Tag: TBI

The Hard and The Holy

Posted on by fearlessatheart

As I’ve been thinking about life—the hard and the holy, I’ve been doing a little reflecting. December 17, 2016 will always be a significant day. On one hand, it’s the day I survived. On the other, it’s the day my life changed forever.

Here are a few things life—and my brain injury—have taught me over the past nine years:

You only live—and die—once.
This moment, right here, right now, is the only one you’re guaranteed. Tomorrow isn’t promised. So kiss your spouse, spend time with your siblings and friends, put down your phone, and show your family you care.

You can do anything—within reason—that you put your mind to.
God was gracious in allowing me to recover the way I have—but it wasn’t without tears, frustration, and yes… some attitude. (Sorry to my family for all the tears—and thank you for loving me through the pity parties without letting me stay there.)

Nine years ago, I couldn’t imagine the life I’m living now. And I don’t say that for applause. I say it to show two things:

  1. How good God is, and
  2. What determination and hard work can do.

There was a time I almost gave up on the idea that my life could look anything like I had dreamed. My brother could list all the things I said I’d never be able to do again. At the top of that list? Working as an acute care nurse.

But I did it-and I’m a Rehab nurse at that. Life comes full circle.

And it was hard—honestly harder than nursing school. I had to relearn things I once knew, all while managing migraines, needing more rest, and dealing with hands that didn’t always do what my brain told them to do.

I didn’t know what I’d be capable of until I tried.

So—don’t give up.

There are many paths in life. Don’t compare yours to anyone else’s.
I have to relearn this lesson often. Maybe you’re 20 and living your dream. Maybe life took a turn and you’re still working toward it. Maybe you married young, or maybe you’re still waiting.

There is no “wrong path” when it comes to your story. You didn’t miss your chance. Your life isn’t ruined because it looks different than you expected.

Your story is your story.
And someone out there needs it.

Rest is necessary—and good.
I’m still not great at this. I tend to go, go, go… until I hit a wall and crash for 24 hours.

But I’m learning.

I’m learning the power of a well-placed “no.”
I’m learning that rest doesn’t always mean sleep.
Sometimes it’s a quiet night watching a movie with Sean.
Sometimes it’s a walk outside in nature.

I may not love that I need more rest now—but I’m learning to respect it.

Sometimes, you have to take life five minutes at a time.
Looking too far ahead can be overwhelming. It can freeze you in place.

I’ve learned to focus on the next five minutes… and then the next.

That’s how I get through hard days.
That’s how I keep moving forward.

Sometimes love doesn’t look the way you expected.
I’m a romantic—but not the “love at first sight” kind.

In my story, love looked like friendship first.

There was a time I couldn’t imagine letting someone into my world—because I didn’t even understand my own brain yet. I was still figuring out who I was… and if I even liked that person.

But there was someone who stayed.
Someone who chose friendship.
Someone who was willing to learn me—my brain, my struggles, my healing.

I still don’t fully understand how he does it—but he does.

And somehow, through friendship, I let him in.

These are just a few of the many things the past nine years have taught me.

Brain Injury Awareness: What You Don’t See Still Matters

Posted on by fearlessatheart

March is Brain Injury Awareness Month—and March 20th is World Head Injury Awareness Day.

Did you know that mild traumatic brain injury (mTBI) is often called a “silent epidemic”?
It’s deeply misunderstood—even within the medical field.

Here are a few things I’ve learned while living in the world of traumatic brain injury:

Brain injuries are like fingerprints—similar, but never the same.
Every brain is different, so every injury is different. Many of us experience challenges like difficulty focusing, memory issues, speech problems, balance issues, and more.
The first time I attended a TBI support group, I realized something powerful—I wasn’t alone. Hearing others share experiences that mirrored mine made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t before.

We have good days and bad days—just like everyone else, but different.
There are “good brain days” and “bad brain days.” Things like fatigue, dehydration, blood sugar changes, or overstimulation can completely shift how we function.
Some days I can do something with ease, and the next day that same task feels impossible. I’ve learned to embrace the good days and give myself grace on the hard ones—and to listen when my body tells me what it needs.

