A deafening silence.

This is another installment of my introspective journey after my second stroke, as described here.

Shhh. Silence is golden. I find it more like onyx than gold. Onyx is reflective and shows its imperfections easily, whether it be a smudge, a scratch, or dullness. This is what this newfound silence is like. I’m finally at the point of my life accepting my hemiplegia, my obesity, my incoordination, and my career pause. I no longer feel like fighting against my predicament. I want to lean into it now. I’m enjoying the acceptance, but what I didn’t anticipate was the stillness. I didn’t anticipate the hush that fell over the continual chatter in my mind. I’m not psychotic, but my head was rather noisy. I had just gotten used to it.

I’m in my own living nightmare. I’m fat. I’m disabled. I live at home. Yes,

I am fortunate. Yes, I am blessed. The obvious privilege I have with two loving, living parents, a home to come home to, and a caring, engaged community is unfortunately overshadowed by my mourning. I’m in mourning. I mourn my former life and its feelings and its experiences. I question if I will have any of them again. I’m trapped in the echos of my nostalgia, and I’m over it.

This is where the hard(er) part comes in. When the well-wishes, concerns, and check-ins die down, it’s all you. You perform and show up for yourself, and you give your own life meaning whether or not anyone sees it. It’s like doing a good deed and not documenting it for Instagram or any other social media, but doing it for the…