As a 22-year survivor of severe traumatic brain injury, recovery isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and deeply personal. I’ve lived through moments when words failed me, when fatigue masked my personality, and when silence was my loudest cry for help. This post is for the caregivers who stood by me, especially my mom, whose quiet strength carried me through.
What I Wish They Knew About My Mind
• I wasn’t lazy—I was exhausted in ways I couldn’t explain.
• I wasn’t confused—I was overwhelmed by too much input.
• I wasn’t distant—I was trying to protect my dignity while navigating a new reality.
What I Needed Most
• Patience over perfection. I didn’t need answers—I needed presence.
• Gentle reminders instead of corrections. My brain was healing, not broken.
• Respect for my autonomy, even when I struggled. Every small choice helped me reclaim myself.
A Tribute to My Mom
My mom lived just upstairs in our two-flat apartment, but her love reached me in every corner of my recovery. She brought meals, managed medications, and offered the kind of emotional support that never asked for recognition. Her care was quiet, consistent, and unconditional.
I remember her walking down the stairs with a plate of food and a soft smile, never rushing me, never judging me. She saw me—not just the survivor, but the son she believed in. That belief became my lifeline.
Thank you, Mom. For every whispered prayer, every ride to therapy, every moment you chose love over frustration. You are the reason I kept going. This post—and this journey—is dedicated to you.
Thanks for helping me, I love you!
Keep fighting survivors!