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36 Hours in BestGuessistan

Just published something I’ve been working toward for a while: a travel guide to the soft, strange place your brain goes after a burnout, breakdown, or brain injury.

It’s called 36 Hours in BestGuessistan.

A satirical field guide for the newly rewired—where the signage is gentle, the coffee is strong, and metaphors are the local currency.

It’s funny, yes. But it’s also real.

Hope it brings a smile, or maybe just a little exhale.

WendyLC | Substack #TraumaticBrainInjury #Recovery #ChronicIllness

WendyLC | Substack

tbi sufferer, mom , tech marketer, avid baker, progressive, advocate, volunteer, amateur classical guitarist, golden retriever mama
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Now in Beta

Now in Beta

Final_FINAL

WendyLC

May 09, 2025

That’s how I used to think of myself: polished, reliable, fully deployed. Finalized.

I had spent years optimizing—streamlining how I moved through the world, how I worked, how I was seen.

There were bugs, of course. Everyone has them. But I knew the workarounds.

And then something shifted. Not a crash, exactly.

More like a slow system failure—functions fading, connections dropping, synapses misfiring—

until I could no longer trust the interface.

We know (or think we know) how to deal with bad tech:

Reinstall the old version. Restore from backup. Reboot.

Get back to how things were.

But that version is gone.

What’s left is something quieter. Incomplete. Still learning.

Now, I live in beta.

There’s something oddly freeing about that.

I used to think I needed to return to full capacity—

to reclaim the version of myself that once ran clean and fast.

But that version was built on code I didn’t write.

An operating system installed in childhood, shaped by expectation and adaptation—not necessarily by choice.

One of the ketamine therapists put it this way:

your original OS gets installed when you’re young.

And it’s rarely—if ever—updated.

The theory was that the treatment might unlock something.

Let the system rewire. Maybe even overwrite the old version.

It didn’t.

What did, eventually, was the reckoning.

Writing through the static.

Learning to sit with the glitches instead of fixing them.

A friend once asked if I had grieved—

the way you grieve after a loss.

I told him yes.

But it was slow.

Like a seed of grief buried inside a ball of confusion.

It took years—and the hard, necessary work of writing—

to free that seed.

To let it crack open.

To look it in the eye and say: yes, I remember you.

Beta isn’t a holding pattern.

It’s not a failure to launch.

It’s a form of living that doesn’t pretend to be finished.

There’s a strange relief in that. A kind of beauty.

The beauty of a work in progress.

The elegance of still figuring out the right fit.

And—unexpectedly—a new kind of certainty.

Not the brittle kind that comes from being right or complete,

but the quieter kind that comes from no longer pretending.

The old version of me ran fast, but she also ran scared.

Afraid of crashing. Afraid of being found out.

She passed for whole—

but only because the seams were hidden.

Now, the seams show.

The bugs surface.

The system stutters and recovers and stutters again.

And it’s okay.

Because it’s mine.

I know how it works.

I know what it can’t do.

And I know what it can.

I won’t call this the final version.

But it’s the truest one I’ve had.

And for now, that’s enough.

Completion is seductive. Like a false prophet.

It promises peace, applause, a place to rest.

But I never felt at home in completion.

It always came with qualifiers—

a to-do list tucked just out of sight.

There’s something richer—wilder, even—in the incomplete.

Not unfinished as in lacking, but open.

Not broken, but in motion.

To live in beta is to live with room.

For updates. For rewrites.

For patches. For reboots.

For buzz and hum—

but also for stillness.

For days when nothing works,

and days when everything, somehow, does.

There’s dignity in the draft.

In the version that hasn’t been locked.

It doesn’t mean I’m lost.

It means I’m still becoming.

Final is a fiction.

We print it on diplomas.

Etch it into gravestones.

Attach it to software builds and personal milestones as if it signals truth.

But truth often lives earlier—

in the struggle, in the shift,

in the messy middle where meaning starts to form.

If there’s a kind of holiness here,

it’s not in the flawless line of code.

It’s in the human one.

The patchy, the revised, the heartfelt attempt.

This version isn’t perfect.

But it’s alive.

And it’s learning.

People talk about reinvention like it’s a makeover.

Something sleek. Branded. Ready for rollout.

But real reinvention doesn’t look like What Not To Wear.

It looks more like trial and error.

Like holding your breath while the new code runs.

Like failing quietly and adjusting—

mid-sentence, mid-self.

I used to think reinvention meant becoming someone new.

Now I think it means finally becoming someone true.

There’s an intimacy to living in beta.

It strips away the buffers.

You learn what your system can tolerate.

What overheats it.

What brings it peace.

You stop optimizing for scale and start optimizing for soul.

That might mean slower load times.

Less polish. Fewer shortcuts.

But it also means more room for wonder.

For presence.

For something approaching joy.

Because here’s the secret:

perfection never delivered what it promised.

Not really.

It kept me busy. It earned applause.

But it never let me rest.

Now I rest.

I recalibrate. I revise.

And in doing so, I’ve started to trust something I never did before:

the version of me that doesn’t need to prove anything to run.

