Reflections on a Brain

And I love her.

I’m going to take a minute for my brain. Maybe you will recognize something here that can be a support for you. Maybe you will see a piece of this story as what it is meant to be: Hope. Maybe you you will know that your own story is in motion; piece by piece, bit by bit, heartbeat by heartbeat, you are. And that’s pretty much an ok being to be.

I want to share with you how I am in my TBI journey. The challenges, stagnant pieces, movement, and newness emerging. Every day is different even when I do almost the same thing as the day before. And that, at least, keeps me on my toes.

I really hate to say that I’m better. Because my better isn’t your better and I’m still very wary of where those words lead. I’m still uncomfortable with “I’m so glad to hear you’re doing well!” As if I’m going to the store and shopping for honey-crisp apples. As if I can drive to, well, anywhere. As if I’m going to be able to go to the graduations of my niece and nephew in May. Better brings expectations. Better means today I’m more than yesterday.

I’m not better today, I’m just different.

I have some lovely new subs here, (welcome!) and so a quick update. On September 8, 2025, I fell in my home and sustained a concussion (mild TBI) and pretty bad whiplash which jacked up my neck. Ever since then, I’ve been fighting for myself. And the past seven months, as I’ve lived with an ongoing TBI, have been very difficult and painful and I’ve been numb, melancholy, angry, irritable and even paranoid.

But, I’ve had so many people show up for me in so many ways that I've never been willing to let go of myself and my journey towards the what’s next for my life. When I’ve forgotten who I am, there have been many beloveds who have, over and over, reminded me that I’m a bit of sunshine, a bit of storm, and a bit what the hell? I’ve laughed around my dining room table, I’ve shared with friends who sat in my flower chair and held space for me and my despair. Who’ve told me about their lives and hopes for their lives.

But I add to my fall a rare disease (Dercum’s Disease) that causes a hell of a lot of pain and sometimes keeps me from being able to sleep, or sometimes walk, or sometimes feel steady. And so I have layers and layers in my story of well-being. We all do. It is just that, right now, my layers are pretty much chaos.

As of today, almost seven months in, I’m pretty much past the headache, sensitivity to light, stay away from devices part of the journey. I can sit in light and I can navigate energy differently. I’m less sensitive, although not much. But some. Sound still gets overwhelming. My nervous system is less fight/flighty but, put me in a new -and especially unknown- situation, and my leg is going to bounce, my hands are going to shake, and I’m going to be unable to hear what you are asking and I’m going to be unable to answer you.

And, if I push too much, I spend the next few days feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. My recovery takes a while.

While I stay at home, mostly, I’ve been to Michael’s (briefly) and the ER (seemingly forever) and to the park and to a friend’s house. I’ve been able to attend my cousin’s remembering service for about half and hour. I’ve begun to think of other places I might go.

My boundaries are stretching.

I’m also working diligently to strengthen my brain to do what I lost in the injury - reading, memory, comprehension, ability to listen to a podcast or watch any of my favorite streaming shows because I have no idea what is happening.

I can finally do about 9th grade work, but not a lot of it in a week. One or two things. And I still read kids books at home to practice learning.

My boundaries are broadening and I’m remembering.

But, to be honest, I don’t think much of that is the point for me. Those updates dip right into where I said I didn’t want to be. I just tried to show you how I’m better.

But I’m not better today, I’m just different.

And for someone who doesn’t think I’m going to ever return to the me with what can be called “brain one”, I’ve been living a somatic body-focused life that is actively creating “brain two”.

And I’m pretty sure I’m going to like her.

It does not make me sad that I may never be who I was. It makes me an explorer. It makes me a dreamer. And it has made me an artist and a color-focused thinker and I’m really very content.

If I could drive to places when I wanted to, and be ok nervous system wise, and if I could show up for family where and when I longed to, I would be just fine. I would allow myself to be deeply grateful for how I spend my days and for who I am.

Here is a brief look behind my dark blue front door:

Every morning I spend time breathing, doing a little self-hypnosis, reading a kids book, singing a hymn, drawing in my journal to a prompt, and writing for 5 straight minutes.

I make breakfast.

And then I create.

One of the gifts I’ve had in this space is that, while the left side of my brain is obviously injured (I can point right to the area of injury), the right side of my brain is obviously not. This is why I can tell stories, write, have meaningful conversations that I’ll remember most of. Well, maybe not most.

And so, I’ve become an artistic wild woman. I have rituals and routines that, at any point of the day, will have me using acrylic or alcohol markers, mixed media paper or watercolor paper. And, my new favorite: tempura paint sticks. I color swatch, express feeling through hue and shade, I draw - lines, and, mostly, circles.

I have certain types of artistic expression I work on at certain times of the day. In the evening, I spend hours - hours - creating images

And I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve never drawn a circle in my life. I didn’t even know that these types of supplies existed. I was happy to fall into the “creative” category while not being an artist. Now I’m happy to be an artist, relying on my right brain to keep me as a creative in everything I do - especially explore art in my day.

(Please forgive the shadows in my pictures. I’m working on it.)

My right brain is unlocking pieces of itself that I didn’t know were there and they are unlocking fast. Really super fast.

Here is where I started at the end of 2025: (It holds its own charm, I guess.). Can you guess how I was feeling?

The other images are where I am right now.

I’m no fancy art woman, but I do get to watch a brain change in real time as what I create changes day to day.

I’m having a blast exploring the corners of my mind. I can step outside of myself and see that reading a children’s book is building connection in my brain and that drawing a pomegranate is expressing connection that I didn’t know was there (that shadow, though!)

.

I’ve been inside while seasons have passed me by. But I’ve been creating and expressing the wildness of pieces of my brain.

And that has had to be enough.

I fall asleep to a playlist I call: Fall Asleep December 2025 (noting its date of creation) and I never make it all the way through that music; my sleeping pills work and do what they are meant to do.

And then I wake up, not knowing who I will be or become.

I wake up, water plants as needed, put whipped cream cheese on my bagel (mixed berry and cinnamon swirl), breathe in and out through my nose, sing a song, and begin all over again with a new day.

I’m not better today, I’m just different.

I’m drawn to new types of art - more bold, more abstract. I’m drawn to new ways of being me - more bold, more colorful.

And as I honor the me that is being created, circle by circle, I can see that I will never be the same again. Brain one is gone.

But brain two? Every day, she and I dance a bit (wearing non-slip socks) and draw a bit, and breathe a bit.

And I love her.