Disclaimer: Concussion Legacy Foundation Canada does not endorse or recommend the treatments mentioned in the following personal story. The information shared is solely based on one individual’s experience and should not be considered professional advice. Please contact the CLF HelpLine for recommendations or a licensed medical professional for advice and guidance.

In 2011, at just 15 years old, I experienced my first concussion while playing Junior A Hockey for the Newmarket Hurricanes. It was an open-ice hit by a much larger 21-year-old player. I still vividly remember getting up, going to the wrong bench, and struggling to articulate the strange feeling I had. The headaches and pain were overwhelming, but what struck me most was how different I felt. This concussion forced me to withdraw from school for about six months. Fortunately, I was able to recover and return to play the next season, finishing my schooling in the summer. That experience was incredibly painful, both for me and my family, but I maintained a mindset that I would recover—and I did.

Fast forward to 2017, when I experienced a second concussion coupled with a neck injury. This time, the injury was from diving into a lake in Muskoka, Ontario, hitting the bottom, and rolling my head and chin forward. This movement tore the rectus capitis muscles at the back of my head, leading to an unstable spine and significant brain damage. This concussion was far more severe than my first. I was in a neck collar for about four years, and this injury occurred during my final year of university, where I was a Dean’s List Scholar on track to complete my business degree. The injury forced me to withdraw, sending me into a deep emotional, mental, and physical spiral. The depression I experienced during this time was profound; it felt like being trapped in a dark place with no way out. Watching my friends graduate while I was left behind only deepened my despair, which lasted far longer than I ever anticipated

The first doctor I saw diagnosed me with massive inflammation and infection in my sinuses, requiring emergency sinus surgery. Just four weeks later, an artery ruptured above my eye, leading to a second emergency surgery. My neck and head were in excruciating pain the entire time. A year after the injury, I was diagnosed with chronic Lyme disease, which only intensified my struggles. I lost 50 to 60 pounds, experienced extreme daily pain, lost neurological function, and could no longer sit in a car, watch TV, use a computer, or even hold a cell phone without severe discomfort. My family and I tried everything—Chiropractic care, PRP and stem cell injections, and even considered spinal fusion surgery. But the journey remained incredibly dark.

Then, I met someone who had naturally overcome Lyme disease, and she became a guiding light in my recovery. Around the same time, I met Lauren, who would later become my wife and the mother of my child. Lauren was—and still is—everything to me. I know this is true because I’ve read countless books, including Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, which discusses how those who survived the Holocaust often did so because they had something left to do, something to live for. Meeting Lauren gave me that same sense of purpose. I had a vision—one that I had never experienced before—of throwing a ball with my future son, who is now here with us. This vision gave me something to work towards, something to hope for. And hope, as I’ve learned, is everything. It drives new neural connections, heals, and pulls us out of the fight-or-flight mode and into a state of rest and recovery.

Lauren, who is a holistic nutritionist, introduced me to meditation and a whole-food diet, which immediately began reducing the inflammation in my body. When I met her, I was extremely sick, depressed, and in immense pain, but she still saw something in me worth fighting for. I’m forever grateful for that.

At my breaking point, I decided to try one last treatment: An electromagnetic therapy called Rife therapy. Initially, I was skeptical, but I was desperate. The theory behind Rife therapy, developed by Dr. Royal Raymond Rife in the 1930s, is that vibrating cells at their existing frequency can destroy them. He proved this with cancer cells, reportedly curing stage 4 cancer patients. It sounded far-fetched, but I was willing to give it a shot.

For eight months, I treated myself at home, five days a month, while regularly visiting my practitioner in Michigan, Kyle Morgan, who would reprogram my Rife machine based on my changing stress levels, viruses, and other factors. Within eight months, I no longer had Lyme disease, and my concussion symptoms began to disappear. Over the next year and a half, I completed my business degree, became a certified personal trainer and health and life coach, and helped about a half-dozen others overcome Lyme disease.

Finally, I launched HatchPath, a marketplace that connects people with over 400 wellness coaches. Today, I’m proud to say that we work with charities like the Operation Healing Forces to help people on their journeys to recovery. Since March, we’ve facilitated close to 1,000 sessions, witnessing total transformations in many individuals—transformations that mirror my own journey.

I’m deeply grateful for the opportunity to share my story with the Concussion Legacy Foundation Canada and its community. Recovery is possible, and I hope my experience can offer hope to those who need it most.

Warning: This story contains mentions of suicide that may be triggering to some readers.

“Concussion” is more than just a word or diagnosis to me. Concussions have become life-altering events, not just affecting me but all those around me. I’ve experienced three throughout my life: the first when I was 4 years old, the second at 32, and the last at 33. The concussion at age 32 changed everything in the blink of an eye.

My husband, daughter, and I were on vacation in the Smoky Mountains when out of nowhere, a tree fell on our car and landed just above my head. The accident totaled both our car and my brain, or so it felt. I sustained a concussion and blacked out for a bit. As I sat there covered in glass, my heart and head pounding, little did I know what was to come.

Miraculously, my husband and daughter did not have a scratch on them! I’m still haunted by the events of that day and thinking how close I was to death. The three of us were lucky and blessed to be alive.

The medical treatment I received became the first of many obstacles in my recovery journey. After the accident, I went to urgent care when my neck pain worsened. I was diagnosed with whiplash, received a recommendation for physical therapy, and orders to follow up with my primary care doctor when we returned home. No mention of concussion.

I attended multiple appointments with my doctor, completed CT scans and X-rays, and began physical therapy before I received the concussion diagnosis. At that last appointment, I was told, “Don’t use your brain for two weeks and rest. You’ll be better in two months.” That statement left me confused – how was I supposed to not use my brain?

I wasn’t better in two months. I began to get incredibly frustrated. There’s only so much coloring and children’s shows I could take, having been used to a very active lifestyle.