We are not our disability.
This took me a long time to understand. I used to feel like I had to explain why I was “different.”
Now I know—I have a TBI, but it does not define me. Yes, it impacts my life. But I’m also just a 20-something learning how to navigate adulthood, like everyone else.

We’re still figuring ourselves out—even years later.
I’ve met people whose injuries happened over 15 years ago—and they’re still learning who they are now. Recovery isn’t a finish line. It’s a lifelong process of rediscovery.
At some point, healing becomes less about looking back and more about moving forward—embracing both the challenges and the growth.

TBI survivors are some of the strongest people you’ll ever meet.
Because every day, they are overcoming something that was meant to break them.

#BrainInjuryAwareness #TBIAwareness #mTBI #InvisibleIllness #BrainHealth #YouAreNotAlone #ChronicIllness #MentalHealthMatters #HealingJourney #SurvivorStrong

“Nine Years Later: Living, Learning, and Parenting With a Brain Injury.”

Posted on by fearlessatheart

March is Brain Injury Awareness Month 🧠

I really didn’t think I would still be struggling with things nine years later. But here we are — nine years later — and migraines still knock me for a loop.

I’m just going to be honest here… my brain injury has complicated this season of life as a student and a parent. It has made my “normal” TBI symptoms — migraines, forgetfulness, and brain fog — worse at times. Migraines like that are fewer and farther between now, but when they hit, they knock me down because I’m not expecting them anymore.

It’s in moments like this that I wish so badly to just be normal. But then I remember something important: this injury didn’t take away who I am — in many ways, it added to it. I’m the person I am today because of it.

So during Brain Injury Awareness Month, here are a few things to keep in mind when interacting with people who may have experienced known or unknown head trauma.

Every injury is different.
You may know someone who had a brain injury, but that doesn’t mean you know this person’s story. I understand the desire to relate, but sometimes the best thing you can do is simply listen. Their story might surprise you.

Thinking differently doesn’t mean we are less intelligent.
Can I be vulnerable for a moment? This is one of my biggest fears. On bad brain days, when words get stuck and my thoughts feel tangled, I worry people will think I’m incompetent. I know I shouldn’t care so much about what people think — but I’ve worked incredibly hard to get where I am. Words might get caught sometimes, but that doesn’t mean the thoughts aren’t there. If anything, I know I’m just as smart — if not smarter — than I was before my accident. And honestly, I’m doing things now that I once thought would be impossible.

“Invisible” disabilities are still disabilities.
Just because you can’t see everything someone is dealing with doesn’t mean it isn’t real. Many people with brain injuries are fighting battles you’ll never notice from the outside.

These are just a few ways we can create a little more understanding and acceptance for people living with brain injuries.

Thanks for reading my thoughts. 💛

Nine Years Later: Choosing to Live With Abandon

Posted on by fearlessatheart

Nine years.

It has been nine years since that awful night when life as I knew it was ripped out from under me. Nine years since everything shifted—since the trajectory of my world suddenly bent in a direction I never expected.

Nine years.
It somehow feels like forever ago and yet also like just yesterday.

Even now, I still feel the ripple effects of that night. Driving in the snow this week stirred up old fear I wish wasn’t still tucked so close to the surface. I found myself waiting for the other shoe to drop—a tension I’ve lived with ever since.

And that’s the strange thing: life is going well. Genuinely, beautifully well. But it was going well before the accident, too. I had finally become a nurse. I was living on my own. I had my first big girl job at Akron General. My life felt steady, hopeful, full of promise and momentum.

Then it all changed.

There are moments that become dividing lines in our lives—the kind where time splits into before and after. Where a single night becomes the landmark everything else measures itself against.

For me, the accident is that line.
It changed the trajectory of my life in ways I am still living, still learning, still navigating.

And yet…
I am still here.

