Overcoming PCS One Day at a Time

My name is Lauren Creighton. The last few years, I have been dealing with concussions and Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS).

Before my concussions, I played soccer my entire life. Whether it was playing on the field, cheering on my teammates, watching professional games, or even playing FIFA, soccer was my true passion. I started playing around the age of three, which sparked my interest in the sport. I fell in love with the game and continued with club/competitive teams as I grew older.

I have had four concussions in my lifetime, all before the age of 18, and was diagnosed with PCS after my most recent one. I have been on a rollercoaster of recovery these last few years, searching for information, doctors, answers, and hope.

My last concussion happened in the beginning of my junior year of high school. I was playing in a scrimmage with my club team, five minutes were left in the game. It was a corner kick, and I was in the right spot for the ball to reach me. The ball came and I instinctively headed it. Immediately after, my head began to throb. I finished playing the last three or so minutes of the game and told my coach. He had no reason to think I had a concussion, nor did my teammates, and so I believed it as well. “How could just a header give me a concussion, when people do it all the time?” I told myself.

However, on my drive home, things went south. Sensitivity to light and sound, nausea, and a headache followed the practice. I knew the concussion symptoms like the back of my hand from previous ones, so this was a horrible familiar feeling. I knew I was going to have to heal from this concussion, but I did not know how long the recovery would take and how that would be my last real game of soccer.

I immediately struggled with the physical symptoms, which were followed by the emotional struggles. It was a rollercoaster of pain and healing. Some days were so bad I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. I remember laying there almost all of Christmas break my junior year because I couldn’t do anything else.

My symptoms slowly got better, but every time I tried to do anything more in my recovery, it felt like I was stuck, and all my symptoms would return. I had to see a neurologist and a neuro-optometrist to heal my eyesight problem. My tracking had been affected, as one of my eyes had a slower reaction time than the other one. With some new PT exercises, I made great progress with my vision challenges. After this, I gained hope I was going to be fine. But when I tried to go outside, workout, or even walk into Target, my hypersensitivity to light and sound made normal activities impossible. I had pressure headaches and tingling on the top of my head. Because of these physical symptoms, my emotional and mental health took a toll. I fell into a spiral of isolation. I could barely describe what I was experiencing, which caused me to become frustrated with my circumstances. I was tired of feeling hurt, alone, and exhausted. I felt as though nobody knew what I was feeling, and because of this, I thought I would never get better. My hope was starting to fade. There were days where my symptoms were so bad I would have to lay in my dark room with no sound, no light, and just lay for hours. I was hurting so much, and the worst part was I couldn’t explain how I was feeling to anyone.

One of the hardest parts of this journey was the loss of soccer. The idea of never playing again really began to sink in, and it hurt. People never tell you how much giving up a sport to an injury feels like, and I was not prepared. I regretted the practices I had skipped in the past and wished I could go back and play a few more times. This was also during COVID-19, so the isolation was worse since I couldn’t see many people. And even when I was able to see friends, my symptoms would flare up and I wouldn’t be in the mood to hang out.

I lost a lot of friends during this time, especially because I was not able to be there for my soccer team. My friends didn’t understand the extent of my injury. I was struggling with a lot of “what-ifs” and questions that dominated my frustration. I was asking myself, “Why was I taking so long to heal? Why can other people have concussions and be ‘fine?’ Why was this all happening right now?” These thoughts spiraled inside my head, and I lived with regret. I was struggling with anxiety and depression, but I didn’t recognize that was what it was. My pain got to the point where I wished I had never even played the sport I had once loved. I just wanted to feel normal again.

My symptoms lasted for a long time, and I was searching frantically on the internet for some sort of answer as to why I was struggling so much. I did weeks of endless Google searches on concussion information and anything to educate myself on the topic. After a while, I came across the Concussion Legacy Foundation. Reading all of CLF’s resources and their Inspiring Stories dramatically helped me. I was able to relate to others and see how they described certain symptoms I was experiencing too. I showed this to my family, and it gave me hope to finally be able to describe what I was going through.

During this time, I got into another (new) neurologist and a concussion specialist and was diagnosed with PCS. This diagnosis, although not positive news, brought me relief as I was able to pin a reason down as to why I had been struggling for so long. I knew from here I was going to get better. I was determined. I worked alongside my concussion specialist for months. By the end of it, I was feeling almost brand new. The day I was released from PT was such a momentous moment. I had put in the work to get better, and it had finally paid off.

Now, I am not saying I am completely healed yet, as I still struggle with the mental side effects. I have a lot of anxiety regarding my brain health. I try to take care of myself by working out (to the extent I can), hanging out with friends and family, and other activities that bring me joy. Focusing on the positives and reducing stress in your life can help a lot. Through my research, I was able to better understand concussions and PCS.

During my recovery journey, I also discovered that I was born with Chiari malformation, which is a brain disorder that can affect your day-to-day life. I am now aware of the obstacles in front of me and am adapting to live in a safe way, while still having fun. I am beyond grateful for the resources I was able to find when starting my research, and without them I am not sure if I would be in the same place I am today.