I’ve experienced a variety of symptoms including headaches, dizziness, vision difficulties, sensitivity to light and sound, insomnia, cognitive problems, anxiety, neurofatigue, depression, and irritability. Even 18 months after my accident, regular life activities like working, driving, showering, and talking on the phone are difficult.

Things took a positive turn about four months after the accident when I began concussion therapy. I felt heard, understood, and hopeful. It’s one of the scariest feelings in the world to feel imprisoned in your brain. My concussion specialist created an individualized program to heal my cognitive deficits, balance challenges, vestibular system, vision challenges, and so much more.

This therapy also helps my husband and daughter with education, validation, and support. A concussion diagnosis doesn’t affect just the individual, but his or her loved ones as well.

Still, progress has been slow and frustrating. I was a high-achieving perfectionist but now have to rely on others just to get through the day. Asking for and accepting help became a barrier to my recovery. Half the time I wanted to protect everyone from the reality of this roller coaster I was on, and the other half I couldn’t find the words to communicate what I needed.

One of the toughest parts of concussion recovery is that it’s not linear. The ups and downs are intense and always changing. I struggle with the uncertainty of symptoms from day to day. We celebrated wins every time, even if sometimes I could only see the abilities that were taken from me. The highs were great, the lows were very scary.

Almost a year after the accident, life stressors were piling up and I was unable to process trauma. Everything just sat on me like pond scum. My family had experienced nine deaths so far that year, including my grandmother. Because of depth perception difficulties, I ended up back at urgent care after cutting my finger. This incident temporarily relieved my symptoms, which was the first break I had since my original injury.

Unfortunately, this set me on a path of chronic self-harm, resulting in addiction. I had no control over the inhibitory/impulse center of my brain and I soon learned how dangerous that can be.

Not long after that, I fell on ice and was diagnosed with another concussion. This intensified all my symptoms and, due to unforeseen circumstances, my therapies paused around the same time. The gains I’d made quickly regressed, hopelessness crept in, and I struggled with suicidal behaviors.

It felt like someone else was in control of me. I love my life and would never want to leave my family and friends. However, my brain was telling me this was the only way to protect them.

As my cognitive symptoms worsened, the thoughts became stronger. This led to two suicide attempts and a realization of the inner work I needed to do to recover. My support system never wavered and didn’t give up on me, even when I gave up on myself.

I hesitated to reach out to others because I craved normalcy. I didn’t want my concussion to define me, and I wanted to protect all my family and friends. Eventually, this came to be one of the most important lessons of my recovery … asking for help.

My incredible support system – my husband, daughter, and friends – continues to guide me throughout this journey. I’ve seen a litany of providers, including a concussion specialist, mental health and physical therapists, a chiropractor, medical doctors, a wellness coach, and speech therapists.

Eighteen months after the accident, I’ve gained full range of motion in my neck, my balance has improved, the brain fog is gone (most days), my convergence and eye tracking have improved greatly, and my tunnel vision is gone. I’m grateful that I’m able to work again and that my long-term memory wasn’t impacted.

Emotionally, I’m also feeling better as I process through the trauma and learn the many coping skills I lost. I still have hard days, dark feelings, headaches, vision challenges, and intense emotions. But I also have hope, unconditional love, and more moments of light. The constant ups and downs are tough and exhausting, but it also has been a great lesson in how dark and painful moments won’t last forever.

I have felt so alone in my recovery despite NEVER being alone. My hope in sharing this story is that someone will be able to relate and not feel stuck in the dark places brain injuries can take us. The best advice I have is to not give up, keep asking questions, let those who love you help you, and do not forget: this is not forever.

_______________________________________

If you are concerned that someone in your life may be suicidal, the five #BeThe1To steps are simple actions anyone can take to help someone in crisis. If you are struggling to cope and would like some emotional support, call the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained counselor. It’s free, confidential, and available to everyone in the United States. You do not have to be suicidal to call.

Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, providing personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.

September 2017 was going to be the start of an amazing journey. I started a new program and could not contain my excitement to work towards my PhD in Rehabilitation Sciences and a Master of Physical Therapy degree over the next 5 years at Western. Being heavily involved in sport since I was a kid, I knew that I had finally found my calling – to influence the field through both research and clinical practice.

I was off to a great start – I had just recovered from what felt like a never-ending injury streak. I had developed a great routine of proper exercise, nutrition and sleep to fuel my body and brain, and I was finally able to return to playing sports, which I have considered my number one stress reliever since I was a kid. I felt unstoppable.

I had joined a few intramural teams – a serious broken bone ended my competitive sports career back in high school, but that had never stopped me from getting out on the ice, the field or the court to escape reality for even just an hour. I was playing intramural flag football, and was on defense. With full force, I collided with my own teammate as we followed our opponents in coverage. We went knee on knee and my head (I think) hit his shoulder, then I hit the ground hard. My initial thoughts were “Oh God not another injury” as I laid on the ground. My teammates came over, and my one teammate and lab mate (who specializes in concussion research) asked me if I hit my head. My knee jerk reaction was to say no, because there was no way I could have gotten a concussion from an intramural sport, let alone from colliding with my own teammate. I walked myself off the field, but as I sat on the sideline, I realized that both my knee and my head were not getting any better.

My friend drove me to the hospital to get my knee checked out. I remember sitting in the car, both my knee and head throbbing, and I was experiencing extreme dizziness and nausea. When we got to the hospital and up to the triage desk, they asked me what I was getting checked out. I told them about my collision, and I said my knee, but I also told them my head hurt too. They told me “sorry, we can only focus on one issue at a time” so I stuck with my knee. The X-ray came back clean, so they gave me some crutches and sent me home. All I wanted to do was sleep, but I was up all night in pain… looking back now the signs were obvious.