I am still breathing.
Still loving.
Still healing.
Still living a life I almost didn’t get to keep.

Every year, I choose one word to anchor my heart—something to shape how I move through the months ahead. For 2026, my word is ABANDON.

Not reckless abandon.
Not careless abandon.

But the noun form:
A complete lack of inhibition or restraint.

This year, I want to live my life with abandon—the life I’ve been given back. I want to love my husband and my child with abandon. I want to chase my dreams with abandon. I want to pursue Jesus with abandon. I want to lean fully into the life right here in front of me, instead of living in hesitation, fear, or waiting for something to go wrong.

I already know this about myself: I love hard. I feel deeply. I show up with everything I have. And while that sometimes feels vulnerable and messy, I do not regret loving that way. Not for a second.

So this year, I’m making choices that help me live presently and intentionally.
I want to be with my people—not just near them.
I want to show up in the holy moments and the hard ones.
I want to embrace the messy glory of being alive.

Nine years later, I am still here.

And this year, I choose to live—fully, openly, and wholeheartedly—with abandon.

The Story I Never Wanted—and the Life I Now Love

Posted on by fearlessatheart

December 17th.

It was the worst day of my life—the day I almost died. In all tangible facts, I shouldn’t have survived. I was broken, and life as I knew it would never be the same.

This anniversary is a big one—nine years. One of the ones that stands out. Because just when I think I’ve “overcome” the incident, something brings it back: a comment, a memory, or a TBI headache. It never feels far from reality.

But over these nine years, I’ve learned something that I want you to really hear:
The trauma you go through—whatever it is—is a part of your story, not your whole story.

When you’re in the thick of it, it feels like life will only ever be a shadow of what it once was. I’ve never been happier to be wrong. Nine years ago, I thought my life was over. I wondered who I would be if I wasn’t a nurse, if I wasn’t a “whole” person anymore. I thanked God for saving me, but if I’m honest, I also wondered why He did if I could no longer do everything I had planned.

Those early years were full of wrestling. But life slowly settled. I worked my butt off to get back to nursing—to get my life back. It took sleepless nights, encouragement, and a whole lot of stubbornness to reach anything that resembled “normal.”

And actually, I’ve come to dislike that word—normal. What even is that? My life now is far from what most would consider normal for a 31-year-old. I live with constant pain. There are days I can’t get out of bed because of a migraine or some other lingering affliction.

Do I hate that part? Absolutely.
Do I love what life has still given me—my empathy, my husband, my son? Without question.
And honestly, I’ve reached a place where I don’t wish the accident never happened.

These past nine years have taken me places I never would have gone—into deep valleys and onto unexpected mountaintops.

A few things I’ve learned along the way:

God can use even the hardest moments if we let Him.

I’m still blown away that He can take the worst moment of my life and somehow bring Himself glory. He shows up in ways I don’t understand, weaving my story into moments I never see coming. It may be my story, but ultimately, it’s His.

Here is worth living—the hard and the holy.

 Being present, right now, is the beauty of the present. Life is what you make it. And there is nothing like being recognized years later in your hometown for something good you did, or having people say they watched you walk through the shadows and come out the other side. People can be the greatest blessing.

God shows up-in the little and big things.

The simple fact that he allowed my life to be spared is a big thing. Now I don’t know what you all believe about God, so hear me with a grain of salt. Throughout my life but especially in the last 9 years. It never ceases to amaze me that God cares about the little things and provides glimmers of light on the hardest days. Glimmers of light such as a cool breeze on a hot day, a coffee from a friend, and a smile from a stranger. Life can get pretty hard sometimes, but God allows these glimmers to remind us of hope. 

December 17th will always mark the day everything changed.
But it’s also the day I began the slow climb toward a life that is hard—and somehow, one I love even more than the one I lost.

Living and Loving with a Brain Injury

Posted on by fearlessatheart

I’m going to be honest and vulnerable here and that terrifies me, but I hope that my words will help someone not feel alone in their chaos.