I used to run as vFinal_FINAL—

the one with the clean edges, the performance specs, the illusion of completion.

Now, I run in beta.

Still glitchy. Still evolving.

But present.

The updates come slow.

Some days, not at all.

But I’m learning not to fear the pause.

Not to treat quiet as failure.

Not to confuse stillness with stalling.

I don’t know if there will ever be a “final” again.

And for the first time—

I don’t need one.

#TraumaticBrainInjury #ChronicIllness #Anxiety #Recovery #MentalHealth #Grief

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How has your perspective on recovery changed over time?

As I recover from persistent depression, anxiety, panic attacks, and perfectionism, I’ve found that my perspective has changed numerous times—shaping how I interact with myself, recognize my limits, consistently ask for help, prioritize my health, grow my empathy for myself and others, build community, and even foster my creativity.

Even though the process has been challenging and uncomfortable, I’m learning that it’s OK to make mistakes and express emotions like frustration, anger, and annoyance—without seeing them as negative or believing they make me a bad person. I’m still figuring out where I feel at home in the world and how to explore love more freely, but I’m willing to keep going because I know I deserve it.

What about you? How has your perspective on recovery changed?

#CheckInWithMe #ChronicPain #ChronicIllness #Depression #Anxiety #MentalHealth #Recovery #EatingDisorder #EatingDisorderRecovery #Addiction #AddictionRecovery #SubstanceRelatedDisorders #PTSD #ComplexPosttraumaticStressDisorder #Selfharm

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Recovery, 1 month since the end. 18.05.2022-21.01.2025.

A month was yesterday since the end of a horrible traumatic period of my life, especially the last two years, with an extremely traumatic event, of losing a dear person to those who tormented me all this time. So how have I been doing since? I'm freed. It took time, but grateful to have nothing to do with these people again. And people can be saved only if they choose to. And I chose to.
And I am grateful to the amazing company I work for, And my coworkers. To my family And friends, to my activities. To you all for the support. And here is my #photodiary about the recovery.
1. To signify the end And also for security I painted my hair red. 2. My theology books. 3. My dance shoes 4. My town 5. My leotards And costumes 6. My pharmacy books 7. My sign of hope, the spider 8. My music instrument, 9. Part of my new tattoo.
#Trauma #Recovery #Gratitude #Survivor

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Recovery is a process. #Depression #Recovery #Anxiety #Relationships #Hope #MentalHealth

Yesterday we drove 7 hours from Sydney to the town of Mallacoota. We are staying with good friends. 5 years ago this small town was engulfed by unprecedented bush fires. 300 homes were destroyed and 4000 people from Mallacoota and surrounding towns were evacuated to the beach for their safety. The navy had to send ships to rescue the residents.

This morning walking on the beach I saw this blackened tree that had been burnt in the fire but surrounded by new growth.

Our hard seasons might look barren and devastating. Yet, eventually hope of a new day comes. Hold on. Hope is calling your name.

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Looking for Volunteers to Share Experiences for Mental Health Awareness Book

Hi everyone,

I’m working on a book project that explores the journey from suicidal depression to self-transformation and happiness. The goal is to share raw, real-world thoughts and feelings to help others who may feel alone or want to better understand this mindset.

The book will include anonymous contributions from people comfortable sharing excerpts of their personal journals, thoughts, or reflections during difficult times. Contributions will only be identified by year of birth, countries of residence, and the timing of the entry (e.g., Born 1990, UK/Canada, Written 2017). The aim is to show how these experiences can affect anyone, anywhere, and to help others feel seen, understood, and less alone.

I’m incredibly grateful that a few people have already come forward to share their stories, and I hope to include as many voices as possible in this project.

This project is not about data collection in the traditional sense—it is not a survey, poll, petition, or anything of the sort. It is not for formal academic research or a for-profit venture. Instead, it’s a heartfelt initiative seeking personal, voluntary contributions to promote awareness and understanding.

If you’d be willing to share your experiences—or know someone who might—please reach out. Thank you so much for considering being part of this.

#MentalHealth #Depression #PTSD #Recovery

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Looking for Volunteers to Share Experiences for Mental Health Awareness Book

Seeking Anonymous Volunteers who are willing to Share their story and experiences for Mental Health Awareness Book.

We’re now just a few voices away from bringing this vision to life. If you’ve experienced depression, PTSD, mental health struggles, or periods of self-transformation, your story could be the inspiration someone else needs. The book will feature anonymous contributions—just journal excerpts, thoughts, or reflections—identified only by birth year, countries of residence, and when the entry was written (e.g., Born 1990, UK/Canada, Written 2017).

This isn’t for academic research or profit—it’s a deeply personal initiative to help others feel seen, understood, and less alone. If you or someone you know might be willing to contribute, please reach out. Every voice matters.

I also want to extend a heartfelt thank you to those who have already come forward to share their stories. The response has been incredible, and I’m deeply grateful for the courage and honesty of those who have contributed so far.

#Depression #ADHD #PTSD #MentalHealth #Recovery

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