I am lucky that my lab works closely with the Fowler Kennedy Sports Medicine Clinic, one of the best in the world, so the next day I went to the acute care clinic. I was able to get a definitive diagnosis for my knee (which put me on crutches for a few weeks and ended my intramural season), and I booked a physio appointment for the following week. I still didn’t speak up about my head, because I figured I was just exhausted from the lack of sleep I got the night before, and chalked up my headache, fogginess and lack of ability to focus to the fatigue.

The next day I sat down to try and study for an upcoming exam, and I just couldn’t do it. I felt so disoriented and confused, and I was in such a haze. Again, in full denial, I tried to push through. After another awful night’s sleep, I finally gave in to what I had known the second I collided with my teammate; I had a concussion. I felt embarrassed and in disbelief – how did I not sustain a concussion from years of rugby tackles and pucks to the head in hockey, but now received one from a single silly collision? I reached out to someone I trusted, who also is well-researched in the area, and I was told I had no choice but to go seek help, despite me continuously saying “I’m fine”. The following week when I went in for my physio appointment for my knee, I opened up about my head. I immediately saw one of the sport medicine doctors, who ran me through all of the traditional tests (which coming from a lab that partially specialized in concussion research and from clinical volunteering, I was no stranger to). Even though I knew my SCAT score was high, and I knew that all the symptoms were pointing towards it, hearing the doctor say “you have a concussion Jenna” was devastating. I had my first big conference coming up in just over a week, and I was flying out to Winnipeg for it. Against everyone’s recommendations, I decided to still attend and insisted “I’m fine” but ended up spending most of the conference inside my hotel room.

The months following were challenging – I was hoping to be back to business two weeks post-concussion. I didn’t tell my parents because I didn’t want to “worry them”, and I thought it was not something that was going to last long. But as each week passed, I was barely seeing progress. I had to push all of my exams back, could barely last a couple hours in my lab without flare-ups, I was off work and I couldn’t exercise because of both my knee and how symptom-stimulating the gym environment was. But this entire time, I pushed through. I was lying to myself and to everyone else by saying “I’m fine”, desperately trying to return to normal. It wasn’t until Christmas break that I finally started to feel more like my normal self. My knee had healed enough for me to start exercising again, I was able to work, and I was starting to get back into my routine.

At the start of 2018, I was determined. Despite still feeling in a slight fog, I continued to go on like it was nothing. I was gearing up to start a new project and my Comprehensive Exams, so I didn’t want anything to get in my way. I got the clearance to finally play sports again (albeit non-contact), so once again I signed up for intramurals. Three weeks into January, I was playing goalie during intramural handball. Someone on the other team ran into me, side swiping me in the head with their arm. I was in instant pain but brushed it off. The headache didn’t go away, so I popped an Advil and proceeded to play basketball. That was one of the silliest decisions I could have made, especially with my history and knowledge in the field, and I am lucky that I didn’t get another blow to the head. After a few days of trying to ignore it, and many “I’m fine’s” later, I once again turned to my trusted sources. I was told to go get it checked out, so I went back to the doctor and…another SCAT, another concussion.

This one was particularly difficult – and a prime example of how each concussion is different. The first concussion I had struggled with the physical aspect; the fogginess, haziness and difficulty concentrating. But this one took an emotional toll on me. Physically I healed much faster with this one, within about a month the headaches subsided. But the emotional side effects lasted much longer. I had put myself under immense stress and pressure to complete this project as well as pass my comps, but the concussion exacerbated my mental state. I had heightened anxiety, moments of depression, large amounts of self-doubt, mood swings, and even a few panic attacks. I was frustrated, because I felt physically normal, but emotionally I was drained. However, I suppressed these feelings and continued on insisting that “I’m fine”. I finally came to the realization that I wasn’t fine, and that that was okay.

I am beyond lucky to be surrounded by health care professionals, colleagues, family and friends who have been nothing but supportive of me. I am eternally grateful for those who advocated for me when I wouldn’t; who spoke up for me when I was silent; who pushed me to seek help when I was being stubborn; who reminded me how important my brain is when I tried to brush it off; and who had my best interest in mind when I didn’t. Without them, I would not be where I am today. I passed my comps, finished that project, and I’m now working on some new, exciting research towards my PhD. I am eager to start Physiotherapy school in about a year and a half, and to apply my experiences to clinical practice. I have re-established a slightly modified daily routine, adding more time to take breaks and more time for myself. But most importantly, I am healthy; both physically and mentally. In a weird way, my concussions taught me a lot. I’ve learned that I need to listen to my body, and especially my brain because you only get one. I’ve learned new coping strategies to deal with stress and anxiety. I’ve learned that it’s okay to not be okay, and that it’s okay to ask for and lean on others for help and support. And I’ve learned that sometimes being the hero means admitting when you’re hurting, both physically and mentally, not trying to push through by saying “I’m fine”.

As a future clinician, my experiences have been invaluable. My hopes and goals are to impact and improve the lives of many patients, much like mine has been changed for the better. As much as I struggled over the past year, I also came out on top. Not every day is perfect, and there are many days where I still struggle, but looking back I am proud at the progress I’ve made. No, this was not how I had pictured my journey to start, but I am excited to see what the future has in store for me, and I am ready to face every challenge.

To this day, Jocelyn Pepe has only had one brain injury, albeit a very significant one – a concussion she suffered during a triathlon training ride. While on her bike, the former endurance athlete could not reach her brakes in time to stop and avoid a crash. She blacked out and hit her head on the side of the road but does not have any memory of the accident until being awoken by medics in the ambulance.

Jocelyn was raced to the hospital and received an MRI on her brain. The scan was clear of any brain bleed, but her jaw had been displaced and she lost two teeth. That, however, was only the beginning of her journey.

At the time of her fall, Jocelyn was studying for a master’s degree in psychology and neuroscience. She didn’t know much about concussions herself, just what she heard being around her son, who played hockey and experienced multiple concussions of his own.

In the months after she was discharged from the hospital, Jocelyn began to experience a number of different symptoms, some of which persist to this day. They included constant exhaustion, the inability to look at screens, nausea while driving, frequent debilitating headaches, and sensitivity to light, sound, and heat. It was so difficult for Jocelyn to string thoughts together she made the difficult decision to put her master’s program on hold.

