Learning to Swim

Ten Years Later, I’m Still Discovering What Recovery Means

This weekend marked a decade since my stroke, and I’m still discovering what recovery means.

You might think that by now I would know exactly what the stroke took from me, what came back, what didn’t, and what I still need to work on.

It doesn’t work that way.

Even now, I’m still learning about my post-stroke brain and body. Some discoveries are discouraging. Others feel like getting a piece of my life back.

This weekend, I experienced both.

The Discoveries You Don’t Want to Make

I was spending time with my family when I found myself confronting something that has quietly bothered me for years.

Before my stroke, I was an extrovert. I loved people and conversation. I could jump into a group, follow along, make people laugh, and feel connected.

Since my stroke, something has felt different.

I can still connect deeply in my coaching work. In those conversations, I listen, empathize, and engage meaningfully. That part of me is still there.

But casual social conversation can be completely different.

When several people are talking quickly, joking, and shifting topics, I sometimes feel like I’m drowning.

It takes me longer to process what I’m hearing and respond. By the time I’m ready, the conversation has often moved on.

Sometimes what I say doesn’t seem to land. There’s little response. Occasionally I catch a look that suggests uncertainty.

Those moments hurt.

Over time, I began to interpret them as something about me.

Maybe I’m not interesting anymore.
Maybe I’m not fun to be around.

This weekend, I considered another possibility.

What if this isn’t entirely about my personality?

What if my brain processes fast, spontaneous conversation differently now?

I don’t know the answer yet, but I reached out to my neurologist to explore whether a cognitive-communication evaluation might help.

I’ll admit, this discovery isn’t inspiring. After years of recovery, it’s hard not to think, “Really? There’s more?”

But perhaps long-term recovery requires staying curious, even when it’s uncomfortable.

Because not everything we discover is discouraging.

Then I Got in the Water

For the past year, I’ve been coming to terms with needing to relearn how to swim.

I assumed my body would remember.

It didn’t.

That realization made me question more than swimming. Living near the coast, I wondered if I would ever feel safe around water again.

Then, this weekend, I got into the pool.

And I swam.

Not far, half the length, but I did it.

Then I floated.

Then I treaded water.

I was overwhelmed with emotion and started crying.

Those tears weren’t just about swimming. They were about getting something back, about realizing that something I thought might be gone was still possible.

They were about freedom, safety, and the return of possibilities I had quietly let go of.

And later, something about the timing struck me.

Earlier that same weekend, I had used the word drowning to describe what happens to me in fast-moving conversations. I struggle to keep up. I lose my place. Sometimes I feel as though everyone else is moving effortlessly while I’m fighting to stay in the conversation.

Then I stepped into a pool and discovered that I could keep myself afloat.

I could tread water.

I could move forward.

The contrast wasn’t lost on me.

In one part of my life, I had discovered something that may still need attention. In another, I discovered an ability returning that I wasn’t sure I would ever have again.

That feels like a pretty accurate picture of long-term stroke recovery.

Recovery Can Still Surprise You

In the same weekend, ten years after my stroke, I discovered two things.

One was difficult: there may still be aspects of my recovery I don’t fully understand.

The other was extraordinary: I can swim. I can keep myself above water.

Both are part of my recovery.

We often imagine recovery as a straight path with a clear endpoint. My experience has been different.

It’s ongoing. Sometimes challenging, sometimes surprising.

Ten years later, I can still discover something that needs work.

And ten years later, I can still discover something I thought I had lost.

Maybe that’s one of the lessons I’m taking from this anniversary.

When I feel like I’m drowning, it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going under.

Sometimes I’m still learning how to navigate the water.

And sometimes, almost without realizing it, I discover that I can float.

So if you’re years into your own recovery and uncover a new challenge, I understand how discouraging that can feel.

But if challenges can still emerge, perhaps possibilities can too.

This weekend reminded me of both.

I’m still getting pieces of my life back.

And I’m still discovering what’s possible.