The Part of Recovery You Cannot See
People can see when you’re walking again. They cannot always see how much effort it takes to return to something you love.
After my stroke, one of those things was writing.
I had once typed fifty words a minute. Afterward, I could manage twenty-five. That may sound like a small detail beside everything else a stroke can take from you. But writing was part of how I understood myself, and suddenly, even getting words onto a page required a different kind of patience.
There were days when I felt sorry for myself. I’ve admitted that because I know someone else may be struggling with those same feelings.
Gratitude and frustration can exist in the same person. I was thankful to be alive. I also missed what had once come easily.
Medical treatment, therapy, family, friends, and faith helped me move forward. Recovery did not erase every lasting effect. It helped me find a way to keep living with them.
I still write. More slowly, yes, but I still have something to say.
If you’re rebuilding a part of your life, I hope you give yourself credit for the work other people cannot see. Progress may be quiet. It may take longer than you wanted. It still belongs to you.
What is something you’ve had to learn to do differently—and kept doing anyway?