One of the biggest changes to Jocelyn’s life after her concussion was navigating how she was perceived by people around her. Though she may have looked fine on the outside, she was still struggling internally.

“I felt as though people didn’t understand how difficult it was inside my head, as it was not a visible injury anymore,” said Jocelyn. “After my jaw and teeth were repaired, it was as if I was back to normal. I had to really prioritize brain recovery on my own.”

Jocelyn tried piecing together her healing slowly, working with various professionals including an oral surgeon, physiotherapist, a neuro-optometrist, naturopath, a chiropractor, and a neurologist. With their help, she started feeling a bit better day by day. After about eight months, Jocelyn was able to finish her master’s degree and gain a deeper understanding of concussions from a scientific perspective.

For now, Jocelyn still has her ups and downs but has found ways to manage her symptoms. From rest and ice compression to neuro-optometry, color therapy to realign her sight, and nerve blockers to mitigate the head and neck pain, these are among the treatments which have helped. She has adjusted her expectations on how much is possible mentally and knows there are days she might not be at her best. Ultimately, Jocelyn makes sure to consistently rebalance her physical, mental, emotional, social, and spiritual wellbeing.

“Immediately after the accident, I wanted to get right back to my triathlon training and goals of making the podium,” said Jocelyn. “At the time, that was part of my grieving process. It’s just about adjusting to a slower pace of life and turning your experience into a purpose.”

Jocelyn no longer rides road bikes or competes in triathlons. Instead, she focuses on low impact exercises which require less time commitment, including practicing yoga and taking daily walks. Jocelyn’s tried going on runs, which have been tough on her neck and head, though it’s slowly getting better.

Jocelyn’s passion for helping others led her to found TrU, a business which builds team wellbeing and healthy organizational culture through executive coaching with a mental health focus. She reached out to the Concussion Legacy Foundation after finding us on social media and relating to our hopeful content and messaging. She recently filmed her own #ConcussionHope video to remind others that healing with a concussion requires a whole-person approach. Now through her Inspiring Story, Jocelyn wants to show those recovering it’s possible to live a purposeful and fulfilling life following a brain injury.

My name is Sasha Pina, and for the past 13 years, I’ve been living with Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS).

During a Labor Day weekend soccer tournament in 2010, I had a career-ending concussion. As I jumped up to head the ball, an opposing player elbowed me on the right side of the head, and I passed out mid-air. As I was landing, my head hit the ground and I was knocked unconscious. I was quickly admitted to the pediatric ICU where I stayed for four days. While there, my mom found out I had a grade 3 concussion, in addition to a lateral skull fracture, brain swelling, severe amnesia, photophobia, and loss of peripheral vision in my right eye. What we didn’t know was how much help I would need when it came to remembering certain things, and that this journey was far from over.

I took up soccer when I was 7 years old and played all the way through club and high school until the age of 16. The game was my passion, and I had dreams of playing in college and hopefully as a professional. I even had a college scout. I was that determined. In all my years of playing, I experienced multiple concussions but played through the headaches because I didn’t want to be sidelined. I thought they would go away on their own. But I have learned not all headaches are really “just headaches.” Sometimes it was hard to get up, but I still continued to play. I knew what concussions were but didn’t take them seriously. I don’t recall taking any classes or hearing coaches talk to us about head injuries.

With this last concussion, I had throbbing headaches that wouldn’t go away. It felt like they were never-ending, and they would sometimes even keep me up during the night. I also had memory problems, trouble finding my words, mood swings, balance issues, and trouble with concentration. During school, I had to limit my time to half-days for my brain to rest, and I was told to avoid physical activity. My friends were constantly asking why I was leaving so early. I spent six months in an extensive brain injury rehabilitation center doing physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech therapy. Over the years my PCS symptoms got better, but now I live with other aftereffects, including seizures that started about 10 months post-injury.

In July of 2011, I was diagnosed with epilepsy after having my first seizure during a church service. I have focal aware and focal unaware seizures coming from my left temporal lobe. I take multiple medications to treat them, some working better than others. But the side effects cause me to get tired easily and struggle with memory, making certain days challenging. Fortunately, I have learned coping skills to help on tough days, and I always have amazing support from my mom no matter the situation. In February 2016, I had a device surgically implanted called a vagus nerve stimulator (VNS), a pacemaker-like device in the left side of my chest with a wire that wraps around the vagus nerve. The VNS sends electrical stimulations to my brain to prevent abnormal brain activity which can cause a seizure. It has been life-changing, and we also noticed it helping with some of my other symptoms. My seizures have come to a point where we are currently seeking other treatment at UCLA.

Life has been a roller coaster with quite a bit of ups and downs, looking for answers, going to doctors (neurologists, epileptologists, PTs, OTs, neuro-ophthalmologists), and hoping the next day, week, or even month will be better than the last. You never think how playing the game you love can end in the snap of a finger and change your life. And not just me, but the lives of everyone around me. I have lost friends because it was hard for them to see me the way I was, so they just left. Luckily, I gained some new friends, as well.

I have always been one to share my story with anyone that asks, since you never know who you can help. I am a huge advocate for brain injury and epilepsy awareness, and I am involved with a few amazing foundations. I’m an ambassador for the Danny Did Foundation, which spreads awareness for seizure detection devices and awareness on Sudden Unexpected Death in Epilepsy (SUDEP). I’m an ambassador for VNS Therapy, where I tell others about my journey with a VNS. And I also work for the Hundley Foundation, where we help families living with epilepsy and other disabilities.

