Stolen Time
Dear Creator Diary,
I used to think having a brain injury meant I lost five years of my life.
That recovery had stolen them.
And on the surface, that might seem true. But that’s not what happened.
That time wasn’t stolen. It was on pause.
Everything slowed to the rhythm of my body healing. My days became about regulating symptoms, minimizing pain, protecting what energy I had. The victories were small and often invisible. As my friends kept progressing, having kids and settling down in their lives, I was simply trying not to totally fall apart.
Focusing on my health bought me a future. I’m certain of that now. It may have cost me time, but it also gave me time, more than I might have had otherwise. It’s just that no one talks about what it feels like to trade your present for a better future.
It’s a strange kind of grief.
Watching the world move while you stay still. Wondering who you might have become if things had been different.
I spent a long time grieving.
Grieving who I was.
Grieving the plans I’d mapped out with such certainty.
Grieving the version of me I thought I’d need to become to be “okay.”
And yet… here I am.
It’s been nearly nine years since the accident. And only now do I feel like the fog is lifting, like I’m finally able to see the road ahead. But instead of a clear fork, there’s a tangled map of possibilities, with too many paths and barely any signs.
It’s overwhelming, if I’m honest.
When you’ve fought for your life inch by inch, you stop taking any of it for granted. Every decision feels enormous. Nothing feels casual. Every step carries the weight of what it took to still be here.
When the possibilities are endless, indecision becomes its own kind of cage.
It’s easy to get lost in questions with no clear answers:
What now?
What next?
What if?
Maybe the answers don’t matter as much as this truth. I got the chance to heal. To rebuild. To rewire the pieces of me that once felt lost.
That counts for something. That counts for everything.
I’m never getting anywhere. I’m always here in the present. So instead of worrying about the options, I’m choosing to live more. And spend less time waiting.
Not because I’m behind.
Not because I have something to prove.
But because I finally can.
