Finding Humor

Probably the toughest part of my recovery is officially underway - breaking through the boulder of denial about the fact that I have a brain injury and actually saying it out loud and feeling the grief. I'm told acceptance comes at some point.

I've known since before my surgery that I would have a brain injury. In fact, I already had brain injuries because Marvin was causing quite a bit of inflammation and damage. For how long? Who knows. Years. Maybe (probably) decades. My neuro team all told me all of this. After my surgery, it's like I didn't believe them or something. I became so deeply entrenched in denial that there was nothing that was going to break me out of it. It was helping me return to my old self and it would have to be pried out of my cold, dead hands.

What I'd never heard anyone say out loud until I read this book that I'm reading now: The old me? She's gone, and she's not coming back. I don't think I would have heard it if someone had tried to say it to me sooner. In fact, I know that people have told me this and I haven't listened. I wasn't ready to hear it.

Something really magical has happened since I heard the author utter that sentence. At first, I was really, really sad about it. Like, big crying in my car type of sad. Like, randomly sitting at my desk and crying a little bit without understanding why type of crying. I've cried listening to and processing this book more times in the past week than I have in total over the past four years. But then once I was able to sit with the grief and give it some room for a bit, the relief I felt...I've never felt anything like it.

I could stop pressuring myself to get back to normal.

I could stop shaming myself for all of the things I can no longer do.

I could finally meet myself where I am instead of this imaginary, unattainable goal of getting back to where I was before my surgery.

I was free. Am free.

You know what happened after that? I stopped hiding it.

Two of my best friends and most trusted colleagues? I said it out loud to them. We talked about it. they validated, because it's really fucking hard. I cried A LOT about it. They listened. We made a plans that are manageable and centered around me asking for help, even when I don't know what I need. (woof. I'm feeling emotional even writing that. WHY AM I A CRIER ALL OF A SUDDEN. HATE THAT A WHOLE LOT.)

It's like this snowball that was rolling down a hill, and it's just going to get bigger. I am making broader plans to train clinicians on how to work with people who have brain injuries, because hot take: None of us has any fucking clue. Literally none. I want to, when I'm ready (NOT NOW OR EVEN IN THE NEXT YEAR), start a brain injury support group, because I know without a doubt that I'm not alone. I'm finding hope that I have been missing, and it's helping me find purpose again. 

First item on the agenda, though? I'm going to connect with the author of this book because she needs to know how much she's helping people. She's located in Maine. I'd literally drive wherever she is and take her out to dinner if I ever get that opportunity. That's how thankful I am about this.

I have to stop making fun of her first.

This is how I know I'm not at acceptance yet. This woman's book is lovely. Absolutely lovely. It's poignant, you can visualize what her grief process must look like, and she just does such an amazing job of discussing her lived experience as a brain injury survivor.

She described things that have helped her, like:

Starting a gratitude journal.

Writing affirmations, framing them, and hanging them around her house, all of which have to do with what she is capable of now.

Doing a portfolio of her accomplishments since her brain injury.

Finding the silver lining (my favorite of hers was when she found purpose in her family again when she realized that because she has a blunted sense of smell, she can cut onions without crying. Super sweet.)

Regaining the sense of self now that the old her is gone, and how that can help a person get back out into the world.

I could literally name like ten more. Do you know how many times I ripped on these ideas? As often as I possibly could. Intellectually, I know they're fantastic ideas. The part of me that is still grieving wants to hear literally none of it.

So I'll use humor to get me through, but there are several of her suggestions that I'm going to try while I do. Will all of them work? Of course not (ESPECIALLY THE SILVER LININGS ONE BECAUSE I HATE SILVER LININGS WITH THE FIRE OF A NOVA AND THANK GOODNESS MY HATRED OF THEM WAS NOT EVICTED WITH MARVIN BECAUSE THEY'RE BULLSHIT), but I want to try.

I finally want to try.