It has been almost 8 years since the worst day of my life-the day my life changed. Now don’t hear what I’m not saying. I really like the direction my life is heading right now, but I could live without the constant pain, increased self-consciousness, and occasional migraines.

That’s life now. I’ve had to adjust my expectations of how my day to day life will go. I need to get enough sleep, eat enough, manage my stress, and pace myself. Oftentimes, I’m very self-conscious of my deficits and wonder if people hold them against me. Honestly, sometimes I bring it up to explain why I’m so weird, just like I  often brought up living overseas when I moved back. I deal with a lot of insecurity and inadequacy from my brain injury.  For all intents and purposes, I’m healed. I’m a nurse, wife, mother, and student. I’m definitely not there yet, but I feel like I’m doing okay. On the other hand, I struggle with my limitations and feel like I have to prove myself that much more to show people that I have got it and that I’m smart even though my brain shuts down every so often.

The problem comes when I “forget” that I have a brain injury and try to go forward with life as a “typical” 30 year old. My brain injury has the final say in that I get a migraine for 24 hours during a big week. I forget that I’m not a typical 30 year old mom. I get overstimulated really fast and my brain can’t filter out anything. Then I get caught up in my brain and struggle because I feel like everyone is seeing the chaos that is going on in my head and ultimately judging me for it. 

If you are living with any kind of brain injury or are interacting with someone who is living with a brain injury, here are some tips that I have learned especially over the past month.

  1. Be patient: (with yourself and others). We are doing the best we can. Words sometimes get caught in our heads. If you give us time and space, we will find the words and are sometimes pretty eloquent. Be patient with yourself if you are living with a brain injury. You have overcome so much (stuff people can’t see) to get where you are. I promise that you are harder on yourself than other people are. You see and know everything that goes on in your head, while they only see the outward signs. Also, remember, “those who matter don’t care, and those who care don’t matter”- Dr. Seuss
  1. Give yourself (and others) freedom to be themselves. I don’t know about you but I think life would be pretty boring if everyone was exactly the same. Different is good. Normal is overrated. Everyone has their own brand of normal and that’s okay. You do not know what is going through someone’s head at any given moment. Maybe that look that you spot that makes you feel like they are judging you for something, you have it wrong. Maybe people are laughing at you, maybe they are not. Be you and be you bravely. 

This are just a few thoughts from the last couple of months as I wrestle with almost 8 years of living with a brain injury. Now I feel like I have to clarify, I don’t want this to feel like I’m feeling sorry for myself. I like my life. Do I want anyone to go through this? No. But if talking about this and some of the struggles that I experience helps someone else, then it is worth it. Here is my final thought. Simply be kind. You don’t know what demons people have or are wrestling with

6 years

Posted on by fearlessatheart

6 years.-12/17/2022-this season is emotional. As the anniversary of my almost death-my life change-comes close I’m just a mess of emotions.

Let me just be honest.

It’s been a weird season. It has been 6 years. Some people think I shouldn’t be as affected as I am but it literally changed my life. Granted, my life is sweet now, but it’s nothing like I had planned.

BUT GOD.

ABBA-my favorite name for God-knew that I needed cocooned in His arms. He knew that I needed to wake up early and feel Atlas kicking-reminding me that there is a purpose for the constant pelvis pain. He knew that I needed Him.

I’ve learned a lot throughout my life, but here are just a few nuggets that, as the 17th roles around, feel a little more applicable.

  • God is “ABBA”.

The reason why I love this name of God so much is that I love the picture it brings to my mind. A picture of God standing with open arms as I run toward Him. He catches me and picks me up while twirling me around and around. I love that picture. A picture of a God that rules the world yet cares about the littlest thing that is bothering me. 

  • People can hurt you, but just because they can, all of them won’t.

