“If the wind is right, you can sail away and find tranquility.”
It has been seventeen years since I was rushed into the hospital for emergency brain surgery to remove the monster. I had just completed my first year of law school and had my whole life ahead of me.
At 24, life is supposed to feel infinite. Boundless. Full of promise.
But in an instant, mine felt small. Fragile. Finite.
I summoned my courage and like to think I faced the prospect of what was ahead of me with bravery, calmness and clarity. But the truth is, I had my doubts and was terrified. Not just of the tumor itself and what it would do to me, but of the unknown. Looking back, I was fortunate that I had no time to process what I was about to face – I was immediately admitted and prepped for surgery at the same time the diagnosis was being shared with my family and I. But in the days and weeks that followed, the “what ifs” ran through my mind and the life I thought I was building suddenly became unrecognizable.
Would I ever return to school, as I was in rehab to relearn the alphabet and how to write my name? Would Ashley and my friends all move on as I lay there, unable to communicate? If the results of the neuropsychological exam were really correct, what would I do with my life and who would care for me?
As I sit here today, I can proudly say that, sometimes, the wind is right again.
The past seventeen years taught me that life will be full of ups and downs, highs and lows. Healing isn’t always about an immediate recovery and resuming the things we lost. Finding comfort and hope takes many forms: a good MRI and the calming assurance of my surgeon, laughing uncontrollably at a terrible movie only I’d find funny or having the constant support of my family who never gave up on me.
I’ve learned that you don’t have to be okay every day to be resilient. Back then, I thought strength meant pretending it didn’t hurt on the inside. Now, I know it means trusting yourself to keep going, even when you don’t know what’s on the horizon.
I am doing something with my life I never would have considered, but here’s the lesson I have learned and continue to realize – adversity is painful, but can be the greatest gift in our lives. Our sense of what matters changes and brings immediacy to space for real and true connections and keeps you afloat.
Lately, I have been saying that this diagnosis has, in a very strange way, been the best thing that could have happened to me and I continue to believe that.
I’m not 24 anymore. I’m older, wiser and more resilient than ever. That, in and of itself, is something I don’t take lightly.
I have rebuilt my life into something that includes the tumor, but is not defined by it. I have found purpose in sharing this journey and helping others, whether it has been through this blog, the CTBTA, advocacy or simply telling the truth and being an open book, just as so many did for me.
For anyone that is just starting this journey, or currently in the midst of it, know this: this storm shall pass and there are calmer seas ahead. Hang tight and the wind will come.
“Adversity. You cannot direct the wind, but you can adjust the sails.”























