Confessions of a Concussed Cyclist: What a year…

December 31, 2025

“An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in.  A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves.” -Bill Vaughan

A while ago, my therapist had me create a “Glimmers of Hope” album on my phone.  One is a photo album and one is in the Notes app to jot things down.  Simply moments in time that gave me hope. A memory that filled my cup. This year has been extremely challenging.  There have been glimmers of hope sprinkled in there, some wonderful, amazing glimmers, but overall, a non-stop rollercoaster of hard. 

In the spring, I had to leave my home of seven years.  Thankfully I quickly fell into a wonderful place, but the move was still difficult.  It was stressful.  Change is hard and scary, especially for those of us with PTSD. We’ve all moved in our adult lives, so you know how tough it is, how stressful it is, now add a damaged brain to that equation. 

Also in the spring, I needed to get a new car.  My previous car, a Subaru (BOO!!) ate brakes for breakfast and apparently my car was hungry again.  I could either invest in the yearly brake job (once a year state inspection, registration, oil change, full brake job) or unload the lemon off on someone else.  I chose to unload.  Did I want to deal with a new car while moving?  Not at all!  Did I want to continue to invest in brakes for a car that seemed to hate me as much as I hated it?  Not even a little. So I said sayonara to the Subaru, without looking back.

I had surgery mid-summer.  The recovery did not go according to plan.  The whole process sent my trauma brain into extreme fight or flight.  I had a fever for just under two months.  No infection, no issues with the surgical sight, just my body saying “I am NOT okay with everything going on!” Recovering from surgery with a non-stop fever for weeks and weeks is no easy task. For a long time after surgery, I couldn’t sleep in my normal position.  I was extremely uncomfortable.  My poor injured brain needs sleep.  A lot of sleep and it just wasn’t happening. I was in sensory overload.  I didn’t want to be touched.  There were many times when clothing even sent me over the edge.  Because of needing to keep the surgical site dry, I couldn’t shower normally during the recovery process and all I longed for was a nice, long, hot shower.  However, when all was said and done, and I could finally shower like I had dreamed of, my fight or flight body viewed it as torture.  The water hurt.  My surgery site is still healing on the inside.  It is still uncomfortable, I still have limitations.  

I dealt with extremely stressful insurance issues for weeks.  Many, many, many hours were spent online and on the phone trying to figure things out. 

Financial stress?  Yup, that was a part of 2025 (I mean, when is it not, but much more so this year).

Work stress?  Of course!  That was there too!

Did my TBI ever leave during all of this?  Of course not!  Did PTSD ever let up because I was drowning in other stressors?  Not once!  Through everything, I still had to manage my daily rattled brain struggles.  Since my traumatic brain injury I have had the firm belief that those of us with chronic conditions should get immunity from other parts of life.  For example: because of my TBI I should never have to get sick again a day in my life.  I guess that’s too much to ask for.  

Because my body has been under extreme stress for the past eight months, I have lost over 35 pounds.  Oh. the irony!  I have struggled greatly with my weight since my brain injury.  I gained a lot of weight immediately after getting hit and it never left. I have met with nutritionists. I exercise. I have gone to 1000 calories (or less) a day.  I have had blood work done looking for answers.  And everything always came back to… “you are stuck in fight or flight.  This is your body’s way of handling it.  It is holding on to everything you eat to stay in survival mode.”  Go figure, I just needed endless extreme stress in my life to finally lose weight (silly me!  I thought the past 11 years of my life had been extremely stressful.  Go figure!)  Also because of the extreme stress the past eight months, I have been more sick than I have been in years.  A small cold turns into weeks long recovery with my already fragile lungs taking the brunt of it.  

I never thought I’d long for the days of “just a TBI and PTSD”.  That sounds insane to say but I need a break from the rest of it.  My head needs a break.  My body needs a break.  I am still in overload.  My body never came back to baseline after surgery.  I see things that aren’t there (no, I’m not crazy but for example I think I see spiders [my biggest fear] where there are no spiders).  I feel things on me that aren’t there (again, with spiders.  I think they are crawling on me when they are not).  Both of these have been discussed with my therapist and they are my body telling me enough is enough.  I am overwhelmed.  I am tired.  I still feel as if at any moment, I may drown.

But you know what else happened in 2025?  I learned who my friends were and who my friends weren’t.  I started seeing people for who they really were.  I learned who I could depend on and who was there just for show.  I learned who was safe and who wasn’t.  I had an amazing therapist (and her precious therapy dog) with me every step of the way to make sure I didn’t go under.  I had dear, kind friends hug me and tell me they were there for me for whatever I needed.  I had kind notes from friends and gift bags left on my door.  I had flowers delivered and sweet messages from my niece.  I had laughs, and smiles, and adventures. I had memories that I hope stay with me a lifetime.  I had hard.  I had a lot of hard.  I had too much hard.  But I also had good. I am thankful for the good.  I hold on to those glimmers when the hard is too hard.  

I’m not sure I’ll make it to midnight tonight.  The pessimist in me wants to stay up just to make sure. But I do know that it’s time to go visit with my nephew and continue our annual New Years Eve traditions.  I will soak up his humor and his silliness. I will always be thankful for him and his kind heart. And tomorrow, I will wake up and fight another day.