"The day after my stroke, I confidently told my doctor I'd be better in two or three days. Looking back, I have to laugh at that – not because it wasn't the right attitude to have, but because I had absolutely no idea what was coming."
The Reality No One Tells You About
Let me be brutally honest: this shit is fucking hard. It's hard in the early days, it's hard in the later days, and it's hard right now, five years later. One of the toughest parts? Nobody really realizes what you're going through, and frankly, not many people give a shit. That's not being cynical – it's just reality, and understanding that reality is crucial for anyone on this journey.
I was paralyzed on my entire right side. Think about that for a moment. Half of your body, just... gone. Not responding. The body you've lived in and trusted your entire life suddenly becomes a stranger.
The Pride That Holds Us Back
One of my biggest mistakes over these five years – and I'm saying this hoping others can learn from it – was thinking I could do everything myself. I kept pushing, kept trying to handle it alone, when I should have asked for more help. But even more importantly, I should have been better at HOW I asked for help.
Here's something I learned the hard way: you can't expect people to do things at the speed you used to do them yourself. I was impractical, impatient. I tried, but I was fighting against my new reality instead of working with it.
When Life Doubles Down
Just when I thought I had enough on my plate, life had other plans. After making it through initial rehab and getting discharged in early February 2020, I found myself back in the hospital a week later, convinced I was having a second stroke. Instead, I got diagnosed with MS. Because apparently one life-altering neurological condition wasn't enough.
And then? The pandemic hit. Everything went to shit really quickly. Try navigating recovery when the whole world shuts down. Try finding support when everyone's isolated. Try maintaining hope when everything around you seems to be falling apart.
The Journey of Movement
My recovery journey can be mapped through the aids I've needed: wheelchair to walker to cane to AFO to walking to eventually running. Each transition was its own milestone, each with its own unique challenges and victories. Sometimes both hands worked, sometimes neither did. That's just how it goes – recovery isn't linear.
Finding What Works: Meditation and Movement
Let me tell you about what actually helped, because that's what people really need to know. The Calm app, similar to my "Breathe Better Feel Better" course, became my go-to. Not because someone told me to do it, but because it actually worked. These weren't just random breathing exercises – they became tools I could use when things got overwhelming, when my body wasn't cooperating, when I needed to center myself.
One thing I've learned: consistency matters more than intensity. Working out and exercising did make things better, but only once I found a way to maintain consistency. It wasn't about pushing hard on any single day – it was about showing up, day after day, even when it felt like nothing was improving.
The Power of Starting Small
Here's something I learned that actually matters: start small, but do it relentlessly. Whether it's walking, running, or any kind of exercise, the secret isn't in going big – it's in going consistent. Do it daily, do it repeatedly, and you'd be surprised how far you can go.
Running became my unexpected ally in recovery. It helped not just with the stroke recovery but also with the MS – so much so that I probably overdid it because it was helping so much. That's the thing about finding something that works – sometimes you have to remind yourself to pace even when you find something good.
The MS and Stroke Dance
Living with both MS and stroke recovery is weird as hell. Half the time, I'm not sure what symptom belongs to what condition, but honestly? It doesn't really matter. They're both part of my story now, both things I have to deal with. It's not about separating them – it's about managing what's in front of me on any given day.
Why I Built Survivor Science
That's actually why I built Survivor Science. I got tired of all the premeditated, regurgitated BS you read in books. People don't need more generic advice – they need real talk, practical solutions, things that actually work in the real world. Everything I share through Survivor Science is something I've tried myself. But here's the key: what works for me might not work for you, because every stroke is different, every recovery is different.
The Truth About Recovery
To anyone starting this journey, or supporting someone who is, here's what I wish someone had told me:
- Recovery isn't a straight line
- Your timeline is your timeline
- Asking for help isn't weakness – it's wisdom
- Patience isn't just a virtue – it's a necessity
- The small victories matter just as much as the big ones
A Message to Fellow Survivors
Five years in, I'm not the same person who woke up in that hospital bed thinking I'd be better in a few days. I'm stronger in ways I never expected, weaker in ways I'm still accepting, and wiser about what recovery really means. It's not about getting back to who you were – it's about building who you're going to be.
You're not alone in this, even when it feels like you are. Yes, it's fucking hard. Yes, most people won't understand. But you don't need them to understand – you just need to keep going, keep adapting, and keep fighting. Not every day will be a victory, but every day you keep trying is a success in itself.