This one is a lesson I’m still processing. Throughout my life, letting people in has always been a struggle. I mean letting people into my core-the core of who Sara is. I have layers like an onion, and I learned the lesson of transparency without vulnerability. Let me explain that. I learned how to peel back enough that people were convinced that I was transparent but there was no real risk of me getting hurt. I worked through that and finally made progress and let a few people in. Then the accident happened, and I’m back at square one. I lost myself and figured that I was “too much” for someone to love. A person simultaneously proved that I was worth investing in and crushed my idea that I would never find love. Then, enter God. God brought a certain person into my life as a friend and I was skittish. I liked him but I figured he would leave. I didn’t want to let him in, because I was afraid of the mess I would be if he did leave. We were friends and then he wormed his way into my heart. He was there. He stayed. He has taught me that it is possible to open your heart again. I love him for that simple fact and for who he is. In opening your heart, there’s always the risk of hurt, but just because they can, doesn’t mean they will.

  • Nothing-no person-is a coincidence.

I don’t believe anything is a coincidence. I don’t believe that I was hired at MCS of a whim. I believe that I was there for a specific reason. I don’t believe God brought people in and took people out of my life for a reason. Each person I’ve interacted with over the years has shaped me into who I am today for better or for worse. 

  • My story is about more than just me.

My story while it directly impacts my day-to-day life, is not simply about me.  This life is about more than my happiness. It’s about God’s redemption of ALL humanity. If God uses me and my story to fulfill his purposes, then all the trauma will be worth it.

  • God is not afraid of emotions.

If I have learned anything in the past sx years, I’ve learned that it’s okay to not be okay for a while, but I can’t stay there. I can’t pitch my tent in the mire and live there. I can visit there. There have been times that I pop right out of the hole, and there have been times where I have needed my brother or parents to give me a swift kick to the bottom (metaphorically) to propel me out of the hole. Love isn’t simply codling but love is telling someone the truth with grace. Two years ago, I hit rock bottom. Life didn’t look anything like I thought it would, and I dug myself a house down in the mire and was planning on staying there indefinitely. 

BUT GOD. 

God in his grace-oh sweet grace-didn’t let me camp there. He put people in my life to give me that swift kick in the butt that I needed, Oh it was hard. There were lots of tears as I lamented what was and could have been. I wrestled with insecurity, I made molehills into mountains, and I surrendered into God’s will. I’m not perfect at this in any means. I still am not quite there yet, but at least I’m not still where I was.

I don’t know what your story is-who has hurt you, what trauma has happened to you-but I do know that there is an ‘abba’ who loves you more than you could ever know. Here’s to believing that God has got this.

A New Normal

Posted on by fearlessatheart

March is Brain Injury Awareness month.

I really didn’t think I would still be struggling with things five years later. But here we are, five years later and migraines still knock me for a loop.

I’m just going to be honest here… I had a rough 36 hours. I worked all weekend-night shift-so I slept a bit yesterday, but it wasn’t quite long enough. So, then I continued about my day. It was good, but towards evening I started to get a headache. Long story short, I ended up in bed with an ice pack. Migraines like that are fewer and far between, but now they knock me for a loop because I’m not expecting them. It’s times like this that I want so much to be normal, but then I remember that this thing doesn’t take away from me, but rather it adds. I’m who I am now because of it. Here’s a few things to consider as you interact with people with known or unknown head trauma.

  1. Every injury is different. You may know someone who had a brain injury, but that does not mean you know this new person’s story. I get that you are trying to relate, but better than jumping in, listen. Their story may surprise you.
  2. Just because we think differently, don’t think we are stupid. Can I be vulnerable? This is one of my biggest fears. On bad brain days, when the words get caught more often than naught, I fear that people will think that I’m incompetent. I know I shouldn’t care this much about what people think, but I’ve worked my butt off to get to where I am. So yes, I probably care too much about what people think and honestly, words might get caught in my head, but I know that I’m just as smart if not more than I was before my accident.

These are just a few ways that you can accept a person with a brain injury! Even 5 years later, I’m adjusting to my new normal. Thanks for reading my thoughts!