I was always told that time heals all wounds. I have learned it might not heal the way you want it to, but in time, it will heal, and you will learn to adapt to your “new normal.” Take your time to recover — no one is rushing you. Focus on the good, as any progress is something to celebrate. Make sure to have a strong support system of family and friends; I wouldn’t be where I am today without them. As hard as sharing my story has been at times throughout the years, it has helped me in my healing while also being helpful to others. Take it one day at a time. Remember, you are doing the best you can! If you think someone has a concussion, encourage them to tell their coach or parents, go to the doctor, and take the time to heal.

In February of 2024, I embarked to Fiji on a press trip with the Professional Association of Diving Instructors (PADI), not just to explore the soft reef capital of the world, but also to discover a deeper healing process. As a former professional minor league hockey player, I was continuously dealing with and abruptly reshaped by traumatic brain injuries (TBIs) throughout my career. I never anticipated confronting these challenges during youth and high school hockey, undoubtedly the important developmental years of life. While in Fiji, a profound realization stirred within me, as I was quick to reflect on a truth that this was more than just diving in a beautiful destination — it was about internally processing how existing in the depths beneath the surface would bring me through a recovery journey.

My Journey to Diving

My time in sports built physical and mental resilience but left me and my family struggling to navigate the delicate complexities of TBI while laboring through the rippling tax of the injury. My initial introduction to diving as a kid evoked a mix of excitement and inspiration, a gratitude I owe my dad. In 2016, I got certified as a PADI Open Water Diver, allowing me to dive to 80 feet and explore an entirely new world in the ocean. Given the effects of my TBIs, engaging in my sport was a calculated risk, one I recognized and took measures to mitigate with a team of medical professionals as I entered my junior, collegiate, and professional playing career.

I navigated those years concussion-free yet underwent a serious search to find a solution for my lingering symptoms. As I started a deep dive (no pun intended) into building out my “toolbox” of symptom relief, I discovered that my first love gave me a profound sense of equilibrium. I call it ”saltwater therapy,” a phrase I learned from surf culture in 2016 while spending a few months away from the ice. I used surfing as a trial and error of sorts in my healing journey, watching the sunrise over Pismo Beach, California. Along with other neurologist recommendations, this was a promising tool for my toolbox, a new avenue for recovery — one that involved tranquility and tapping into my flow state in the waves. It wasn’t until my first dive later that year that I started to feel a similar ease.

 

The First Dive

The first dive was transformative. As I descended into the warm waters of Mexico, the weight of gravity — and my struggles — lifted. I was enveloped by an overwhelming sense of peace; the only sounds were my breath and white noise of the depths of surrounding marine life. The anxiety and constant noise cluttering my mind began to fade, replaced by an all-consuming calm. It was a manifestation of being truly present in the moment, a practice often recommended for mental wellness but seldom achieved with such clarity.

Fast forward several years and many dives later, I was in Fiji on the PADI press trip. Exploring the variety of vibrant coral ecosystems and marine life, I find stillness and tap into my flow state, a self-expression of full release. In that moment I am “in it” and focused, yet distant and relaxed. My mind draws away from the pressures that consume me: any pains, aches, worries, or troubles. My existence transforms to connection — connection through breath and weightlessness, gratitude and love.

Diving and Mental Health

Mindfulness and meditation can be greatly helpful during concussion recovery and enhance mental health, especially for those recovering from psychological trauma or even a variety of neurological conditions. The rhythmic breathing that naturally derives from diving mimics meditative breathing techniques, which help in reducing anxiety and improving emotional stability. Each dive deepens my connection to the present, a much-needed and welcomed escape from the usual rush of symptoms and thoughts.

 

Personal Transformation

Throughout my time in Fiji, each dive seemed to peel away layers of mental strain. When changing my buoyancy in the water, I drew parallels to the physical representation of mental and emotional release, allowing me to explore depths of both the ocean and my consciousness naturally. I would not realize the physical and mental processes taking place until after the dives. The vivid colors of coral and the playful curiosity of fish always bring an atmospheric wonder difficult to find anywhere else — a sensation I find replicated in different ways when reliving moments of my life in my flow state. Diving always gives me a meaningful and gentle reminder that despite my injuries and limitations, the capacity for awe, joy, inspiration, and appreciation remained unimpaired.

Reaching into Your Depths

The art of diving is, at its core, a practice in mindfulness, which has proven to greatly aid in my mental and even physical health recovery. The focused, controlled breathing, the profound silence and stillness under the water, and the removal of everyday sensory overload contributes to a therapeutic composure hard to find elsewhere.

This realization has reinforced my perspective on alternative therapies as a means of relief and aid for others in their journey with TBI. It has also developed my passion and appreciation for diving, which I plan to pursue further. It’s a testament to the unexpected pathways or tools, as I call them, to healing, which exist in our simplest connections — with others, water, nature, faith, spirituality, and even within the quiet depths of ourselves.

Make the Dive!

For anyone grappling with mental health issues or recovering from physical injuries, consider exploring the world of diving. The combination of physical activity, mental focus, and the serene environment may offer a new dimension of therapy and joy. If you’re looking to embark on this journey, PADI caters to all levels, life situations, and circumstances, guiding you safely into the calming waters of our Earth.

Diving in Fiji wasn’t just about the adventure and the destination. It was a profound journey to wellness, a testament to the power of our vast oceans. Whether above or below the surface, it seems there is a world of healing waiting to be discovered.

Read more about Tyler’s journey in this interview with KARE 11 Minneapolis.

“You guys are used to a highly verbal graham cracker!”

As Allison Moir-Smith uttered these words, her kids stared at her in confusion. What did Mom just say?

“I mean, you guys are used to a highly verbal mother!”

Though the family can now joke about the little mistakes Allison used to make, the years after her concussion were no laughing matter. The usually extroverted and gregarious therapist, wife, and mom of two was the glue that held the family together. But she could no longer take care of everyone like she once had and felt like she was letting her loved ones down.

