On...

When I imagined writing this blog (after I wrote last year's) I figured it would be positive and filled with all the good things that have happened this year and since the accident, filled with all the gratitude I feel. Spoiler alert - like most of 2020, it’s not going to be one bit like I expected.   I know I should feel grateful. And I do - that I survived the accident, that I have few physical side effects, that I have few mental side effects. Emily is healthy and doing well. I am grateful.   And, this year has been hard. 2020, in many ways, has been more difficult than 2013. But, to heal from my accident, I had mostly just to focus on myself and my progress. My family sheltered me and allowed me to leave the responsibilities that now weigh heavily upon my shoulders so that I could keep my attention on healing. I was allowed to have tunnel vision in 2013.  And, as Emily put it, every step of progress was a celebration.  Now, not so much. In this seventh year of healing and survi

I took Environmental Science during my senior year of high school. I had dropped out of AP Physics because... well... physics. I still needed a science credit. So, there I was.  It was a much better class than it had gotten credit for.  I was seated next to a kid named CJ. I’ve since lost track of CJ, but I loved sitting next to him. I looked forward to that class every day. CJ was kind, funny, and smart. Most people (teachers) didn’t think he was smart because his grades were terrible. I figured out after a week or so that his grades were terrible because he could never find his classwork and homework to turn it in. He always did it. He just lost it from one day to the next. As a result, he got zeros for all that work he did and lost. I became the keeper of CJ’s environmental science work. To me, it was a small way I could positively impact someone I cared about. Everyday when work was being collected, I would take his out and hand it to him. He would turn it in and receive credit for

This is a very difficult moment in time. It isn't that I haven't had other challenging times. Most of you know that I have. This is different. This is a moment where I know that I am not the only one going through a hard time. Whereas past struggles have been mine, this is the world's. This is a global issue - I am not isolated in my feelings. And yet, I feel so very alone. Recovery from my accident was different than this... I never felt alone and I had some control over my circumstances. My family and friends were always close by - my mom lived at the hospital and my friends and other family visited daily. And, I knew that I could get better if I worked hard. I was never without hope or drive. With the current global crisis, my family and friends cannot be close by and I have absolutely no control over the circumstances. I do not control whether or not my children go to school or if I can go to the movies, a restaurant, see my friends, hug my parents, my brother a

I tell my kids, probably on a weekly basis, that therapy is the best money they could ever spend. I love my therapist. Having an hour every other week just to work on me is time well spent.   Alli and I were arguing over this the other day. She doesn’t want to see a therapist and I think she should. She said “you’re making me feel like something is wrong with me.”   It makes me sad that she has already received the mental health stigma message.  Why is a mental disorder considered to be anything other than a significant challenge that needs treatment just as something like cancer or asthma needs treatment? Why is taking care of our emotional health considered a weakness? Why would we choose not to use the resources and tools we have in order to feel better?   I would argue that the strongest people go to therapy. Those that are in tune with their ups and downs and understand that they are not invincible are the ones that choose to work on themselves, to ensure tha

By Friday last week, I was exhausted. I don't just mean physically tired. My brain was tired - or more accurately, it was just plain done . According to an article in  www.brainline.org  , neurofatigue is  fatigue  is caused by a decrease in physiological reserve, which includes a person's physical and mental reserves. When your brain is “tapped out,” you feel  tired . ... But generally, people with  TBI  have described  fatigue  as a sense of mental or physical  tiredness ,  exhaustion , lack of energy, and/or low vitality. This describes my experience last week perfectly - think of it as extreme burnout. This is a very real symptom, one that frustrates me to no end because it is one that I still struggle with, even six years later. I am challenged with it in two ways: first, slowing down isn't really something I do naturally - I have to be intentional about it; and second, I am generally pretty determined, so I have to be careful not to push myself too far. I have had t

This year is different. My celebration on this important day is not going to be about me. It isn't even going to be about Emily, my children, or my parents. Instead, this day is going to be about my cousin as she begins her new life as a married person. When Rachel sent her "save the date," I was excited to see that her wedding day was the same date as the 6th anniversary of my accident. That probably seems weird, but I am so grateful to have something equally as wonderful to celebrate. To me, both signify life - my cousin is beginning her new life as a married person, and I am celebrating the anniversary of the day that I didn't die. Wow! how lucky we both are. I will still celebrate with Emily, as we cannot have a year go by and not celebrate the thing that will always make us a part of each other's lives - a part of each other's families. It is important to both of us to mark this event in a positive way. Life has continued to go on. My focus remains