5 years…

Posted on by fearlessatheart

Dear Sara,

This is me writing to you from 5 years after that life-changing event. Here’s what I have learned and grieved as life doesn’t look anything like I thought it would, but God is good in the chaos of life.

  1. Nothing is a coincidence. I feel like I already kinda knew this, but I have really felt this lately. It’s not a coincidence that on one of my hardest days, a friend texts me out of the blue or I get a letter that encourages my soul.
  2. We need people. We can’t do life or get through hard things without certain people. I mean, you must choose the people that surround you wisely, but I can’t count the number of times that I was “this” close to giving up, but certain people took me by the hand and walked with me. 
  3. Everybody goes through something, but don’t let it define you. Sometimes it’s more obvious and sometimes it’s more subtle. I’ve learned in the past couple of years that I am more than my accident or brain injury. Yes, I do have chronic pain and I deal with migraines, but it makes me a better nurse because I get it. 
  4. Life is not simply about my happiness or comfort. Growing up, I knew this fact but there’s a difference between head knowledge and heart knowledge. Life is about glorifying God and His desire to rescue humanity. If God can use my story to advance His kingdom, who am I to stand in His way.
  5. I probably wouldn’t have a few people that have impacted my life-my husband being the most significant. I met him shortly after and he put up with me finding myself again before I could offer anything to him. We are still growing and figuring stuff out, but he is my soulmate and my accident put us in the same circles quicker. 
  6. It’s necessary to put down roots so you have a place or people to go home to. Throughout my nomadic childhood, I put my roots into people rather than the bevy of places that shaped my worldview. I’ve always wrestled with the idea of staying vs going. I’ve learned the necessity of walking the tension of both. It’s exciting to go to different places and see exotic things, but there’s also a strange kind of comfort in being known by the barista in the local coffee shops or the guy at the front desk at work. There’s something about being known and seen.

This is not a comprehensive list of what I’ve learned and grieved in the past couple of years, but as 5 years rolls around, I’m learning that I’m a complex person. This is part of my story but not the entirety of it. It complicates life a little, but it ultimately makes me a better nurse, daughter, best friend and wife.

Love, Sara

Grace, upon Grace, upon Grace

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Can I be honest?

I’ve been in a dark place. I didn’t want to admit that because life is seemingly good. I married my favorite person. I bought a house. We got a cat. I love my job (most of the time). I talk to/see my best friend on the regular. Life is good.

But hard.

They don’t tell you that even though you live together now, being on opposite schedules mean, you may not see much of your favorite person. 

Adulting is a lot of work-and you have to do the work even when you don’t feel like it.

Sean thinks so differently than I do, which in most cases it’s good because I’m glad he hasn’t experienced the same trauma I have.

PTSD stinks. I mean, you do the work. You’re able to stand on your own two feet again. You have a steady job and relationship. You think you’re good then WHAM. PTSD hits you upside the head and knocks you down. 

Depression makes you feel less than because it’s all of a sudden hard to get out of bed and find motivation to do even the simplest tasks.

We are in the middle of a pandemic that changed the way we do everything. 

Oh and add to it the guilt of not being okay when it appears that you should be happy. It stinks.

All in all, I’ve been managing with the help of trusted individuals and God. But I decided that I couldn’t process it by myself, so I started therapy again. It was with the same counselor that say me though the mire the first time so she’s familiar with my defense mechanisms. Only two sessions in and it wrecked me.

I finally put a name to the feelings of loss I was feeling after everything. I was preparing for everything to get ripped out from under me. What? Life was good and I was preparing for the worst.  After that session, I had to do the hard and exhausting work of sitting with all the emotions. Now that I’ve sat with them, felt them fiercely, and given them room to breathe, I can do the even harder work of changing my thoughts. 

Here’s to not being okay, but I’m in a better place than I was yesterday. Here’s to giving myself grace when my traumatized self hurts the people I love. I have broken pieces but I’m doing the hard work of letting Jesus patch me together like only He can.