Gees! What a ride!

The abuse suffered during childhood, I believe, compounded my inability to explain my struggles and limitations. Growing up, I learned that I had to be strong, don’t moan or complain, be independent, and never ever show weakness. Admitting that I was struggling felt extremely uncomfortable and at times impossible, even when I desperately needed help.

Brain injuries and other invisible conditions create another layer of difficulty. Each brain injury is different and can affect people so very differently, symptoms can be unique to each individual.

People can’t see the pain, confusion, exhaustion, or limitations, so explaining them can feel mountainous. Especially with a muddled brain.

When trying to explain to others what I was experiencing. I could read their confusion —or worse, saw their skepticism —it was incredibly painful. Not only was I battling my symptoms, but I was also carrying the emotional weight of constantly having to justify them.

Hearing doctors, assessors, specialists, anyone say that my symptoms were “not typical” or “disproportionate to my injury” only added to my sense of hopelessness.

What is it then? Why do I feel this way? What is happening to me?

Those questions echoed through my mind for years.

With every knock to my head and every setback that followed, a little more of my confidence, independence, and resilience was chipped away. The things I once did without thinking became extremely difficult. My ability to cope physically and emotionally was stretched further and further.

The hardest part wasn’t just losing pieces of myself—it was trying to understand who I was becoming while nobody seemed able to explain why.

So I withdrew. I isolated myself from the world, believing that if I stayed away from people, I couldn’t be hurt again. Isolation also gave me a little more control over my symptoms, allowing me to manage my environment and reduce some of the triggers that made daily life nigh impossible.

Over time, asking for help is something I have become to fear. Too often, reaching out left me feeling worse—physically, emotionally, or both. Each disappointing experience reinforced the belief that seeking support would only lead to more pain, more exhaustion, more illness and reasons to retreat further.

The result was a growing fear of people and a deep mistrust of the very support I needed. What began as a way to protect myself, has slowly became another barrier to healing.

What do I do now?