In my family, brain injury isn’t a distant topic—it lives with us every day. We know all too well how disorienting, isolating, and quietly devastating these conditions can be—not just in moments of crisis, but in the slow, silent unraveling of what once felt simple.
Today, I’m writing with a heavy heart. I learned of another life lost—another soul who had been living with a traumatic brain injury. And while I can’t change what happened, I can write. I can speak into the silence. And maybe, in doing so, offer something—comfort, connection, or even the smallest sense of being seen—to someone else walking this difficult road.
This life we’re living—this tender, tangled garden of becoming—is not easy. Especially not for those whose minds have been shaken by brain injury or slowly altered by brain disease. The path can feel like one of those winding foot trails you find in an old, dark, wet forest—moss-covered, uneven, familiar and unfamiliar all at once.
If you’ve never walked it, you might not notice how steep it is in places, how easily one could stumble, how much effort it takes just to stay upright.
People with brain injury or brain disease often look okay. Many will say they’re okay, because it feels easier—or safer—than explaining the invisible battle. They might smile. They might laugh. They might answer “I’m fine,” because it spares them the shame of trying to describe what doesn’t make sense even to them.
But underneath, many are barely holding on.
Walk Gently Beside Those on the Brain Injury Journey
Here’s something you may not know: people who have experienced a traumatic brain injury are significantly more likely to attempt or die by suicide. One large study found they are three to four times more likely to die by suicide than the general population. Those living with neurodegenerative conditions like Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, or early-onset dementia are often grieving their own slow disappearance, long before others see it.
And then there is multiple sclerosis (MS)—a chronic illness that not only affects mobility, vision, and energy, but also the brain itself. Over half of people with MS experience cognitive difficulties, and up to 50% live with depression, which is often a direct result of how the disease impacts the nervous system. Suicide risk is twice as high in people with MS.
So if someone you love is living with brain injury, MS, or brain disease, please understand: they may not be okay. Even if they smile. Even if they joke. Even if they show up.
Navigating the Unspoken Realities of Life After Brain Injury
For those living it—from inside the shifting mind—I want you to know this: your worth is not diminished.
You are not a burden.
You are still the whole of who you’ve ever been, even if you now move through time differently.
Your struggle is real, and you don’t have to hide it to be loved.
You deserve support that sees beyond the surface.
Extend kindness. Let grace be your first response. Let curiosity lead your questions. Let silence hold more than pressure to explain.
And to you, dear reader, I offer this: when life feels disorienting or painful, come back to your senses. Notice the way a shaft of sunlight lands on your hands. Hear the rustle of wind in the leaves. Smell the familiar comfort of your morning coffee or tea. These small anchors tether us when the world within us is shifting.
Tending to your inner world—especially in seasons of confusion, grief, or transition—is an act of deep courage. There’s no right way to bloom. No timeline for healing. But there is always the possibility of becoming again. Of being met with compassion. Of finding beauty in the becoming.
If you know someone living with a brain injury or brain disease, please invite them to reach out to me. They need to know they are not alone.
I’ve created a safe, nurturing space for those navigating the complexities of chronic illness—a place where no one has to pretend, where it’s okay to not be okay. Where the mind can be foggy and the spirit weary, and still, you are met with tenderness. You are still worthy of joy, of rest, of grace.
In the coming weeks, I’ll be inviting a few kind-hearted souls to help me beta test a new community—a space designed to hold us gently through whatever life brings. If that speaks to you or someone you care about, I’d love to connect.
We’re not meant to carry this alone.
And now, we don’t have to.
With care,
~ Leisa
