What is something you’ve been through that changed the way you see the world?
Brain injury and stroke have definitely changed the way I see the world, some for the better and some not so much.
The changes weren’t something I asked for, and they haven’t all been easy to accept. Some things became harder, more frustrating, or simply unfair. There are things I can no longer do the way I once could, and there are things I have had to relearn, rethink, or simply let go of.
That’s the part people don’t always understand about disability.
It isn’t just about what you can or can’t physically do. It changes the way you move through the world. It changes how you plan your day. It changes how you think about time, energy, independence, and even something as basic as getting from one place to another.
Before all of this, I didn’t spend much time thinking about things that my body and brain simply handled automatically.
Breathing was breathing.
Walking was walking.
Getting out of a chair was getting out of a chair.
Going for a drive was just getting in the car and going somewhere.
You don’t think about those things until they aren’t quite as automatic anymore.
And that’s where the “some for the better” part comes in.
I notice things differently now.
I appreciate things I probably would have taken for granted before. Breathing. Movement. Independence. Everyday routines. The people and animals around me. The little moments that are actually worth remembering.
A few days ago, the Topic of the Day asked what ordinary moment deserved to be remembered before it was forgotten. My answer was Missy taking her first cookie out of her food bowl and carrying it onto the patio.
That’s not exactly a headline-worthy event.
But I noticed it.
And I thought it was worth remembering.
Maybe that’s one of the changes I didn’t ask for but got anyway. I’ve become more aware of the small stuff.
A simple drive in the Mini can be an event.
A workout that feels good can be a victory.
Sitting outside for a while can be enough.
A good cup of coffee can be appreciated instead of simply consumed.
A familiar song can take me somewhere else for a few minutes.
Missy can do something completely ridiculous and somehow make the morning better.
And writing about all of it gives those moments somewhere to live.
I’m not going to put some shiny happy spin on disability. Disability sucks.
There are days when it is frustrating as hell. There are limitations I don’t like. There are things I miss. There are things I wish I could do without having to think about them first.
I don’t want to pretend otherwise just because there is supposed to be a positive lesson hiding somewhere inside the experience.
Sometimes there isn’t.
Sometimes something just sucks.
But pretending there haven’t been some positive changes in the way I see the world would be just as dishonest.
The brain injury and stroke changed my perspective whether I wanted them to or not.
They made me pay attention.
They made me appreciate things I once considered automatic.
They made me more aware of how quickly an ordinary day can become a memory.
And they gave me a reason to write some of those memories down.
That’s probably one reason I’m trying to get back into daily journaling.
I don’t want every day to disappear into the blur.
I want to remember the little stuff.
I want to remember the ridiculous stuff.
I want to remember the frustrating stuff too, because that’s part of the story.
I want to remember the days when my body cooperated and the days when it didn’t.
I want to remember the workouts, the drives, the yard work, the coffee, the music, the conversations, the quiet mornings, and whatever strange thing Missy decides to do next.
None of that erases what happened.
None of it makes disability easier.
But it does remind me that what happened to me is part of my story, not the entire story.
Some of the changes I didn’t ask for have also changed what I notice.
And maybe that’s what I’m still figuring out: how to acknowledge everything that was taken from me while still appreciating everything that’s here.
I’m not the person I was before my brain injury and stroke.
I don’t think I ever will be.
But I’m still here.
I’m still noticing things.
I’m still learning things.
I’m still finding things worth laughing about.
I’m still finding things worth being pissed off about.
I’m still taking the Mini for a drive.
I’m still working out when my body lets me.
I’m still hanging out with Missy.
I’m still writing.
And I’m still paying attention.
Maybe that’s enough for today.
Some changes make life harder. Some changes make you see life differently. Sometimes they’re the same change.
