Over the past year or so, I have been giving a lot of thought to head injury survival through the ages. Getting hit on the head, knocked out, attacked, and generally brain-damaged is about as regular a part of the course of human history as, say, losing your teeth or having a part of your body chopped off.
Think about it — dental care as we know it today is a relatively recent development. Used to be, a blacksmith was the one with the tools to pull a tooth — or you did it yourself with a heavy object slammed against a bad molar, or a string (tied around the offending tooth) and a slammed door. And it’s easy to forget in this convenient age, that once upon a time, people used actual tools to get their work done — lots of them sharp — and lived under conditions that were harsh and unyielding. Chopping off part of a finger — or a whole finger, for that matter — losing part of your foot to frostbite, and/or having a piece of your ear bitten off in a bar fight, happened with a lot more frequency than we 21st century folks recall.
Think about it — once upon a time, wars weren’t fought in faraway lands by trained, dedicated armies that only wanted to vanquish each other. Time was, raiders and looters and rapists and pillagers roamed the seas and the countryside, doing as they pleased to whomever was there. What’s more, in the middle ages, just about the only way am ambitious young man who wasn’t the firstborn in his family could get ahead (other than by taking up a trade or currying favor with some overlord) was to sign on as a mercenary with a local feudal lord and maraud his way to fame and fortune.
In our cozy, warm homes, with only the television and the internet to connect us with a reality outside our own, it’s easy to forget just how rough life has usually been on the human race. And it’s easy to forget that traumatic brain injury is not something that is unique to football players, boxers, and survivors of car accidents and falls. We look at statistics about brain injury — how many of them come from sports and falls and accidents and assaults — and we shake our heads, wondering what we can do to make the world safer — both before and after the accidents.
But think about it for a moment… how safe can we reasonably expect life to be? Granted, nobody wants to have their brain rearranged by unexpected trauma. Nobody actively seeks out a cognitive-behavioral condition that can be not only disturbing but downright disabling. Nobody plans to be at a perpetual disadvantage in life. But it happens.
And it’s been happening for a long time.
So, what do we do?
Certainly, we can try to prevent as many head injuries as possible, with helmets and education and training and good sense. But there’s just no way to live your life freely, if you’re on constant alert about what might happen, and what that might mean for your long-term prospects.
As an old, old relative of mine says, “Life is dangerous!” To try to limit the dangers, also means trying to limit the full range of human experience. To live fully, you need — on some level, anyway — to accept the possibility of harm, damage, danger, injury. To live fully, you need to walk — head up, shoulders back — into the face of some pretty scary stuff, and be prepared to deal with the consequences.
To live fully, to walk fully upright in the world, you have to be a warrior.
You have to be ready, willing, and able to look the world in the eye with a resolve that says, “I will not bend before you, I will not break beneath you, I will not yield the ground I have won. I will not falter and I will not fail, until I have reached my final destination. The only way I am going to fall short is if I fall permanently, period.”
To do this, to think this, to live this as a recovering survivor of brain injury (or many other kinds of injuries, including PTSD), you must be a warrior.
Now, I’m not saying everyone should pick up a sword or a spear or a gun and march out into life swinging and shooting. I’m not saying that you have to be on the defensive or the offensive at all times. Far from it. According to dictionary.com, a warrior is someone who is
1. a person engaged or experienced in war(fare)
2. a person who shows or has shown great vigor, courage, or aggressiveness
Vigor, courage, aggressiveness… yes. Those are key. And they are also predicated upon the experience of war.
To be a warrior, you have to realize and accept that you are engaged in war. Not only war in the classical sense, but:
War 4. active hostility or contention; conflict; contest
For those who struggle daily with TBI (or PTSD) in a world that doesn’t give a damn about our struggles, this is not a huge cognitive stretch. We are constantly faced with active hostility or contention, conflict, and contests — whether those come from within, or without. In my case, I would have to say the source is frequently more internal than it is external, but that doesn’t make it any less challenging. If anything, it makes it moreso.
Sometimes walking through the world without acting out, without attacking, without leaping in to “defend” yourself from a mis-judged situation takes more warriorship, than striking out. Being able to stand your ground… to hold your fire… to be fully present in a moment which threatens you on every level, without flinching or fleeing… that takes true strength, courage, and vigor. And mastering the self, learning to calm and/or disregard the constant chatter that goes on in our rewired brains… well, that takes a good deal of aggressiveness.
Not against the rest of the world (tho’ sometimes that’s required), but against the inner impulses which impel us to flinch and flee and fly off the handle. It takes monumental skill to stand when you want to bolt. It takes determination to listen, when you’re just dying to shout. And it takes all you can give, to walk, when everything in you is telling you to run.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not recommending that everyone just be 100% okay with the after effects of traumatic brain injury or other tragic traumas. I’m not saying we need to just sit back and take all the crap the world has to throw at us. Far from it. What I’m saying is that we as recovering survivors need to develop the inner resources to be our own people, to stand our own ground, hold true to our values, and not be diverted by externals when they keep us from our ultimate goals.
We need to be warriors in the truest sense. To walk our own paths, wherever they may lead us. To know ourselves for what we truly are, not what the rest of the world says we are. To do what must be done to protect ourselves and our lives and all we hold dear. And whatever route we take, it must be our own, and we must be loyal to the True inner voice that compels us, while learning to discern and dismiss the internal chatter and endless distractions which strive to pull us off our path.
Only we can achieve that. But when we do, we know it is our own. We have earned it, we have won it, we have paid dearly for it. And nothing and no one can take that from us.