Fear in the Next Step

I write this having been stranded as a pandemic refugee for more than 19 months – I'm currently in Thailand and previously was in Malaysia, filing forms and waiting for an obtuse amount of paperwork to be completed.  I’m not visiting for fun.  My home and employment is in China, and now I have been separated from my wife for more than 9 months, as she was able to return to China before me. It's been a long, lonely trip.

I don't share that to complain, but to establish my current situation.  Currently there is at least a moderate chance that this situation might take a positive turn and I'll be returning to my life, wife and job in the next few weeks.  I'll admit, I'm a little nervous.

Scratch that, I'm downright scared about the transition.

Not because I want any of my current situation to remain – I am eager for gainful employment, living in a home I can more reasonably call my own, and most importantly, being with my wife again – I am thrilled to (hopefully) be returning to all this, but it has been a long time, and remembering how to have regular, healthy interactions with a world wider than the 500 meters between me and the grocery store is intimidating.  I'm confident that I'll be fine, that I'll quickly get used to doing things again, but it's important that I recognize my fears.

What's more, I choose to recognize them here, in this blog about brain injury, because these feelings take me back to memories of the feelings I had during my transition after the hospital.

Reflecting on those memories that were formed soon after TBI, I recall the swell of excited expectations about returning to my prior life, but I also remember that this joy was tinged with regretful recognition that life had irrevocably changed and that returning might not be as easy as I hoped.  And there was another fear dancing around my head, it was a fear of being required to DO things again. In the hospital, my job is to recover, and as I'm sure survivors reading this article will agree, while this job is infinitely more difficult than it sounds, there is a relatively direct goal one is trying to complete – you wake up, toilet, eat, and focus on rehabilitation. It's only when you leave the hospital that the rest of life catches up – tasks like making your own meals, looking for a suitable job so you can pay bills, talking with people outside the immediate rehabilitation setting. There's no doubt that returning to these life interactions is exciting and empowering, but it is also overwhelming.

I write this because I know that, as a survivor, we may think we are not supposed to fear returning to the tasks of life. It may seem that we are expected to rejoice in returning to the tasks of living. In my experience, I remember everyone around me being joyous about the return, and while no one directly told me to feel only positive thoughts, I felt there was an expectation of exuberance. Yet, by being caught in the joyous emotions of the return, I didn't allow myself to recognize just how scary it is to be returning. Yes, I had achieved one of my goals and was returning to a version of the life I had before, but there was so much that was new about my situation...and living is hard.

So, what to do about this?

First, recognize your emotions. It's easy to feel an impulse to suppress feelings that don't seem suitably joyous about the return, but denying how you really feel can cause unexpected outbursts or furious explosions of angst mixed with stress. Embrace an honest emotional state, and know that this does not need to be a simple expression of an emotional experience -- you do not need to create a statement that can be recited as, “I feel _(insert single emotional word)_.” Life doesn't often deliver such clearly defined experiences, and more often a true emotional experience about something so complex as a return from the hospital after TBI involves an emotional novel stuffed with confusing, complicated, contradictory sentences that might not even follow a clear grammatical structure.  And even if you could spend hours reciting these reams of expressions about your feelings to another person, it’s likely that the listener will have no idea how to comprehend such a splatter of ideas.

I'm saying you don't need to fully express your emotional state to each person, but it helps to be self-aware of how you feel. To be in touch with those feelings, it can be good to write down your emotional thoughts about an event such as the transition after the hospital.. This is not intended for anyone else, and you needn't be contained by any requirement for a clear expression of ideas. You needn't even use words, if doodles or pictures or just squiggles better express your state, jot those down.  Or shout your words into a recording device.  Or anything else.  Any manner of these thoughts are about taking the time to recognize your personal experience. You need to first acknowledge where you are before you can move forward.

Next, as you make the transition, try to do it in small, manageable steps. Don't jump into the ocean of life experience too quickly or you'll likely be swept away by the wave of events. Enter the waters of life slowly, one foot at a time, then up to your knees, then your waist, and don’t swim until you are certain that you’re ready. Returning to life this way may seem frustratingly slow and at times unfulfilling, but this is how you can avoid being wiped out by the unexpected difficulties of events.  And there are services that can help you – outpatient rehabilitation, various levels of assisted living, beginning work with limited hours – consult with your rehabilitation physician about what solutions might assist your current state of healing. 

And make sure you know what is possible. If your rehabilitation staff doesn't offer suggestions, before you leave the hospital directly ask, “What are services or tools I can use to help with my transition.” Don’t be afraid to say, “I’m scared about this transition.”  Knowing how to access services helps in the continuation of recovery after initial inpatient rehabilitation.

Those are my thoughts. Any life transition can be frightening, and when a person is still learning the tools of his or her body, this process has even greater difficulty. Remember, don't sugar coat your emotions because you feel that's what is expected. Try to be honest with yourself about your feelings and, if you can, take your time with any transition. Life is always changing, but rarely are the changes easy.

Take care.  Hopefully I'll complete my waiting, have taken the next step, and will be writing my next posting from China.

Chat soon.