Vulnerability - 1/9/21

This is what an invisible injury looks like…completely normal on the outside. My accident happened two years, nine months and twenty-nine days ago. Sure, I can talk about it casually. But I still can’t REALLY talk about it without crying.

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(I apologize to those that asked me to shorten it next time as it’s difficult for some to read lengthy things…my intention was to keep it very short…and here we are. I’m sorry!)

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Vulnerability.

I was chatting with a dear friend earlier today, we’ll call her Sarah. Some time ago she had started down a personal growth journey and I find our paths looking more and more similar. It was one of our deep conversations today. Delving into our past life experiences, how we viewed things then versus now, what we’ve learned along the way that were really big growth moments…you name it we talked about it. At one point, control came up. Why people feel the need to control, where it comes from, how to appropriately deal with it. A very wise person (in one of the hours of videos I've listened to in the past 2.5 years) explained that as humans, we need balance in our lives. That the second something happens that starts tilting our world from balance to chaos, our natural instinct is to then shift our focus onto something in our lives that we can control…and we become hyper vigilant in controlling that one particular part…which gives us the feeling of our world coming back into balance and harmony. But it doesn’t really. It just makes us a little irrational and unpleasant to be around. What is it that we’re so afraid of when something becomes out of our control? I think it can look different for everyone…fear of change. Fear of rejection. Fear of fear. Fear of disrupted plans. Fear of not knowing what to do or not having all the answers. I think that underneath all those feelings and fears, for me anyway, lies vulnerability. BOY, it is HARD being vulnerable. Pre-accident, I would say I was a fairly independent woman. I moved to Boston when I was 20 to be a live-in nanny and I had only briefly met the people I was going to be living and working for before I moved into their house…in a city I didn’t know anyone. (Which, by the way, was one of the best experiences I've had and I'm so glad I did that) I loved hiking. On my 30th birthday I hiked to a top of a mountain to watch the sunset and then hiked back down in the dark…by myself. (okay, I’ll admit, the thought of meeting a mountain man and being hauled off, never to be heard from again did scare me…but only a little haha) I grew up around horses and loved night riding in the middle of the woods, in the pitch dark. I’ve traveled around the world. And never really thought much about it. I was at a Trucks Gone Wild event one year, camping for the weekend…One night there was one bunch still up partying and being SUPER loud…by 4am I had enough. I was exhausted, cranky and just wanted quiet. I yanked open my tent door and marched my way over to them (it was actually quite far away) and turns out it was a group of guys only…at 4am… they were drunk…I had wound my way through the maze of tents to get over there and had no idea how to get back to my site, had left my cell and any form of protection in the tent, and proceeded to yell at them and not so nicely requested they quiet it down. After I opened my mouth and all the words started coming out, it was around that point that I realized how stupid this was and that there were about fifteen of them and one of me. (at this point I feel like I should mention that I’m 5’2 and at that time was about 106 lbs soaking wet.) Not my proudest or smartest moment and, yes, my mouth gets away from me from time to time and, yes, I realize things could have gone very, very bad. But that’s just who I was. Independent. No one is going to get in my way. No one is going to stop me. I can and will do it… and if you think I can’t, just watch me. Sure, women, in general, think way more of the safety of their surroundings than men do. But I always thought that if it came down to it, I would put up a heck of a fight if something ever went sideways. Fast forward to my accident. I would guess that the accident took somewhere around 15 seconds from start to finish. And just like that, that independent woman I had known for the past 30 years was gone. Sure, I had experienced vulnerability many times. Coming off that mountain on my 30th birthday, I felt vulnerable. When I realized how stupid it was I was across camp, yelling at those drunk guys at Trucks Gone Wild at 4am, I felt very vulnerable. In 2017 I moved to Montana to take a job and moving to a city I, again, didn’t know a single soul in… you better believe I felt vulnerable. Let me tell you something about brain injuries. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING prepares you for the vulnerability you experience with brain injury. Yes, every brain injury presents in a different way. But I think we’ve all experienced this on some level. (For those of you who are reading this that haven’t experienced a brain injury and don’t know, your brain controls everything, lol. So, when that’s compromised, so is everything else.)

