A little over a year ago, the neuropsych I’d been working with since 2008 changed jobs and relocated. It was a pretty big change for me. This was the person who’d agreed to work with me, when everyone else around me said there was nothing wrong with me, and I was just looking for attention. This individual saw something in me that they knew was in desperate need of help, and they were in a position to help me. That was rare.
Nobody, but nobody else, believed me, when I tried to tell them how much I was struggling. They didn’t seem to care that I’d lost a really good job and that I was bouncing around from one situation to another (they seemed to think I should just be grateful that I could work at all).
Nobody seemed to care that I’d parted ways with hundreds of thousands of dollars in hard-earned performance stock options and retirement savings (they seemed to think I was being greedy to want that much money).
Heck, I’m not sure anybody even believed me when I told them how much money I’d gotten, thanks to busting my ass for years and years at one of the top financial services companies on the planet. They looked at me, in my post-TBI state, and they drew very different conclusions.
Nobody seemed to realize just how rocky my marriage had become. Even I didn’t realize that. I couldn’t detect any great love for my spouse, for years at a time. I was married because, well, that’s what I was. But I harbored no great affection for this person I’d lived with for nearly 20 years, and when my neuropsych asked me if I loved them, I just shrugged and said, “I guess so.”
Nobody seemed to believe me at all, when I talked about how my skill level was a fraction of what it once was. I used to be an incredibly gifted programmer, and if you have money in a retirement account, you’re probably using websites I personally helped design and build. (You’re welcome.) The people I worked with all knew that. I was a legend in their midst. A folk hero. A thought leader — a leader, period. But nobody outside my very narrow professional sphere actually got that. They didn’t realize. Because they weren’t smart or experienced or in-the-know enough to actually get it. Nothing against them. They just didn’t get it. At all.
My neuropsych did, however. I mean, for the most part. I think they were pretty skeptical when I’d was eloquent about all the amazing things I used to be able to do. And they never seemed that sympathetic, when I bemoaned the loss of those former “chops”. But we had a pretty good working rapport, overall, and I’d made some fantastic progress, thanks to being able to check in with them, each week. I developed my own ways of rehabbing my brain — and my life. I kicked ass, to be honest. And in 40 years of working in TBI rehab, they said they’d never seen a recovery as dramatic as mine.
They had fairly low expectations of me, when I started working with them. But they didn’t know me, yet. And they had no idea what all I was capable of doing. They found out. And when they moved on, it was a loss for them to not witness my recovery, week after week. I’m not being conceited. It’s an objective fact.
It was a personal loss for me when they moved on, as well, because I’d become fond of this individual. Even though they were a “healthcare provider” in a specific role and they billed me for their services, the relationship felt more like a mentoring arrangement, than a rehab situation. I was working on aspects of my life that were well beyond the scope of basic TBI recovery, anyway, and the areas of my life that I addressed — all of which were severely impacted by my concussion(s) — were hardly the kinds of things you’d list for insurance purposes.
I was fixing my marriage. I was fixing my career. I was fixing my sleeping and eating and exercise patterns. I was fixing my self-image. I was fixing my Sense-Of-Self, and all that it affected — which is/was everything. I was fixing my life. I’m not sure what they indicated on the insurance billing forms, but I’m sure most of what we worked on wouldn’t have “flown”.
Anyway, life goes on. Things change. People switch jobs and move away. This is not news. And that’s what happened with me. It was a bit of a jolt, to start working with a new neuropsych each week — someone with a very different perspective on life, not to mention about 30 years less professional experience than my old neuropsych. This new one is very good to work with. But they’re different. And we’ve had our own bumps and hurdles along the way.
One thing I notice, however, is that this new neuropsych is a lot less discouraging around Type A activities. My old neuropsych spent an awful lot of time trying to convince me to get off my Alpha “high horse” and chill out. That did help me, because I was stressing myself out terribly over things, when I should have been allowing myself to rest and recuperate from my Daily Push. At the same time, it also held me back. Because to be perfectly honest, I do best when I’m at the top of my game. Losing access to that peak aspect of myself was a pretty devastating loss to me. And having someone tell me, “Oh, that shouldn’t matter to you as much as it does,” was frustrating, irritating, confounding. Just not helpful at all.
But this new neuropsych is a bit Type A, themself — a “gleeful Alpha”, as I call them — someone who’s happiest when they are at the top of their game, very motivated, very driven, very oriented towards Excellence In All Things. Their approach is much more high-energy. From the moment I step in their office, I have to be on my toes. I have to be sharp. I have to respond quickly. I have to push myself. I can’t sit back and chill out, like with the last one. This one is much more demanding, and while it was a pretty tough transition for me, at the start, after a year, I realize that their working style is really what I wanted from my old neuropsych — but never got, much to my former chagrin and dismay.
