One Word: Unrecognizable

If I had to summarize my brain injury journey in one word, it would be unrecognizable.

Before my injury, I was independent, driven, and financially stable. I ran my own business, earned a strong income, managed finances professionally, and built relationships with confidence. I had no history of mental health struggles. I trusted my brain. I trusted myself.

Since my traumatic brain injury, my life has changed in ways I never imagined possible.

Physically, I live with daily headaches, light and sound sensitivity, vertigo, seizures, and overwhelming neurological fatigue. I cannot drive anymore. I have blacked out in the shower. Stress causes nosebleeds. I struggle with neck and back pain that never fully goes away. I take medication every night just to sleep, and without proper sleep my symptoms spiral. I take antidepressant medication to prevent emotional crises. These are things I never needed before.

Cognitively, the changes are heartbreaking. I have severe memory problems and difficulty focusing. I cannot process information in real time the way I once could. Reading is harder. Conversations are harder. Decision-making is harder. I worked in commercial banking and ran a business, yet now I struggle with basic math and managing simple tasks. I often feel like my mind moves slower than the world around me. Sometimes I cannot find words. Sometimes I misunderstand what people are saying and do not realize it until later.

Emotionally, it has been even more difficult. I live with PTSD, anxiety, rapid mood swings, and periods of deep depression. I have called crisis hotlines when the emotional pain felt unbearable. There are weeks when I am bedridden, followed by periods of agitation where I cannot rest. My relationships have been strained because I am not the same person I used to be. I feel things more intensely, and regulating those feelings takes enormous effort.

Financially and professionally, the impact has been devastating. I was forced to close my business and file bankruptcy. I lost my income. I lost my independence. My marriage has been affected. My entire life trajectory changed in one moment. Recovery became my full-time job. I spend hours every day in medical appointments, therapies, support calls, and rehabilitation efforts. I completed 63 hyperbaric oxygen therapy sessions and underwent TMS treatment at UCLA Medical in hopes of healing my brain. I am still fighting to regain stability.

One of the biggest misconceptions about brain injury is that if someone looks “normal,” they must be fine. I look the same on the outside. But inside, everything is harder. Simple tasks require enormous energy. Noise, light, and stress can overwhelm me quickly. People sometimes assume I am being dramatic, emotional, or disorganized. In reality, my brain is working overtime just to keep up.

Another myth is that recovery has a clear timeline. It does not. Brain injury recovery is unpredictable and nonlinear. Some days I feel hopeful. Other days I grieve the person I used to be.

If I could give advice to someone newly injured, I would say this: be patient with yourself. Advocate for yourself. Accept help sooner than you think you need to. And understand that healing is not only physical. It is emotional, relational, financial, and deeply personal.

My life today looks very different than it did before my injury. I require support that I never imagined needing. I am still rebuilding. But I am also learning resilience in ways I never had to before. I’m grateful for my psychiatric service dog and TBI support groups that saved my life.

JODI HOUSE!!!!
St Jude’s Brain Injury: Dr Ignacio
Omid Institute
TBI Bridge
UAMs Brain Injury Program
Brain Study Stanford/UCLA: Dr Bickart

My journey is unrecognizable. And yet, I am still here, still healing, still hoping that awareness will help others understand that brain injury changes everything — even when you cannot see it.

Impacts: business closed employing many locals who lost their job, want work, divorce, depression, anxiety, relationships lost, can’t work, or enjoy hobbies, forgetful, angry, and unable to take care of myself.

I used to volunteer and help others – now I am reliant on caregivers and handouts. Thank goodness for these non profits that helped me. Otherwise I would be homeless or worse.