It all happened so suddenly and in a way she could have never prepared for: in an accident. In 2018, Allison and her family had been skiing, an activity she was comfortable with, having grown up on the slopes. She remembers watching the kids ski down first, then, a moment later, her legs had given out and her head hit the hard snow. Because Allison was wearing a helmet and hadn’t blacked out, she figured she was okay and continued to ski as if nothing happened.

“I got up! I’m a mom. I got up and skied more runs,” said Allison. “I wasn’t going to wreck the day.”

Allison sensed something might be wrong when she noticed how much lights were bothering her. A visit to her primary care physician yielded a standard and uninformed reaction: “You’ve got a concussion. Just rest and it will go away on its own. There’s nothing more you can do.”

So, Allison and her family lived for a bit in what she describes as a “weird period.”

“We basically lived in the dark,” said Allison. “Deep darkness, dinner in the dark. And even though I was sitting in so much pain, I pretended to be okay because I didn’t want to freak my husband and children out.”

In the mornings, Allison would help the kids get ready for school, which left her exhausted. She spent her days lying on the sofa and just listening to the news. She continued to struggle with sensitivity to light and sound but developed additional symptoms, including headaches, nausea, and imbalance. Her favorite item became a Star Wars blanket, using it to cover herself at all times and avoid light.

 

Still, Allison tried her best to be there for her children. She went to school to see her daughter in the fifth grade play and traveled to see her son in basketball tournaments. She also helped him practice by shooting hoops, using a deflated soccer ball (since she was afraid of being hit), despite how she was feeling.

One day, when Allison thought she was better, she took her son to the basketball court to play a game. But when a ball hit her on the head, she suffered another concussion – just 14 months after her skiing accident. The symptoms came roaring back.

“I was being a good mom, playing with my son,” said Allison. “He needed me.”

 

Days turned into weeks, weeks quickly blended into months, and months became years. Because Allison’s symptoms kept her mostly at home and isolated, she became severely depressed and felt like she was failing her family. Emails to her physician regarding treatment and requests to see a neurologist were mostly ignored until she was finally able to see a doctor at Massachusetts General Hospital.

There, doctors told Allison her brain looked fine, but she had some cognitive issues and chronic PTSD from years of living with untreated post-concussion syndrome (PCS) and would benefit from seeing a speech-language pathologist. She found out she had measurable problems with memory and executive functioning and would need to learn how to manage her nervous system.

Tasks like grocery shopping and sending her children to their various activities became much easier when Allison started creating checklists, which required less working memory. She does it to this day, crossing items off her to-do list to make sure she’s not forgetting anything and overworking her brain.

To calm her nervous system, Allison’s SLP suggested she draw or paint in an adult coloring book five times daily for 15 minutes at a time. This opened a whole new world for Allison. As she healed, she left coloring books behind and started painting on watercolors, then acrylics, and eventually oils. To share her work, she created the @concussion_recovery_art Instagram account, showing others it’s okay be hurting.

The Concussed Moms support group

Instantly, on Instagram, people with similar concussion experiences started connecting with Allison, including someone who invited her to a concussion survivors group for women.

“After the groups, people would talk about being tired and sleeping for the afternoon,” said Allison. “And the mothers and I would look at each other going, ‘No way.’ Because it was 2 o’clock and we had to go pick up the kids, take them to activities, help with homework, make dinner. No one understood that except the other mothers.”

Allison developed the idea for a concussed moms support group, specifically for mothers navigating the unique challenges presented by motherhood and concussion recovery. She wound up leading the discussions when a friend could no longer organize the meetings.

In January 2023, Allison brought her Concussed Moms Patient Support Group under the Concussion Legacy Foundation Peer Support umbrella. She had heard of CLF after her accident and thought this new group would be a natural fit, where she could serve as meeting host but not have to worry about technical details.

Each meeting begins by spotlighting one concussed mom’s experience before opening up for general discussion. All are encouraged to ask questions, connect with others, and share the resources they need.

Allison shares a few notes about the group, which consists of moms in their 20s to 60s, with kids ranging from infants to early 30s:

• No one had symptoms show up fully until after seven days, and all were told by providers they would be fine in three weeks.
• It took over two months for all of them to get any sort of treatment.
• They found it impossible to communicate to their loved ones, much less medical providers, the extent of their brains’ malfunction.
• 100% of the group experienced concussion care as focused on youth and male athletes, specifically football players.

They are all so thankful to have found a group of moms who understand and live the struggle of concussion recovery and motherhood. At the conclusion of every meeting, Allison makes sure to end with two affirmations:

1. Are you, as a mother and as a wife, doing your best for your family every single day? The answer: Yes!
2. No matter what, your family can always feel your love.

“I think these are such important and powerful reminders for the moms,” said Allison. “Sometimes that’s all they need to hear.”

 

Outside of the group, Allison continues to serve as a concussion activist, spreading awareness through her art and speaking about her experiences in public. She has presented at the International Brain Injury World Congress as well as the Brain Injury Associations of New York, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire, among others. Her heart still breaks seeing others suffer from PCS, and preventing others from suffering like she did has become her life mission – one sharing of her story, one meeting with a peer connection, and one hand-painted drawing at a time. To learn more about Allison and see examples of her work, visit her website here.

 

The Concussed Moms support group meets at 1 p.m. ET on the first Thursday of every month. If you are interested in joining, please register here.

For the longest time, I was always taught in competitive and sideline cheerleading to push through, finish out strong, and to always do what’s best for your team. But that was before I suffered two concussions.

My first concussion occurred in the sixth grade during gym class when I was hit in the head by a basketball. At first, my symptoms didn’t seem too bad. I experienced headaches and sensitivity to light for a couple of weeks before being pushed back into cheer at nationals in Florida.

The second concussion happened during cheer practice in my sophomore year of high school. I was holding up my flyer in a one-leg extension when she lost her balance. Her tailbone hit my head, causing me to fall back on the mat. The next morning, I had a bruise on my forehead and felt dizzy and nauseous. The lights in my room were too bright. The familiar sounds of the TV, my dog barking, and my family talking were suddenly much too loud. I was determined to get through the school day with sunglasses so I could cheer at that evening’s football game, but I only got past the first period before being sent home. I was diagnosed with a concussion at urgent care and again by my pediatrician the following day.

