend, but now I couldn’t handle more than a few minutes of conversation without becoming confused or exhausted.

The old me was gone. Completely gone. And I was devastated.

I stumbled upon a post from a man with post-concussion syndrome one day as I Googled brain injury statistics. I gazed at the screen through my sunglasses, one eye closed to prevent the dizziness and vision issues that typically accompanied screen time, and devoured his story.

His name was Mark, and he warned people like me to get off the Internet if we ever wanted to get better. I told him I wanted to be myself again, but he warned that wasn’t possible. He said the brain never fully recovers; it just adapts and learns new ways to do things.

I was annoyed at the time, but I figured I’d prove him wrong eventually. I decided to pay attention to his advice in the meantime since the other members of the brain injury support forum seemed to value his input.

“Your brain needs total rest to heal,” Mark explained. “No screen time. No reading. No music. No exercise. Just rest.”

“But what am I supposed to do all day?!” I asked in disbelief.

“Nothing,” said Mark.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I ignored calls from friends and family. I kept the TV off and temporarily deactivated Facebook. I gave up on reading the books that sat in a pile on my desk. I stopped texting my ex all day. I quit cleaning my house.

I curled up in bed and closed my eyes, alone with my thoughts. For once, my mind was still.

When I got up, I took an Epsom salt bath. And another one. And then one more, just for the heck of it.

I repeated this routine for days as the laundry piled up, providing a visual reminder of my lazy days. I started panicking, and then it hit me: I needed help.

I called some friends, and they went to work on my messy home. One swept the floor and washed dishes, while another played with my kids and folded laundry. I kept getting up to clean with them, but they insisted I sleep instead. So I did.

I was thankful for their help but also embarrassed. I had always been so independent, and I hated that I couldn’t balance everything on my own while the symptoms of my brain injury persevered.

“Everyone needs a little help sometimes,” my friend said, reassuring me that there was nothing wrong with letting my loved ones make life easier for my family.

I cried when she left because I realized she was right. I was making my recovery harder than necessary because I refused to accept help for so long. And I didn’t just do this with my brain injury; I did this with everything in life. Before my brain injury, I believed I could do anything — on my own. And maybe my belief was accurate, but was it really necessary to live my life that way?

I grabbed a chair and placed it beside my front porch. The ice that once coated my driveway had melted weeks ago, and fluffy white clouds filled the sky. I watched the grass ripple as the wind gently pushed against the blades, creating a low-key dance party in my front yard. Birds chirped pleasantly as the sun warmed my skin through the grey hoodie I wore daily.

My neighborhood was beautiful. Why had I never noticed before?

I closed my eyes and felt the sun against my face. Instead of letting my thoughts drift to my to-do list or my usual worries, I focused on enjoying the moment. The sun felt amazing. The breeze was gentle. The giant tree my kids loved to climb had tiny floral buds beginning to form.

Life was good. So very good.

I repeated this routine each day when the weather was nice. When it wasn’t, I opened the front door and gazed at the rain, watching tiny droplets form on my screen. I pushed apart the blinds and cracked my windows, listening to nature’s symphony in crisp clarity.

I never paid attention to these things before because I was spiraling through life on autopilot, never taking the time to truly process or absorb the beauty around me. I was alive, but I wasn’t truly living.

But things were different now. I finally understood all the cliches people shared about living in the moment and enjoying life.

And my anger was gone. I’d like to credit the hours of fresh air I racked up each day in my front yard, but I can’t. My short-term memory loss gets the accolades for this benefit, not the mood-boosting power of the sun. I’m okay with that.

I used to hold grudges, but my brain injury made it impossible to remember what I ate for breakfast an hour ago, let alone what someone did to irritate me last week. I couldn’t remember why my ex made me cry earlier that day or how my neighbor drove me crazy. I just knew I loved my kids and was lucky to be alive, and this was so emotionally freeing for me. It was such a relief to stop dwelling on the past, and I couldn’t believe it took a brain injury to get to this much-needed mindset.

Approximately 6 years later, things are still good. My short-term memory doesn’t work as well as it once did, but it works well enough to get me through each day. I’m able to work as a writer and editor again, and I also deliver food part time. It gets me out of the house and gives my brain a break.

I love my family and friends, and I appreciate every moment we have together. Sometimes I still push through things when I shouldn’t, but I’m getting better about taking a break when I need one. I have forgiven people who hurt me in the past, and though I still struggle with moving forward at times, I’ve stopped holding on to so much anger. Vitamins are part of my daily routine, and I eat better than I did before my brain injury.

But most importantly, I’m happy now. Life isn’t perfect, but I’m here — and I’m so grateful for that.