19 years

The girl who started this post titled it "Don't suffer in silence." Because maybe she was mad that she let a few people in her life make her so miserable that she dreaded getting out of bed every morning. That silly, sweet girl just kept taking the unwelcome demands on her, to heart. She knew they were selfish and driven from a lack of grace but kept taking it. But, the girl writing it now had a nice chat with her friend and has decided to change the post significantly. So here it is:
January 31, 2005 was a Monday, according to Siri. I remember hating Monday more than most people. I had a whole new week ahead of me to survive. Perhaps, this was just preparing me for brain injury life. As I was driving yesterday to meet a friend, this thought came to my mind as the "Annie-versary" (the day of my aneurysm rupture but 19 years later) approached. Nineteen years ago, this would be my "last day" being the me that I was. The generally healthy but anxious creature trying to make her way through life the best way she knew how. The shy, but oh so friendly girl, if you got to know her. The girl full of laughs and potential. The girl wanting desperately to keep her teaching certification permeant even if she didn't use it immediately. The newly married girl who missed her college friends and family as she tried to navigate a new phase in life. And sure, there were a lot of really fantastic things about the 2005 version of me. I could paint a pretty rosy picture from my selective memory. But, I also immediately had this thought, too. If I'm honest, completely honest, I am happier now. I'll give you a minute to reread that.
The girl who started writing this had an entire page rehashing exactly why she was at a breaking point on January 31, 2005; coming unglued to the point of going to an ER for a severe panic attack in the weeks before that day. However, I deleted her writing. It no longer feels worth rehashing the hurt caused by the increasing demands to have children by people who have only showed me time and time again, they don't actually care about getting to know me, to see my heart and own the hurt they caused. So, that angry, hurt girl, well, she is still both of those things. But, she has found some peace in realizing that she is only responsible to steward what God has given her through the lens of "loving the Lord your God with all your heart and mind and loving others as yourself." I am far happier and more content now than I ever would have been meeting the demands of others, even IF they were well-intentioned beyond the terrible, intrusive and unwelcomed delivery. Someone once told me we are equally responsible for our intentions as we are for their impact. And so the journey continues. I hope my story is someone else's survival guide.

What is your story?

 Recently we moved.  Moving is rough on anyone. At the beginning, it reminded me of early on in my recovery. Everything was new, I had no idea where anything was or where I was going.  Thankfully, we moved to an area that was a little familiar to me and where I have deep family ties. Still, it was a really exciting day when I picked up a prescription and made it to the post office and then home without the help of GPS. GPS, itself, can be its own struggle.

Part of moving involves packing and inevitably SORTING! I struggle with making decisions, and making that many of them at once makes my brain hurt. Like physically hurt.  When you pull a muscle, it feels the same, but in your brain. I still have a few boxes I have been avoiding.  The other day, I decided to tackle one.  It was marked "Lisa childhood." That always interests me.  It's almost like digging through someone else's past.  Sure, I have my long term memory (Praise God!) but I feel like that person isn't me.  Part of surviving is letting go of who you were to embrace who you are.  And sure, that girl is a big part of me today.  Like everyone, our view of who we were is sometimes accurate and other times, not so much.  This is not profound, but the thing that struck me as I dug through that box was this; looking back I don't see myself as being as plain and ugly as I remember feeling.  Oh,  how insecure I remembered being.  I don't really ever remember feeling pretty. Not even on my wedding day. How sad is that? I felt better about myself than most days, but not like the stories you hear about putting on that dress and feeling beautiful (you should know I was maried two weeks after graduating from college, my last semester I was student teaching. I was tired and still working on my professional portfolio, looking and applying for jobs.) But, thinking back to prom, graduation, same thing. I looked at those pictures and I thought, I wasn't that ugly, certainly not to the degree that I felt it at the time.  Sure, I had my days of crooked teeth,  permed bangs and poor fashion choices, but I was/am far too hard on myself!

One Sunday in our new home church (which just happens to be the church my dad and his siblings grew up in) a friend of the family from decades ago told me I looked just like my aunt. I immediately knew exactly which aunt he was referring to. I would have been flattered to look like either of my beautiful aunts, but I know I particularly resemble one of them more.  I sent her a quick text telling her of the conversation and how I was flattered to remind our friend of her.  Her reply is that she was flattered to think she looks like me.  It's so funny how our perception of self can be so different. 