When the accident happened, I lived in the City of Syracuse, on the edge of the bad part of town. My mom (she’s a saint) would come and spend the nights there so I wouldn’t be alone the first few weeks. But when she would leave in the morning for work, I can honestly say it wasn’t my favorite. Terrible is more accurate. Because guess what, what if I fell? What if my cell wasn’t near me and I couldn’t get up or worse, injured myself further? What if someone tried to come in my house? I couldn’t fight back. At that point, I couldn’t even climb my stairs to go up to the second floor because I was so weak. What if I choked and had to cough and my brain couldn’t handle it and I died by myself? I couldn’t drive. Going outside was terrifying. I couldn’t cook. Putting food on a plate that my mom had made was about enough to push me over the edge. Vulnerable. I pulled the shades up one morning, looked out, and there were big, beautiful snowflakes gently coming down and I felt myself losing balance and starting to fall. I shut the blind as quickly as I could and closed my eyes and grabbed onto the windowsill to stop the world from spinning. I was terrified. I was alone. Pretty much everyone I knew lived two hours away including my family. I couldn’t even comprehend how looking at snow gently coming down could just about knock me to the floor. Vulnerable. Five weeks after my accident I moved back in with my parents after it became apparent that I was not getting better, instead just getting worse. I was determined to do some form of exercise every day. That was walks for me. My first attempt, I made it to the mailbox. TO THE MAILBOX. The act of walking 50 feet wiped me out so bad. I felt so incapable. Vulnerable. I grew up around horses. I didn’t dare go in the pasture with them. They’re 1,200 pound animals. If I needed to get out of the way, I couldn’t. Every movement I made felt like it was in slow motion. I was incapable of doing anything fast. Vulnerable.

My folks live out in the country, and fast forward a year and a half after my accident. I was able to make it about a quarter mile (if that) up the two-track road past their house. I don’t know why but being that far away from the house was quite unnerving. When you can’t do anything strenuous with your arms (because it will jack up your head), you can’t go faster than a slow walk, you can’t scream (because that, too, will jack up your head), you can’t do any movement that will get your heart rate up, and knowing that even if you wanted to, the muscle doesn’t exist in your body (from doing literally nothing for a year and a half) to help yourself in any way, shape or form if you needed to get out of a situation. One day I was just starting out on my walk. I saw my dog run off into the field behind me. I was lost in thought a million miles away. A minute later, I subconsciously noticed something moving around in the bushes up in front of me to my left. It didn’t register. I kept walking. As I got closer and it started actually crashing around in the bushes, I looked up, and click, the light bulb came on. I have never been so scared in my life. In a split second I realized my dog headed out in the opposite direction a few minutes ago. There’s something crashing around in the bushes not far from me. I don’t have my gun. I’m far enough from the house no one could hear me call for help. And for crying out loud, where was my dog? She was my only hope of protection. Fear seized my mind, and instinct took over. I whipped around and took off running. I made it five steps. Stopped in my tracks and thought, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? YOU CAN’T RUN! My head was already pounding from the exertion. My heart was still racing because whatever was in the bushes was still behind me. I was stuck. I couldn’t protect myself. I had no choice but to turn around and face whatever was in there. The crashing got louder, it was coming closer to the edge of the bushes, I braced myself. Here it comes. I started praying, God, I hope it’s not a bear. Out pops my dog, giant tree branch in her mouth she had been wrestling with in the bushes. Relief mixed with frustration flooded over me. How that dog went from the field behind me, across the road, and into those bushes without me seeing her, I’ll never know. I wanted to yell at her and hug her at the same time. After I made it back to the house and took a giant nap to recover, I was able to laugh about it. That dog! (face palm)

I have never felt so vulnerable in my life as I did in that moment. That is one of the things that sticks out most from the past two, almost three years. I have tried to explain to people how scary it is to know that even if you tried, there’s nothing you can do to protect yourself, no matter how little or big the situation is. It’s all the same. You are totally helpless. (It still gives me goosebumps thinking back on all the times I felt vulnerable and helpless.) I think feeling that level of vulnerability and recognizing what that emotion is has opened my eyes to other ways that I struggle with vulnerability. Vulnerable is vulnerable whether it’s physical or emotional. While my circumstances forced me to accept the physical vulnerability, my emotional vulnerability is a choice. It’s still a work in progress. A lot of times I still subconsciously choose to shut down and close myself off instead of allowing myself to be vulnerable, especially with those closest to me or with those that have the power to hurt me the deepest. But I’m learning. A wise person once told me that life is just a practice. And every day we get knew opportunities to put what we’ve learned into practice. You don’t have to be perfect, but you just get out there and try. And the next time you’ll do it a little better. So give yourself grace. No one is perfect. Open your mind to the idea of vulnerability. Grow that awareness. When you really dig down deep and get to the root of it, what’s there that’s holding you back? Sure, there’s always the chance of getting hurt. But on the other hand, the benefits are endless; connecting in a more meaningful way to those around you, it allows for the mending of broken fences, it opens the door to new ideas and opportunities. When you think about it, vulnerability is a beautiful gift. We only get one shot at life and tomorrow is never promised. I choose to continue to embrace vulnerability...I can’t wait to see where it leads.

- L

#postconcussionsyndrome#PCS#InvisibleInjury#braininjury#TBI#mTBI#healingfromtheinsideout#thejourneycontinues#nevergiveup