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If you are caregiving for a loved one with TBI are you tired of hearing, “Isn’t it a miracle he’s here? Think of all the blessings you have in your life!”
Becoming a parent and a caregiver at nearly the same time has taught me much about learning to hold on and let go in life. In some ways, the demands of these two roles are not so different. In other subtle ways, they are quite distinct.
Caregiving can be an isolating and lonely job, and it seems to feel all the more lonely in the darkness and cold of winter. Stepping outside into the sunshine is a mood booster for everyone, caregivers and TBI survivors alike. The sun recharges us.
I thought if the class wasn’t going well, I could just lie on my yoga mat in the middle of the studio and, at least, be around people for an hour. Knowing how accepting yoga is, I unrolled my yoga mat for a try.
Since his injury, my husband and I have come to agree on one point: we will never fully understand each other’s struggle in this mess. And while we can never hope to fully appreciate the depth or complexity of each other’s experiences, we do our best to stay constantly respectful of the hard work that keeps us going.
If someone you care about has a loved one who has sustained a traumatic brain injury and they tell you all is well, don’t believe them. Look beyond the surface.
Grief is a complicated process, particularly in the case of TBI when it takes the form of ambiguous grief. Quite obviously there hasn’t been a real death, yet we find ourselves cloaked in a profound sense of loss, one that is enormously difficult to articulate to others.
These men are heroes not just for what they survived. They are heroes for living through fifty years of civilians who don’t understand them and loved ones who walk away in tears from actions and responses that, to these men, seem completely normal.
I, personally, never use the word warrior for anyone but a combat veteran. But I do not call them warriors because of what they did during war. I call them warriors because of what they do every single day since returning from war.
It’s called ambiguous loss. A loved one is physically present, yet transformed in countless, often subtle ways, that alter his essence. For couples coping with brain injury, it’s the elephant in the room.
January is among my favorite months because it’s an annual restart button for our lives - a chance to forgive ourselves for our imperfections in the past year and an opportunity to decide who we want to be and how we want to live in the year ahead.
In that first night, within those initial moments, you stole many of our hopes, dreams, and chances at the things we used to take for granted. In place of them, you gave challenges, frustrations, and endless new maps to navigate.
During a season that often seems to uncover and amplify old wounds, it is especially important to remember that brain injury has left us each with our own post-traumatic scars. Caregivers struggle to understand survivors. Survivors struggle to understand caregivers. The best we can do is to allow ourselves an extra breath to ask, “What’s really important at this moment?
The bad days suck. They suck more than we let on to most people, and they drain us emotionally for days afterward. Perhaps the best way to describe it is this...
In learning the stories of other TBI survivors and caregivers, I feel an immediate kinship, a sense of connectedness to those with a shared experience. But there is also a downside.
In the midst of crisis, between panic and hysteria, thoughts creep in. How did this happen? What could I have done? These questions form the beginning of a long line of self-recriminating thoughts that haunt many caregivers...
Brain injury has been a great teacher in my life. This much I know to be true, but as my family prepares for our third Alive Day, I’ve begun to embark on my annual reflection of the specific lessons I’ve gathered throughout our experience with brain injury.