Addiction

When I was seven years old, my life changed forever. At an age when most children are focused on school, friendships, and discovering who they are, I experienced a thalamic brain injury. At the time, I did not fully understand what had happened to me. Neither did many of the people around me. What followed was a lifetime of challenges that often seemed invisible to others but affected nearly every part of my life.
The thalamus is a small but important part of the brain that helps process information, regulate attention, and connect different areas of the brain. Because of my injury, I struggled with things that many people take for granted. Social situations could be confusing. Judgment and decision-making were often difficult. Stress affected me more intensely than it seemed to affect others. I frequently felt different without understanding why.
As I grew older, these challenges followed me into adolescence and adulthood. I often experienced frustration, isolation, and low self-esteem. I knew I was trying hard, but my efforts did not always produce the results I expected. Sometimes people misunderstood my behavior or assumed I was lazy, careless, or unmotivated. The reality was that I was navigating life with a brain injury that many people could not see.
Like many people living with neurological injuries and emotional pain, I eventually turned to drugs and alcohol. At first, substances seemed to provide relief. They helped me escape feelings of inadequacy, loneliness, and frustration. For a while, they made it easier to ignore the challenges I faced every day. But over time, addiction created even greater problems. What began as a way to cope became another obstacle standing between me and the life I wanted.
Addiction affected my relationships, my decision-making, and my ability to move forward. It deepened many of the struggles I was already experiencing because of my brain injury. Yet even during my darkest moments, there was a part of me that wanted something better.
Recovery was not a single event. It was a process. It required honesty, accountability, support, and perseverance. I had to learn healthier ways to manage stress, emotions, and daily challenges. I had to accept that my brain injury was part of my story without allowing it to define my future.
One of the most significant parts of my journey has been understanding competency. For many years, people focused on my limitations. Competency is often viewed as a fixed trait, something a person either has or does not have. My experience taught me something different. Competency can be developed, strengthened, and restored through support, education, rehabilitation, and personal growth.
Today, I understand myself far better than I did as a child. I recognize how my brain injury affects me, and I have learned strategies to work through those challenges. Recovery from addiction has shown me that change is possible even when the odds seem overwhelming. My journey has taught me resilience, self-awareness, and determination.
I share my story because there are many people living with brain injuries, addiction, and questions about their abilities. Too often, they are judged by their struggles rather than their potential. I want others to know that a diagnosis, a mistake, or a difficult chapter does not determine the rest of their lives.
Growing up with a thalamic brain injury was not easy. Addiction made the road even harder. But recovery has shown me that growth is possible, competency can improve, and meaningful change can happen. My story is not simply about injury or addiction. It is about resilience, perseverance, and the belief that people can continue to learn, grow, and contribute no matter where they begin.

For most of my life, I didn’t realize my childhood was traumatic. When you’re raised in chaos, chaos becomes normal. As a child, I learned to adapt to an environment filled with fear, unpredictability, and emotional pain. I became an expert at survival long before I understood what that meant.

My father struggled with addiction and anger. Home was often a place where I felt unsafe, never knowing what mood he would be in or what might happen next. I learned to pay attention to every sound, every change in tone, every shift in energy. I became hyperaware of my surroundings because it felt necessary for survival.

As a child, I carried worries that no child should have to carry. Instead of feeling carefree, I was focused on keeping the peace, avoiding conflict, and protecting myself emotionally. I learned to hide my feelings and push through pain because I didn’t know there was another option. Looking back, I can see that I spent much of my childhood living in a constant state of fear and uncertainty.

The effects of that childhood followed me into adulthood.

For years, I struggled with anxiety, self-doubt, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility for everyone around me. I found it difficult to relax because part of me was always waiting for something bad to happen. I often felt exhausted, not because I was physically tired, but because my mind never seemed to stop scanning for danger.

One of the most difficult experiences of my life came when my father died by suicide. The loss was devastating and complicated. Along with grief came unanswered questions, sadness, anger, and confusion. His death marked the end of his suffering, but it did not immediately end the impact his struggles had on me.

For a long time, I believed I just needed to be stronger. I thought if I worked harder, stayed busy, and took care of everyone else, I could outrun the pain. Instead, I found myself carrying wounds that continued to affect my mental health, relationships, and sense of self-worth.

Healing has not been a straight line.

There have been setbacks, difficult days, and moments when I questioned whether things would ever get better. But there have also been moments of growth, understanding, and hope. Through therapy, education, self-reflection, and learning about trauma, I began to understand that many of my struggles were not character flaws. They were survival responses developed by a child who was trying to make it through impossible circumstances.

That realization changed everything.

Today, I am learning to give myself the compassion I never learned as a child. I am learning that rest is not weakness, that boundaries are healthy, and that my worth is not determined by how much I do for others. Most importantly, I am learning that healing does not require me to forget my past. It simply requires me to stop letting it define my future.

My childhood shaped me, but it does not own me.

If there is one thing I hope others take away from my story, it is this: trauma can leave deep scars, but healing is possible. No matter how long you’ve been carrying your pain, it is never too late to begin understanding it, talking about it, and working through it.

The child who once learned only how to survive is now learning how to live. And that may be the most important journey of all.

In therapy one day this lady shared something about life she was taught. Here it goes;
"Life is like a dollar, four quarters. You're first 25 years (1st quarter) of life you make mistakes and hopefully learn from them. When you've reached the second quarter and 50 years old your life if half over, let's assume you live to be 100. Kids are almost or are grown. You're still working, paying a mortgage but your much wiser. When you turn 75 3/4 of your life is gone. Friends and family members your age become fewer each year. Now you look back and remember growing up, raising a family and are enjoying retirement. At this age you have much wisdom. At one dollar or one hundred years and you know how short life truly is. Putting life into 4 quarters made life span even shorter. I try to keep positive, tell those close to me I love them more often. And try to make good memories.

Let me start by saying I have two roommates that are messy and more on the lazy side. Me; I'm a neat freak! I do apologize through cleaning once a week. Last night I washed the dishes and swept the floor. Then laid down in my room. Couldn't sleep. So I hand washed a small load of my clothes by hand and hung them up. Swept my room and laid down. This morning I finished the kitchen, cleaning stove top, electric burners and the trays, stove knows and the door. All counters were cleaned and then I tackled in and outside of the refrigerator. Also cleaned the bathroom. Mind you I have many breaks in-between. This all took me 7 hours. Oh and I took the dog on a short walk. My back hurts but we'll worth the pain the have a clean home!!