resilience vs recovery : reflections 2 years post TBI
Words matter.
This is one thing I’ve learned through my journey with traumatic brain injury and vision loss.
”You have a traumatic brain injury. The imaging looks like it’s a concussion, which is a mild classification of brain trauma. You should make a full recovery. Just rest as much as you can.”
Its nearly two years since I was told these words by the doctor at the emergency room, and I am just realizing the full impact of these words on my expectations for myself, my future, and my journey with brain injury.
the short story
I went to the ER two and a half weeks after hitting my head in a motor vehicle accident. My symptoms had become unbearable and I was worried something was terribly wrong. I had seen a physical therapist and a chiropractor the day after the accident, with a headache, dizziness, stiffness, aches and pains, and weakness in my neck. I’d followed their advice and expected to be feeling better quickly.
Hearing at the ER that I had a “mild” form of brain injury was confusing. The symptoms were anything but mild; I couldn’t stand upright without help, I couldn’t drive, I couldn’t keep track of time, space, or conversation, it took me hours to write text messages or emails, I couldn’t sleep or eat, and I had unbearable head pain, dizziness, nausea, and disorientation.
My symptoms had been getting steadily worse since the two and a half weeks after my accident. I was scared and unable to express what was going on in my brain and body.
Leaving the hospital, I felt relief that I just had a “mild” brain injury and would be able to see a neurologist soon. I would be better soon. I just needed to rest, see the next doctor, and heal.
or so I thought.
Within four months, I’d received several additional diagnoses. Through physical therapy, speech therapy, occupational therapy, psychotherapy, and my team of neurologists at Barrow Center for Concussion and Brain Injury, I was putting all my energy and time into recovery. I was taking tons of medications. But I wasn’t getting better. After seeing another specialist, I was told that I was testing legally blind in my left eye, my brain was processing at the speed of a kindergartner, and I had PTSD, anxiety, and depression.
I didn’t understand how my entire life could be turned upside down from a “mild” brain injury.
Shouldn’t I be recovered by now? I worried. How could I be a 32 year old business owner, wife, movement specialist and doctor of health science and not be in control of my body and recovery?
I was doing everything “right,” and wasn’t recovering.
Clarifying words: recovery vs resilience
Me in May 2018, three months before my brain injury.
In the two years since my brain injury, I’m learning to focus on my words, expectations, and communicating my current abilities to improve my quality of life.
I’m a word person, so I wanted to provide a few definitions from the New Oxford American Dictionary:
re·cov·er·y
/rəˈkəv(ə)rē/
noun
noun: recovery; plural noun: recoveries
a return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.
"signs of recovery in the housing market"
Similar:
recuperation
convalescence
return to health
process of getting better
rehabilitation
healing
rallying
improvement
picking up
betterment
amelioration
rally
upturn
upswing
comeback
revival
renewal
a turn for the better
Opposite:
relapse
deterioration
the action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost.
"a team of salvage experts to ensure the recovery of family possessions"
Similar:
retrieval
regaining
repossession
getting back
recapture
reclamation
recouping
retaking
redemption
replevin
recoupment
recuperation
Opposite:
loss
I (and my husband, friends, family, clients) expected me to make a full recovery—be able to do a handstand in a brewery while goofing around on a Tuesday night after a 12-hour workday, full workout, and living my normal life.
I faced constant disappointment when I didn’t meet these expectations.
Here’s another word to consider:
re·sil·ience
/rəˈzilyəns/
noun
the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.
"the often remarkable resilience of so many British institutions"
the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.
"nylon is excellent in wearability and resilience"
Similar words:
flexibility
pliability
suppleness
plasticity
elasticity
springiness
spring
give
durability
ability to last
strength
sturdiness
toughness
strength of character
hardiness
adaptability
buoyancy
ability to bounce back
bouncebackability
Opposite words:
rigidity
fragility
vulnerability
weakness
Resilience is a word I learned to lean into through the Love Your Brain Foundation (a nonprofit organization that builds community, fosters resilience, and supports those affected by traumatic brain injury).
Resilience is a trait to be practiced, strengthened, and grown. Like a muscle that gets stronger through reps, challenge, and consistency, resilience can be strengthened too.
Resilience is the journey; recovery is a destination.
reflection
This post is so difficult to write. Half of me wants to put a bow on it and be positive. I’ve made a lot of progress, I’ve learned a lot, I’ve grown through this trauma. I’m practicing resilience daily.
The other half of me? It wants to cry about how difficult every single day still is. It wants to look at my old photos and feel devastated that I don’t look that way anymore, that I can’t do those things anymore, that I deal with difficulties daily because my brain, body, eyes still operate differently than how they did for 32 years. The other half of me still hopes for the full recovery I was promised.
Both parts can coexist. It’s okay to not be okay.
why I share this
I share these lessons I’ve learned from my own experiences, from the countless books I’ve read, from the hours and hours of therapy I’ve done, from the podcasts I’ve listened to, from the movements that I’ve done, and from the thousands of dollars I’ve invested in my journey to date.
I share because what’s helped me the most is to hear other people share their true experiences. Not the Instagram version of their “recovery,” but the harsh realities.
You might read this and think, this isn’t applicable to me. I’ve never had a brain injury or lost my eyesight. I just have ____.
Trauma is trauma. Pain is pain. Loss is loss. Change is change. Grief is grief. Covid19 has affected us all; there is no hierarchy in pain, loss, trauma, grief, change.
I hear people talk about Covid19 and reference “when life is normal again,” and other variations on this theme. I do this, too . . . even though I’ve learned through my journey with TBI that there is no “normal” again, but a new normal.
Thank you for being here. Thank you to those of you who continue to encourage me to share. Thank you to those who share with me.
Its surprising to realize this is my 100th blog post. I started this blog January 1 of this year, unsure of whether I would last a week as a blogger. Unsure of whether anyone would read what I wrote. Unsure of what I could possibly talk about for any length of time (turns out I can talk about lululemon forever!).
So thank you, all of you, because this blog gives me a reason to keep healing. To keep developing resilience. To keep sharing. To keep connected. To keep centered.
Much love to you.
