It Takes a Village, Trust and Believe
Today marks six months since my stroke, and I should be feeling proud, but instead, I find myself reflecting on how these months have been the hardest of my life. Guilt, doubt, sadness, depression, anxiety, and exhaustion have weighed heavily on me as I try to heal and come back stronger. I’ve often wondered why I survived, overwhelmed by the struggles of living with an invisible disability. But I’m starting to let go of the need to defend myself. I’m learning that it is what it is. Please know, I am no saint; I wonder if I would react the same way as others have had I not been the one with the stroke.
Yesterday, I had a conversation with a new friend who is also a stroke survivor. I asked him how he manages when people don’t understand what he’s going through. He said something that hit me hard: “Unless you’ve had a stroke, you can’t really understand it.” Some days, he feels perfectly fine and thinks he should be able to drive or go back to work. But there are other days when it’s clear why he shouldn’t push himself too much.
I felt that today in my soul. Today was one of those days when I wanted to give up. The exhaustion that comes with stroke recovery is relentless and unlike anything I have ever experienced before. I went out on Saturday, and it’s now Wednesday, and I’m still feeling the aftereffects. It makes me question what my future will look like as I continue to recover. There’s a lot of uncertainty, and while I want to be excited about what’s to come, I can’t lie—sometimes fear creeps in. But I’m trying. I’m trying to convince myself that there’s excitement in the unknown.
After the stroke, I changed my word of the year from “safe” to “fearless” and “resilient.” I am nothing if not resilient. As hard as this journey has been, I’m determined to approach this next chapter with courage. One of my goals was to start a blog, something that had been on my bucket list for years. Now I’m finally doing it, and it’s become a form of therapy for me. I hope that, in some way, it helps you too, no matter what challenges you are going through.
This morning, after feeling like I couldn’t go on, I reached out to my village. I shared that I felt like giving up—that it was too much, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it anymore. They didn’t need details. They just knew. Here’s what they said to lift me up:
“Oh yes, you can, and we’ll be here to help in any way we can.”
“It’s completely normal to have moments where you think you can’t do it. Let the thought settle, and then shake it off—you’ve got this.”
“It’s like your brain is a house, and someone mixed up all the drawers. You’ll get to them, but maybe by a different path. It must be maddening.”
“I will do anything for you, absolutely anything.”
“Just forget about what others think. Be like, ‘I’m a badass.’”
This friend even helped me create a badass playlist.
One sister said, “Like a flower, you are beautiful, though not perfect. Sometimes you stand upright, and sometimes the wind makes you sway. You have potential and feed yourself through your roots, taking in the sun. Sometimes you may be nicked or a bird might poop on you 😀. Regardless, you are beautiful and unique. Nothing is changing who you are inside.”
My other sister told me, “Stop expecting so much from yourself. You’re allowed to have bad days. Look at where you were and where you are now. You’re a miracle. I’m in awe of everything you’ve done.”
Hearing that last one—being reminded that I’m a miracle—brought me to tears. Sometimes I forget that I shouldn’t even be here, according to medical standards. But I am. And no one can take that away from me. I survived for a reason, even if I don’t always know what that reason is. Of course, I told her she shouldn’t be in awe of me as I have done nothing gracefully.
It's funny how sometimes the mind focuses on the struggle and overlooks the strength it takes just to survive and keep going. Recovery is never easy, especially from something like a stroke, and I often find myself caught in the heaviness of it. But today, as I reflect, I realize that just showing up every day is an act of resilience. I may not have handled this journey gracefully, but I’ve always done my best. And in learning to be kinder to myself, I’m discovering that progress is what truly matters—more than perfection. #progressoverperfection.
Recovery has taught me that life isn’t about being perfect. It’s about progress, showing up, being real, and growing from every challenge. And through this experience, I’ve learned that you need a village—always. We’re all fighting battles others may never see (I am a living testament to this on so many levels!) Kindness goes a long way!
It’s also interesting to me that this is my 5th blog and the 2nd time I am writing about the importance of community and village. Ironically I am the person who thought she had no friends and no one cared. There will be many more blogs on this subject because I truly believe in the power of having a supportive community. So yes, it’s something I truly believe in.
I guess that's the beauty of community—it shows you what you sometimes can't see in yourself. My village (once again) reminded me that I’m not in this alone. Their words gave me the strength I needed, and for that, I’m grateful. They helped me to feel seen and validated. We all need our village to get well. We need people who remind us of our worth when we lose sight of it. And in this moment, I’m finally doing something I’ve wanted to do for years—blogging. It’s one more step in my journey of healing, and that’s something to be proud of.
So tonight, the hubs and I are listening to Annie Lennox, drinking wine and eating peanuts, and enjoying the cool breeze. AhhhHH! 🍷🌬️🎶 (I reread this post and it still does not encapsulate all the feelz but it’s the best I got for now!)