As long as I am combining what I intended to be several posts; recently, a theme or "nudging" has been on my heart.  It is simply this, "share your story." It has come up time after time since moving. This still, small voice started with a dear college friend visiting our new home. Some weeks later, she sent me a text that simply said, "When are you writing your book?" Share your story. It was affirmed in a podcast I listened to recently by Johanna Gaines on the release of her book, "The Stories we Tell."  I believe she said something like, we all have a story to tell.  The theme repeated last night at a dinner. The speaker was Sydna Masse' and she has a powerful story to tell. While she signed a copy of her book, she asked me, "what is your story?" I gave her the brief version, and her response was, "You should tell your story." My platform is small, but I'm trying. Sometimes, I just feel like that 'ugly' girl in the picture who nobody really sees anyway.  Then during our sermon today, our pastor reminded us of God asking Moses to lead his people. Moses felt unequal to the task and was uncertain.  God used the staff in his hand.  He turned it to a serpent. Moses was also privy to a burning bush and later the parting of the Red Sea, among other miracles.  How were these accomplished? God used whatever Moses had or what was right in front of him.  Because God uses what we have, exactly what we can give [what He has given us], and uses it for His glory. 

While my story is indeed unique, I was recently in SC on vacation with family.  My niece heard there were shark teeth to be found on the beach.  Because I love "sea treasures", I was happy to look for shark teeth.  At one point we were in what was apparently a popular area and there was a beach lined with people on their knees scooping up what the ocean brought in. This thought came to me, "we are all looking for the same thing." We are all looking for shark teeth, sure, but we are all humans and looking for our lives to count. We all want our story to matter. Likewise, we all need a Savior. Some are still looking. They can't or won't see what is right in front of them.  Someone has indeed died for their sins, and He wants to be found.  His name is Jesus.

What is your story?

"You have a brain injury," he said.

Alea iacta est "The die is cast"

Because I just like history and this story in a recent sermon caught my attention. It spoke to me for some reason. 

 The phrase “the die is cast” (Latin: Alea iacta est) is frequently used to signify that a decision has been made or the events have passed the point of no return. It is attributed by the Roman historian Suetonius to Julius Caesar but have you ever wondered what’s the origin of the phrase? Here’s the story. In 49 AD, Julius Caesar led his army across of a small river of Northern Italy, the Rubicon river. “Beyond this river, no flags, weapons or soldiers shall pass” read the inscription on the riverfront. You see, because Romans were afraid of coups, there was a Roman law that forbade crossing the Rubicon river and thus reaching the capital city of Rome. Pompey and Cicero already warned Caesar that he should go alone in the city, not with his army of the 13th legion. But Julius Caesar knew his fate. Political intrigues and bureaucrats would have killed him if he went alone. On the other hand, under the Roman law, crossing the river with his army meant that he and his legionaries were automatically sentenced to death. So he made his decision to cross the river with his army and said the famous phrase “the die is cast” as there was no turning back. For the record, Julius Caesar not only did he win the battle, but in just two months, the future dictator managed to take over the whole of Italy with almost no resistance. And he did it with just 50,000 men. Source: https://theuijunkie.com/die-is-cast-origin/

FOMO is back

 New York Magazine cover states that "FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out)" is back.  As the world starts to open back up I find my own anxiety creeping back in.  My neck constantly creeping up to my ears, fatigue a never failing friend and migraine auras back on the rise.  As a person who has had to choose to miss out on things, for the last 16 years for her own mental and physical health, the cancelled activities were refreshing in many ways.  The guilt over not being there gone.  Sure I hated the reason for it.  The sickness, fear, death, pandemic. But perhaps I am more of an introvert than I care to admit.  I enjoyed the social distancing, not hugging, hand washing/sanitizing (which I was always fanatical about anyway.)  I enjoyed less running around to appointments and instead having 'telehealth visits' in my living room. I always thought it was silly all the appointments I went to that could be easily taken care of without the need for me to run here and there! Everyone was now talking about a "new normal." To me it was just "again." I think at first people had a bit more compassion for what recovery looked like. And then the "Covid fatigue" hit them.  Yup people, it is exhausting every single day still.   Covid may one day no longer be a thing but there won't be a day this side of heaven that I won't live every day with an Acquired Brain Injury as my new normal.  I may fake it pretty well and make it look 'easy' but I assure you no matter what you see or choose to see, the struggle is still very real. It might not look exactly like your injury does.   Maybe even more exhausting now because the 'already exhausting' has a new layer to it.  During all of this I found a world renown concussion doctor via Instagram.  He had a lot of great insight and really seemed to "get it," so out of desperation, I wrote him about doctors in my area he would recommend.  His rely to me was something like, 'your recovery is going to be profoundly different than a concussion and treatment very different.' Thank you doctor for seeing me as an individual. Thank you for recognizing that each of us has a unique journey and while we share similar struggles it may actually be profoundly different.  Yours may not look like mine.  You may have hated the lonely isolation, the cancelled activities, your only outlet. It's okay, it is your journey, not mine. But I'll come along side you (at a distance of 6 feet, of course), if you need me. 

