I took the time this week to edit a post about my experience in the hospital; Down The Rabbit Hole - via my stroke. It was difficult to have written, and now to edit, and to then post. In doing this I remembered the fear and anxiety of that time. It was not just the recall of events; it was the recall of the sensory experiences of that first week in the hospital. I tapped into feeling the anxiety of that time and allowed myself these feelings as I wrote about this experience.
As I wrote this post several weeks ago, and as I edited and posted it a couple of day ago I was reminded of what I was afraid to face; my sense of powerlessness and loss of control. My stroke opened me to my vulnerability; something that I still have difficulty accepting.
My life as I knew it before the stroke has totally changed as a result of it. Part of this change is how I allow others to experience my vulnerability. Before the stroke I had the freedom of moving, if I wanted to; just leave, and I would occasionally do this. Now my physically leaving requires the assistance of an other, so I don't leave and have to sit with my feelings. Sometimes it seems easier to just leave.
But staying with my feelings, examining them, accepting and understanding them brings resilience of character; that ineffable quality that allows me to be knocked down by life and come back stronger than ever. My stroke has enhanced my resilience.
Often hope and life spring forth from what appears to be dead. No longer able to do what I once could I have developed other strategies to fill my life that wants to be lived to its fullest. There are times when my mind thinks my heart's desires are not doable but then hope and determination take hold and resilience kicks in.
A major part of my post stroke life is to not think with my mind but listen with my heart and to trust my instincts. I thought I had always done this, and I have, but now there is a closer connection between my instincts and my actions. As I recover from the effects of my stroke the wiring of my brain has developed new pathways. These new pathways create new feelings about what I think, say, and do. My right brain has become more predominate in the process of engaging in and living life. I am less analytical (less caught in my thoughts) and more present in my being in each moment.
Talking about how and what I feel takes time as I construct the new pathways in my brain. It is not that words escape me, but more that I need time to form relationships with the words I think and speak. These words are not new to my vocabulary I am just thinking, processing, and relating to and through them in a new way. Through this new process I am slowing down and taking time to be present in everything I think and do.
A friend recently ask me about this. Her interest was in how I experienced these new pathways in my brain and what I felt manifested as a result of them. My thoughts gave title to this post; everything is easier with two hands. I am not sure if this answers the scientific question about the brain, but it is more of a metaphor for my own experience.
My brain injury creates the loss of function of my right side so everything I do takes more thought and effort. As new pathways develop in my brain it takes time and effort for these to become familiar to how they are being used. It is a slow process and at times there is no discernible change even though the process is progressing in each moment.
My thoughts and words are adapting to this new process. The pathways in my brain are responding to the repeated patterns of use that I am developing. Each thought, each expression of those thoughts, increases my resilience and I come back stronger as these new pathways are developed and used.
As new pathways are developed and used it becomes easier except when I am tired. When I am tired a disconnect occurs where the old pathways are not available and the new pathways I am not able to fully use because I still need focus to access these routes. When this happens I must rest.
Rest comes in different ways; at night I sleep. During the day I take moments to clear my head of thoughts and breathe. A friend's daughter recently experienced a brain injury of a different kind. Her doctors recommended that she allow her brain to rest and repair. When I begin to feel fatigued I take a break, stop my mental process, and just hang out in the moment.
We are enculturated to always have an active mind. We have equated a quite mind, devoid of thoughts, as being a sign of laziness. In fact learning to still our mind is an accomplishment that keeps us grounded in the moment. When I am tired if I will pause, let thinking and thoughts go, I find my energy being restored and I move back to center.
As I empty those little clouds of words, images, and thoughts I quickly am recharged.
When I am not able to accomplish tasks with two hands I learn how to do things with one hand. It's not easy but it can be done, and I do it. Just like learning to empty my mind of thoughts allows me to be in the moment and regenerate my energy; working with one hand adds to my being resilient.
My motto is that I embrace change. My philosophy is that no matter what we do change is inevitable, so to embrace and welcome it is the only sensible thing to do. Accepting change makes things easier with or without two hands.
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