My days were plagued with constant headaches, sensitivity to light, loud noises, and trouble concentrating at school. Teachers did not understand that my thinking was slow, and trying to focus made my head hurt. Accommodations varied from class to class, which only increased my confusion and anxiety. Some teachers simply did not understand why I could not turn in my work after a week’s extension. My teammates called me a faker and stopped talking to me.

Concussions can be difficult for some to understand because there aren’t obvious signs of injury — no casts, scars, or crutches to show people you are hurt. I was accused of lying to get out of practice, which pained me because it was far from the truth. I was so desperate to get back to cheering that I visited my pediatrician weekly to see my progress. My recovery was much slower compared to that of the first concussion. Eventually, I was diagnosed with Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS).

My doctor explained the dangers of returning to cheer while I was still experiencing symptoms. Another injury to my brain could prolong recovery even further. The pressure I received from teammates, coaches, and teachers made me feel like I was a disappointment. It led to isolation, depression, and anxiety. My concussion lasted the whole first semester. Even now, after a year, I suffer from symptoms. It’s still hard to focus all my thoughts clearly, and comprehending others takes time.

Though I am not yet fully recovered, I’ve decided to turn a negative experience into a positive. Currently, I am a Miss America Organization titleholder for the state of New Hampshire. I am Miss Lilac State’s Teen, and my community service initiative is “When in Doubt Sit Them Out: Awareness of Athletic Concussions.” I use my platform to inform athletes, parents, and teachers not only the signs and symptoms of concussions, but their social and emotional impact, as well.

It’s important to share your story so people can become more aware about the severity of concussions and their aftereffects. It’s so difficult to get through it alone, but knowing that others have been in similar situations and successfully emerged on the other side is tremendously inspiring. That’s why I encourage everyone to share their stories, too!

Growing up, I was always an athlete. Sports were my passion, from gymnastics to skiing to soccer to ice skating. At age seven, I started softball and instantly fell in love with it. As I got older and better, I switched from Little League to travel ball, practicing, wanting to be the best I could be. I enjoyed playing any position, but nothing appealed to me like catching. I loved being involved in every play.

A few years ago, I was at a softball tournament just like any other weekend. I was behind the plate, and there was a runner on third base. On a ball hit to the infield, she ran for home, where I was ready to make the tag. The throw came to me, I caught it, but the runner ran straight into me, knocking me to the ground. Eventually, after getting back up, I felt like I was spinning, and my head hurt like crazy. My coach asked me if I was okay and if I could finish the game. I chose to ignore the fact my head hurt, so I said yes and played the rest of the game. After it finished, I still had a headache the whole way home. When my headache and other symptoms did not go away, my parents figured I had a mild concussion. I took a few weeks off, and once I felt better, I went back to playing as usual.

About a year later, my teammates and I had a team bonding party. There was a small dunk tank, and I was sitting on the chair waiting for my sister to fill the bucket above me. I was too stubborn to move, and she ended up accidentally dropping the entire bucket full of ice and water on my head. Just like before, I had constant headaches that would not go away. My parents took me to the doctor, where I was diagnosed with another concussion. Once again, I took time off from softball until my symptoms were gone, then continued playing.

A few months later, I was at another softball tournament catching as usual. There was a runner on second base, and the batter hit a line drive to left-center. The runner was at third by the time our outfielder (my younger sister Brecka) got the ball, so she sprinted for home. The throw arrived like a bullet into my glove. I was ready for the tag, making sure I was out of the baseline. But the runner did the worst possible thing she could have done: instead of sliding, she ran straight into me, elbowing my face and knocking me down. Topping it all off, I took off my helmet right before we collided so I could see the ball better. My head slammed the ground, which left me lying there crying hysterically, unaware of what had just happened. The girl was immediately ejected from the game for not sliding and elbowing me in the face. I went to the dugout unable to lift my head up and eventually vomiting. I did not want to leave the game even if I couldn’t watch, because I wanted to be there for my team.

My dad took me to the ER to make sure there was no brain bleed or other issues. While doctors found no signs of a brain bleed, they did tell me I had a concussion. For weeks, I constantly had awful headaches and felt terrible all day. Eventually, my symptoms improved and I again went back to playing.

In January of 2023, I made my high school softball team as a freshman. I was super excited, knowing I would learn a lot from the coaches and older players. After our second game of the season, I was at practice catching routine fly balls in the outfield. I went for the first fly ball but lost it in the sun. Instead of catching it, it hit me directly above my eye. I took a little while to sit down and ice my head, waiting for the athletic trainer to come and clear me to return to practice. He told me my eyes and balance seemed a little off, so we called my mom to pick me up from practice. I once again developed nonstop headaches along with sensitivity to light and noise. The doctor told me I had suffered another concussion. However, my symptoms did not go away. Only after about a month did things get a little bit better. I went back to school and was able to resume classes.

The week I was supposed to get cleared to rejoin softball, I was in gym class doing homework on the side (since I couldn’t take part in activities just yet) when a volleyball hit my head. It took me a minute to realize what had just happened. Fortunately, my friend who saw everything had the good sense to take me to the nurse. The school called my mom, and we went back to the doctors to see if this incident set me back again. Unfortunately, because it was a separate hit, it was documented as a fifth concussion, and I was back to square one.

My freshman season, our team made it all the way to State. It has been one of the best experiences in my softball career. I was so excited to go and be with my team, but a part of me wished I could have been playing. We wound up as the Florida Class 3A State Champions for the second year in a row. We received our medals and were all excited, but there was a part of me that felt like I didn’t deserve the medal. Little did I know, other people felt the same way. When I posted a picture of me holding the trophy, someone commented that all I had to do was watch the game. These kinds of comments make situations like mine so much worse.