All of the social distacing and isolation from others does not, however, make the deeps hurts before magically disappear. Mother Teresa once said, "Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable. Be honest and transparent anyway." Before my aneurysm I was a "peacekeeper" NOT a 'peacemaker' like I should have been, a "people pleaser" that hated confrontation. I felt very uncomfortable with no nonsense, gruff , military like personalities.  Being an off- the-charts highly sensitive person, I was used to a softer more sensitive approach to life. When I didn't agree,  the people around me listened and we had polite discussions.  I did not find much of this approach to life after graduating from college.   I took things too personally and had no "coping device" like those around me for this new environment.  So as you can imagine, I naturally felt largely unheard and misunderstood.  To keep the peace for a number of years I just went along with it trying to justify ri myself why I must be wrong.  I tried to act unaffected and "fine."  It was only my hubby I trusted enough to know the truth. And by the time I was brave enough too share, the hurt and uncomfortable feelings I felt, it seemed too late.  He had a lifetime of developing coping skills of listening but not taking things too seriously and then simply living his life mostly unaffected.  The other noted approach was to just laugh everything off and also go along my own way. These don't develop over night, andd neither of them were for me! What did happen in a matter of seconds was an aneurysm that flooded my head with blood and did some serious damage.  My filter was gone just like that. I started to disagree. I started to share opinions I never would have before. They came out with much less tact and Grace than they would have if I shared them to begin with.  In a recent devotion the title was "Hurt people,Hurt people." GUILTY! I carried a whole lot of hurt. I didn't mean to hurt others but it did. What was hurt was judged by others as hate. I have wrestled with this for over a year now, given it to Jesus and known in my heart it wasn't hate. I have wept and felt depressed. I have avoided people and witheld affection because I just couldn't be 'fake' any longer.  It was being uncomfortable. It was diagreeing without being heard. It was even grief.  Grief over the loss of independance. Being a married adult still being told constantly what to do and how to do it. Constantly being judged. Being told what was in my heart. When I was accused of 'being happy someone suffered a misfortune,' it cut deep and still does. Sure I had disagreeded with this person and their personality made me unusually uncomfortable and uptight. I even called the accuser the next day to clear the air.  Give them a chance to tell me they didn't really think I was such a monster that I could truly be happy about anyone's misfortune.  Sadly, the accuser stood by their accusation and has ever since.  Of course, I still hear things like, "you are such a sweetheart. We love you. We miss you." Really? I can't accept these things also knowing that they believe me capable of such inhumane things.  As a best friend told me, anyone who has spent five minutes with me would never believe that of me.  They would wonder why I was so upset and saying uncharacteristic things and recognize it did not come from hate but from hurt, very deep and personal hurt. "Sweet friend" she said, "you are not that monster and it is going way too far to believe that of you or, anyone with a heart for that matter."  My therapist saw through it right away and asked me if the accuser was mad at me.  At the time, I said that I was pretty sure they were not, now I think that they too were hurt that I didn't agree with someone they profoundly agreed with  unquestionably. If they said or thought it, it was truth. There was absolutely no room for someone saying, "It doesn't have to be that way!"

So, I conclude this with other wisdom from Mother Teresa and confess it is easier said than done......

Mother Teresa's Anyway Poem (slightly revised)

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

When it all just hits you.....................

Here I sit at home typing and processing.  It's the first Thanksgiving ever I haven't been with my family.  I love being with my family. They ground me and remind me who I am.  Amongst a pandemic and my vascular health concerns we decided to do what many others did today; simply stay home. I don't regret that decision and I'm thankful my extended family was able to do a zoom meeting, to see faces and answered prayers.  This year has not only been challenging with the health of hubby's father but it is not as well known that I had an uncle with a potentially life threatening blood clot, like another hour and this would have been a different post.  Then, I had a cousin survive a massive heart attack, no risk factors other than family history.  As I sat looking at all their faces and listened to them talk it hit me, profoundly.  I was grateful and overwhelmed all at once.  I sat there taking it all in and I'm not sure I even opened my mouth to say what I was thankful for. Honestly, I was struggling to process it.  And then it made me sad that I haven't been allowed the space to feel all of that.  Because of our location and relationship the sole focus has been elsewhere.  I was lost, got lost, ended up lost in the shuffle.  But, today I was reminded who I am.  Where I come from and the dear lives that I love so much, dear ones that have been understanding and poured so much of themselves into me, so many times. No questions asked(Okay, maybe a few that's a family trait).  It spoke life and softness around some annoyingly hardened edges of me.  I saw in living color family loving and caring and reaching across the valleys of life.  