Now it’s a totally different game with me. And I realize, looking back on the past year, that I’ve actually jumped ahead in my functionality in some significant ways. I’ve improved at work. I’ve improved at life. I’m better at holding conversations. I’m better at socializing. I’m better at keeping myself focused and on-point. And I’m actually functioning at a level far better than any I functioned at before my accident in 2004.
That’s pretty amazing, if you think about it. Because I’ve had no less than nine different mild TBIs / concussions in the course of my life, and the cumulative effects (both in my brain function and attitude) really took a significant toll on me. That last accident in 2004, when I fell down those stairs and hit my head a bunch of times on the way down… the difference I eventually felt in myself was like night and day, compared to how I’d been before.
Now, though, I’m actually back to where I want to be. Sure, there are areas in my life where I’m not nearly as sharp as I used to be. I have a heckuva time handling programming logic, these days. But in other ways, I’ve built up skills that I never had before. I’ve learned new things about myself and developed additional competencies that I might never have bothered to develop, had I never gotten hurt and lost so many of the things I used to take for granted.
That’s pretty amazing to me. And it’s counter-intuitive, according to the standard-issue brain injury rehab “party line”. When you injure your brain, you’re not supposed to fully recover. Not really. And you’re certainly not supposed to recover to a point that’s actually more advanced than you were, prior to your accident. Oh, sure, sometimes people become geniuses after they get clunked on the head. They develop skills in math or art or some other area. But in terms of everyday functioning, those basic, often boring aspects of life that get all scrambled up after TBI? Nah, that’s not expected to be restored.
We’re supposed to settle for a “new normal” of a diminished life. Broken relationships. Broken marriages. Lower standards of living. Less career development. Less money. Less influence. Less power over our lives and self-determination.
Huh. How ’bout that…
I, for one, have no interest in living that way. And I’ve had to really work my ass off, over the past 10+ years, to get to a place where I am actually happy with the direction my life is headed. It’s not enough for me to be content with how things are. I need to be happy with where things are headed. And this new neuropsych has given me a nice break from the “chill out – just be glad you’re alive” kind of approach my old neuropsych tried to instill in me, week after week, for all those years.
They never completely succeeded in that mission, I have to say. And good thing. I’ve never been able to let go of my desire to get back to the functioning level I was at, before. And now that I’m feeling even more “back”, than I ever have, I look ahead of me and wonder about what’s next.
What is next? Well, another blog. One devoted to Peak Performance Concussion Recovery. To the high-performing, Type A, peak experience folks who get clunked on the head and watch their lives fall apart… as the medical establishment fails to help them, and people around them fail to understand the nature and extent of the impact of a “simple” blow to the head.
Concussion is not simple, no matter what people say. And brain injury (because concussion is a brain injury) is not a simple, straight-forward path you can follow, with 7-10 days of rest, followed by 8-12 weeks of rehab, whereupon you’re expected to get back to normal life, at the level you used to be at.
Concussion isn’t always straightforward, especially for people who are accustomed to operating at levels far above the median. And the expectations people have for recovery tend to be dismally low.
So, I’m doing something about that. I’ve kept this blog to chart my own recovery, my struggles and challenges and wins, along the way. It’s been a personal journey. And it hasn’t always been pretty. Now it’s time to “bump it up” a little bit, and focus on the high performance aspects of my life. Because I always had them, and I continue to have them. Even after multiple concussions over the course of my life. I’m unabashedly Type A, and I know from personal experience, how devastating it can be to lose the capability to be Type A — to be who you are, what you are, and why you are.
I also know from personal experience how to Get Back. I’ve worked my ass off, for the past 10+ years, and I’ve actually achieved what I set out to do. There were days when I gave up on the idea of ever having the kind of life I wanted. There were days when I just had to accept that things weren’t feeling or working better for me, and it felt like it was always going to be that way.
But after years and years of heartache, blood, sweat, tears, grinding it out, day after day, balancing all the lessons learned, I feel like I’ve really come out on the other end, like a surfer thrust through the windy end of the tubular curl they’ve just passed through.
I’m back to performing. I’m back to being better every day. If I can do it, so can others. And my new blog is about speaking exactly to people who, like me, are totally committed to living the best life possible after TBI / concussion.
High performers come in all different shapes and sizes. Don’t get me wrong. You can be a peak performer as a stay-at-home spouse or parent. You can be can be a peak performer as an entrepreneur, an athlete, an artist, or a corporate ladder-climber… or whatever other direction you take in your life. The point we all have in common is that we’re determined to work on ourselves and be the best we can be, no matter what… to use the lessons that life throws at us to learn and grow and make our lives into something greater than they were, just last week.
I’ll still be blogging here as a personal practice. But there’s a real need to focus on high-performance concussion recovery. And so I’ll be doing that, now and in the future.