One of the difficulties dealing with concussions is there’s no way to prove you have one, so people sometimes don’t think they’re real. They may feel it’s just for attention, but nobody knows how I am feeling except for me. That meant I had to be an advocate for myself. When people are negative, though, it leads you to not want to say anything, which just makes the headaches worse. I’ve missed countless trips to amusement parks, concerts, boat days, and so much more because I knew if I went it would just slow down the recovery process.

It’s been months since my last concussion, and I still get headaches constantly. My family and I had to make the difficult decision to let go of softball and move on to a sport with less contact like tennis. It sucks to have to let go of what you love the most, but the risk was bigger than the reward at this point. I can’t wait to step into a new chapter in my life.

Please help me support the Concussion Legacy Foundation by making a donation through my page. Thanks so much for reading my story, and please share it with any friends you may think may be going through the same experience!

Siobhan Lacey-Chow seemed as if she had everything you could want in life. She had a close circle of friends and family, spent most of her free time traveling, and was peaking in her career as an Executive at a company she loved. When Siobhan was younger, she dabbled sometimes as a model and enjoyed the fashion industry. But she was yearning for more and decided to join the corporate world in the food sector. Siobhan was responsible for driving deals and was passionate about introducing people to delicious, healthy, and nutritious food.

Siobhan Lacey-Chow & Peter Tharos (Actor, Producer & Film Director)
Event: IMpower-The Act of Learning to Love Yourself, September 2022

That all changed in May 2014. Siobhan had just returned home after successfully closing one of her organization’s first National deals. She finished her two favorite gym classes back-to-back in Uptown Toronto and was stopped in traffic on a beautiful sunny morning. The next thing she knew, she was rear-ended by a driver speeding in a van. Her car veered off the highway and her memory went blank. She doesn’t remember much about the immediate time afterward.

Doctors told Siobhan she had to go into isolation because her brain was swollen. The following days, weeks, and months were a roller coaster of emotions. She was angry and frustrated at the situation. The circumstances felt so random.

“Why me?” Siobhan recalled asking. “At the time, my career was everything. And now it was all taken from me.”

There were many moments of downward spiraling, since she had lost most of her motor abilities and had to relearn many of the normal, everyday actions we all take for granted. Walking. Speaking. Even just thinking was a challenge. And it didn’t help that the only place she could recuperate was at home with her ex-husband.

For the next six months, Siobhan decided she had to set goals for herself. She needed tangible results to see if she was making progress. She would test her memory and time how long it took for her to read a certain passage. Once the times became shorter, she knew her motor skills were improving. It was, and still is, a delicate balancing act. She has always been a go-getter, but could no longer push herself past her limits like she had done so often in the past.

Siobhan Lacey-Chow & Peter Tharos
Event: IMpower-Lighting Your Brain on Fire, November 2022

The experience undoubtedly was humbling to Siobhan. So many simple, daily activities she once could do without hesitation were difficult. It provided a different lens into the lives of those with disabilities. She was also forced to become comfortable with the uncomfortable.

“I had to learn self-love and compassion towards myself, and that’s not always an easy thing,” said Siobhan. “There were days I wanted to stay in bed all day. But I had to find it in myself to redirect my energy any way I could.”

Once her perspective shifted, Siobhan knew she had to rebuild her life. She craved her independence and wanted to get back to work instead of surrendering to despair. What helped the most was coming to the realization she was not alone in her journey. There are others just like her who are going through this struggle, others who have it just as difficult, if not more so. And again, she set goals for herself. Sometime after the accident, Siobhan bought heels with the hope she’d be able to wear them once she was better. And through hard work and dedication, she put them on while walking the carpet at an award show event months later.

Event: Canadian Women in Food – FULL TILT, March 2023

Siobhan acknowledges her recovery is a roller coaster and some days are easier to manage than others. Fortunately, she has trained herself to get through difficult moments. She will pause to reflect and understand it’s completely acceptable to feel this way.

While researching online for resources, Siobhan came across the Concussion Legacy Foundation website. The personal stories resonated so much with her she pledged to donate her brain to the Research Registry.

“It was so personal to me, and brain donation is the only way for researchers to see what will work in the future to help others,” said Siobhan.

These days, Siobhan is dedicated to lending her voice to the voiceless. She has become an Inspirational Speaker and Advocate for Mental Health and has made it her life’s purpose to share her experiences with others, proving anything is possible against all odds. One of the initiatives she is passionate about in Canada is changing the wheelchair sign symbolizing disabilities. There are people with vulnerabilities not necessarily visible to the eye, and she hopes to empower all of them through this hopeful change.

Siobhan Lacey-Chow & Cheryl Appleton (Founder, Canadian Women in Food)
Event: Canadian Women in Food – FULL TILT, March 2023
Photo Credit: Valentina Giorcelli: Food Photography

To that effect, Siobhan recently created her own IMpower movement on behalf of anyone facing life’s adversities. Her message delves into the fine art of building self-awareness, embracing the consistent dance with self-acceptance, and actively choosing the IMpowering route of self-advocacy, all while sharing tools and strategies that served her, in navigating and continuing to navigate, the journey of bringing her innermost, authentic desires to fruition.

Siobhan Lacey-Chow & Jessica West (Founder of Tresor, Podcast Host & Author, The Empower from Within Podcast)
Podcast: The Empower from Within Podcast, January 2023

“You don’t necessarily need a catastrophic injury for my messaging to resonate,” says Siobhan. “The best part is, these tools are applicable to anyone. We have the power to choose and create the life we desire, to author the chapters of our lives, all while IMpowering ourselves to do so, should we choose, or not – the choice is ours!”

Through it all, Siobhan wants everyone to remember her life’s simple motto:

“When there’s a will, there’s truly always a way.”

To follow Siobhan’s IMpower initiatives, visit www.siobhanlaceychow.com.

To connect with Siobhan, she can be reached at [email protected].