And, just when you think 19 years would teach you something about a person, there is always more to learn.  When we met 19 years ago I distinctly remember the Thanksgiving plans discussion.  Hubs told me it was 'no big deal in his family. They would hunt all day and stop at Cracker Barrel on the way home.  I remember finding it a bit sad but we started going to my parent's. He would hunt with my dad then we would visit each of my grandparents. Still pretty low key, really.  Then my sister moved closer so we started a tradition at her house.  This year, sadly, neither grandparent can be visited, we aren't traveling so I expected we would default to "Thanksgiving is no big deal." So, I didn't stress out about it, not a bit.  I bought some thick sliced baked turkey at a deli and figured I'd do a couple sides and call it a day.  Hubs asks me first thing I wake up, "what appetizers are we having?"  WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Thankfully, I'm a mild hoarder and always have some simple basics on hand so I did pull off a few unexpected appetizers and had planned a surprise pumpkin pie anyway.  So, once again my communication deficit bites me.  If only, I could process faster or learn to ask the right questions.  Don't assume or "the saying" (you know what it is) will indeed be true. Oh, and always keep a few appetizers on hand, incase you misunderstood along the way!

An my weak left side shows again!

Hope!

I'm already tired tomorrow!

 Recently, I had a conversation with a loved one about my continued fatigue.  I kind of thought people knew.  

Yes, I nap regularly even though I get 12 hours of sleep sometimes.  No matter how much or how little sleep I get of any quality, life still makes me extremely tired.  Doctors have explained it this way.  I still have to think about every single thing I do.  Every step takes careful planning still. Dinner still has to be sequenced.  I have lost the reserve to push past the fatigue.  It is simply gone! I have all new pathways and some of them are still a bit bumpy.  Oh how I try not to make a brain Injury my excuse for everything but I do have limits different than most. Whether you think I do or not. The filing cabinet in my brain has been dumped and I am still searching for all the papers carried off by the wind. Imagine how tired you would be if your brain didn't filter out light and noise and touch. If you felt like you were constantly in a game of dodge ball with all these things and also had to carry on like "normal". Carry on like nothing was constantly bombarding you.  Nobody knows the actual extent of damage the aneurysm caused.  There are no studies of survivors of burst aneurysms. Doctors would tell you those people don't exist.  Blood touching brain cells outside a vessel  kills them.  That is what they do know.  My head was filled with blood, this we also know.  Reports state I have, "significant cognitive deficits."  

Another loved one just this week, "but you'd never know you were struggling right now." Another Mercy on my life, for short periods of time I do rather well not showing the actual struggle.  But tune in and you'll notice it.  My left hand will curl tighter and tighter.  I'll struggle with balance, I huff more often or sound out of breath.  I begin to answer everything with, "I don't know." My left leg shakes and I start to loose eye contact when people are talking.  I desperately search for words and call things by the wrong names.  We all do it.  I just do it more now than I ever used to.  Nothing irritates me more than someone telling me I don't have a problem or it isn't as bad as theirs simply because they can't see me struggling.  I've been accused of not having the same degree of struggle and honestly, who really knows.  Perhaps I just have stronger coping mechanisms from working with autistic children. Perhaps, it's a good day for me. Perhaps, we have a different definition of struggle! My dad always said, "don't compare yourself to others."  I'm tired. I struggle whether you see it or not.  There are many times it is just worth the struggle.  It is worth the nausea, brain fog, headache and a body full of nerves that feel on fire. It is worth the left side tone and frustration. My mom reminded me of the words of the young missionary, Elizabeth Elliott.  If you don't know her story you really should look it up!!  Her husband was killed by the people they went to serve.  When her husband was killed they were very young and she had a baby to care for still in a foreign country.  When she asked what she was going to do, a wise person told her, "do the next thing." 

The 'survivor tree' in NYC (another great story)

So, every moment we just "do the next thing," whatever that is.