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  • Writer's pictureElizabeth Ann

love child

I was swept under by another wave of grief the other day when I realized I am 10 months in.


10 months of brain injury recovery.


Of headaches, ringing ears, burning brain, emotional outbursts, transformed and lost relationships, cognitive disconnect, heightened anxiety, and my least personal favorite, profoundly lowered stamina.


(See also: 10 months of fiercely beautiful support, but I'll save that story for another post.)


Waves of anger and disbelief still make it hard to breathe sometimes. That I hit my head so hard, that my life was so intensely altered in a moment feels complicated, and challenging to process. Restorative however, is my belief that God redeems; makes Holy what was Horrible.


Pre-accident, I was a purveyor of constant achievement. For almost ten years, I worked full-time, raised children on my own, engaged in full-time studies all while completing side quests and creative projects. Divine timing placed my accident 8 days before my last post-secondary exam, so both my car, and my hectic lifestyle came to a screeching halt.


Post-accident, I feel like a jammed drain because I continue to have the neurodivergent stream of ideas and side quest yearning that is authentic to me but possess just a fraction of the stamina I did. So I’m essentially a vessel of unmaterialized inspiration, deeply unsatisfied, lying on the couch, incapacitated, a kinetic cloud of frustrated exhaustion.


All the right spices for a maddening depression.


Shared in a recent book review was my obsession with the belief that everything is Sacred, Holy, Divine. I strive to experience life through this lens so that I may evolve with each experience; so that each heartache is a teacher inching me closer to wholeheartedness.


A lesson I learned repetitively for the first three decades of life, is that I am only worthy of love, care, and life if I am serving, satisfying, or impressing someone else. I don’t subscribe to that belief anymore, but unlearning three decades of anything takes time, and a lot of therapy. Praise Be the possibility of Redemption. God bless the Healers. I've been deeply frustrated housing the complicatedness of neurodivergence with brain injury. But all this time I've spent sidelined on the couch has cultivated a desperation for a healthier relationship with myself; a reflective space for me to understand that if I care for myself ever so fiercely and gently, learning from the example of those beautiful souls around me, and accept myself for how I am at any, and in every moment, the love child of neurodivergence and brain injury can be just that, Love. Self-love. Divine Love presenting as increased self-acceptance, heightened self-appreciation, reframed beliefs, deeper self-belonging, wilder self-knowing, and firmer boundaries; all steps closer to wholeheartedness. Ah, Grief as a Professor. Pre-accident, my worth came from external accomplishment. So that I may survive in some type of peace, this brain injury in its Holy Horribleness continues to teach me to reassign my worth from producing to simply existing. I cannot ignore how touched by God that is. Say it with me: I am worthy because I exist. So when I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, or surrender to yet another nap, because that is all I can do in that moment, I am worthy. If I alter my work schedule so that I am not whiteknuckling through so often, I am worthy. I am worthy if I do something, or if I don’t. I am worthy if I follow through on an idea for a creative project or if I don’t. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. So are you. with so much love, even though I'm probably not stitching you a snowflake this Christmas, E

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