On Thursday I had to make some decisions. I was still tired and overstimulated.  I couldn’t imagine sitting through an hour of someone touching my face, so I canceled my makeup appointment to give time for my system to reset in advance of the night ahead.  I was also struggling with getting ready. I still need help with some stuff so trying to be self-sufficient was a lot harder already a little run down. I underestimated not having a support person with me. I also struggled with what to wear: I had two dresses to choose from, and in the end, I went with the longer one. I think it was more about fitting in than what I actually wanted to wear. My intention had been to wear a tuxedo jacket, which I did, but I now realize that the shorter dress might have been a better choice. 

​Looking back now my struggles getting ready were not a great sign. As I started to get ready, I became less and less present. I wanted to be, but I had so much anxiety about how the event would impact me physically and mentally that I couldn’t let myself fully enjoy it. In those moments before boarding the shuttle to the venue, I was definitely more of an observer than a participant, even though I could feel everyone else’s excitement.

When we arrived, it quickly became clear that I had never experienced anything like it before. There was an actual red carpet, with paparazzi capturing the celebrities as they entered, which immediately made me realize the magnitude of the event. I wasn’t fully prepared for what I was walking into, but the energy of the event became clear as soon as I was there. Sure, it was exciting in a way, but I struggled to manage it for myself.
Looking at the entire scene was overwhelming—the sensory input from every direction, from the multitude of people to the sounds coming from all corners. It felt like there were too many places to look, and my focus kept being pulled in different directions which was tiring. But if I focused on the small circle of people I knew, I could manage the environment more effectively. There were lovely moments, but I wasn't open to receiving attention from strangers or engaging with the larger crowd. 

The VIP cocktail reception alone was more than a full day of engagement for me. They had arranged for a quiet spot where I could step away for a moment of solitude, and I did take advantage of that briefly. But I also wanted to stay close to my group because they were a source of grounding and support. After all, there was still the concert and fashion show to attend. Another point where a support person would have been able to see my struggle before it overtook me. I still get a look when I'm fading and when I need someone to step in and provide support, but if you don't know me well you won't see it— I mask it well. You might notice my getting just a little quieter, closing my eyes a little longer for a brain break — becoming the quiet observer.

In my quiet inner moment practicing the akasha mudra, I hadn't noticed the energy of the crowd shifted and everyone moved into the auditorium, I found myself having to catch up. The change in atmosphere was notable, and I didn’t enjoy the rush of it. With some help, I found our group’s section in the auditorium. We had two rows: one with chairs and one with higher stools. There was only one spot with a chair left, and the rest of the seating was in the back row. My group decided it would be better for me to sit in the chair, since I’m short and my legs would dangle from the stools, all true. In retrospect, though, being seated in the far corner of the back row, near the wall, might have been a better choice for me —lesson learned.

Sharon Stone, a stroke survivor, was the host of the event, and she did a phenomenal job. I was in awe of her confidence. I could relate to some of her struggles, especially in finding words. Anyone who has had a stroke is working toward a new normal, and we are aware of when it feels like something we never had to deal with before. It's a continuous process of adjusting to the changes and challenges, and seeing someone like Sharon Stone, who’s gone through it and stands with such strength, was incredibly inspiring.

First up was Suki Waterhouse, whose performance was both delicate and powerful. Following that, the fashion show took center stage, showcasing a beautiful range of ages, body types, and women confidently strutting their stuff. It was a celebration of diversity and empowerment, a true highlight of the evening.

Then, Sara Bareilles took the stage, and she was an exceptional performer and storyteller. I feel incredibly lucky to have seen her performance, it felt special. While I’m not sure how long the program lasted, there were moments when I found myself pushing through, just trying to make it to the end. At times, I had to fight the urge to leave, which felt like a missed opportunity—almost as if something beautiful was wasted on me. But in the end, I did my best and that's all I could do.

Afterward, there was an after-party I was physically there for, but I was shutting down --caught between the energy of the night and my own fatigue. It was a part of the experience, and I’ll take away what I can from it --like my chat with the AHA president's lovely wife who gave me the warmest hug. At coat check I connected with Jennie Garth who was there with her daughters - another warm hug. Maybe I just needed more hugs, lol.

In retrospect, I had no idea what to expect from this event. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. And while I enjoyed some moments, it was a challenge to stay present, and it’s taken me a few days to process everything. I’m grateful for the opportunity, but it was a lot to take in.

If you read all of this, thank you.

Looking back, today it's been 8 month's since the stroke.  I think about that morning often. I imagine it would have been disorienting to have help of any kind in the condition I was in, but Covid added an extra layer. Suddenly, men in what I remember to be gas masks came into the room where I was slumped on the floor. They came from behind me and I don’t remember how they identified themselves. One was in front of me and the other was to my right. I know they asked me questions. I don’t remember what they asked, but I think I was able to answer them. My arm was still moving on its own. The man in front told me to stop moving my arm. My arm did not listen to his orders.​​

I don't know how I stumbled upon the Love Your Brain Foundation, but I am thankful that I did.  Among their programs, I found they offered interactive six-week courses.  I missed out on the yoga, but was very lucky to get into their Discussion Group. Lucky, because I met the most incredible group of survivors.
 
Their vision:
A world where everyone affected by TBI can fully access their resilience, connect with a compassionate community, and reach their full potential.