Some of the best advice I received was to take one day at a time. Personally, I am someone who struggles with this idea, as I think about the future a lot. But when I switched to this mindset, I was able to clearly focus on the things I can control right now. So, what I would recommend to anyone dealing with concussions or PCS is to try and take each day one day at a time. Focus on the positives, especially the small, little things we tend to overlook in our everyday lives. Reach out for help. With the right resources and a strong support group, you will get better. Going through this journey alone would not have been possible for me. Luckily, I had some of the greatest support from my family and hope with my faith. Because my story has had so many ups and downs, it’s turned me into a more grateful person. Finding CLF’s stories truly helped me get through the hardest parts of this journey, and is why I want to share my story as well. I hope anyone reading this knows they are not alone and are not making these symptoms up in your head. It does get better. Reach out to people and get the resources you need!

PCS Recovery with USFL Safety Dartez Jacobs

“You typically get the testimony after someone has made their way to the other side of healing. Well, I’m right in the midst of it all, and now serve as my own shelter from the storm.”

1. What did you know about concussions while playing youth sports?
I didn’t know what a concussion was until I suffered one in 10th grade. My coaches at the time weren’t educated on the impact of head injuries; I learned through trial and error. A goal line stop that put our team in position to win became a stale joke from my head coach: “Don’t knock yourself out again!” Having complete disregard for my body as a defender was praised. My senior year superlative was, “Most likely to give someone whiplash.” I figured it was a part of the game and came with the territory. “You’re either the hammer or the nail…”

I also remember my brother taking a hit on the sideline during a preseason youth game. I jumped the ramp and ran onto the field because I immediately knew what happened. A concussion ended his playing career. He was probably a bigger football fan than me so to see him call it quits weighed on my spirit for a while. He didn’t have the same enthusiasm for the game after that.

2. You suffered two concussions this past season that led to Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS). What was that experience like? 
Concussions are unfortunately a part of the game, but they aren’t always reported as such. There is more research being done to remove the head from the tackle and protect the defenseless player. You see guys now wearing neck collars, and some teams requiring Guardian Caps over helmets during practice. It’s a pretty nuanced topic in my opinion. Players playing through concussions is also a prevalent part of football culture. We all saw the situation with Tua Tagovailoa and what was blatantly apparent as negligence. There is neglect within the current concussion protocol across the board. As a professional athlete we are conditioned to focus on the main thing no matter what, which is our job security. There’s a quote I’ve heard my entire career from coaches: “The best ability is availability.” This is the same mentality carried by athletes who play through injuries. You can’t secure a job if you’re not available to perform.

The number one priority should be player safety. Every level of football should be intentional about enacting player safety measures. I can relate from personal experience. I suffered two concussions in back-to-back games, where the second could’ve been avoided had I healed fully before returning to play. I was told I cleared protocol without a concussion, so I was unsure why I didn’t feel normal. I voiced my emotional distress as my anxiety intensified. I soon learned that this injury isn’t understood by many in the profession. There is still a lack of education from all involved including players. You can’t suppress and fight your way through a brain injury. You will be forced to surrender as your body heals. I now tell myself every day, “Quality of life is more important than job security.”

3. How did things progress from the first concussion to the second? Did you experience any symptoms?
After the first hit my body went limp from the neck down. I was able to get up after a few seconds and stumbled a bit looking to see if anyone saw from the sideline. That’s when the referee pulled me from the game to be checked for a concussion. I was told I cleared protocol and was allowed to return to the field. I suddenly was no longer able to manage emotions as my anxiety spiraled downward from there. The game ended and my frustration was at an all-time high. A week later I lost consciousness on impact during a second hit and couldn’t remember anything as I walked out of the medical tent. Chronic headaches, light sensitivity, and brain fog were symptoms that lasted long enough for my team to place me on IR for the remainder of the season. I had to completely detach from my normal life and start from scratch in my recovery.

4. How has your PCS affected relationships with teammates, friends, family, and people close to you?
There is a sense of loneliness dealing with PCS because it removes you from your normal headspace. It’s an invisible weight I carried on my shoulders daily. My dreams were sinister, so nightfall brought immense anxiety. I became emotionally dysregulated and drifted in survivor mode. Thankfully my faith has kept me upright. As self-sufficient as I am, I’m not afraid to ask for help when I’ve done all I can on my own. The relationships with my family and teammates have kept me levelheaded during this time. It’s very easy to slip into depression when you thrive in solitude. I made the necessary adjustments and stuck around people who cared about me. There is truth in the saying, “The lone wolf dies.” You can’t get through this alone without a solid community around you.

5. People often say athletes know what they sign up for in regard to concussion awareness. Do you think athletes are aware of the impact concussions can have, especially if not treated properly?
Athletes don’t always think about it, but we take the risk every time we step on the field. We all expect to be treated properly and it doesn’t always happen post-concussion. Everything is reactive instead of proactive. Player safety isn’t seriously considered until someone’s pockets are hurt, life threatening injuries occur, or a player dies. I always say it’s the responsibility of those involved to make yourself aware of the risks you take playing this game. Nobody ever thinks it can happen to them until it does.

 

6. Have any treatments helped improve your symptoms?
Cognitive behavioral therapy for sure. I also worked with a vestibular specialist for balance and neuromuscular retraining. After the season I transitioned over into visceral manipulation and cranial sacral therapy. I’m now working with a clinical neuropsychologist at the Concussion Institute. My physical therapists put a plan together for me to make a full recovery by next season. I look forward to being further ahead than I was before my injury.

Dr. Schwartz from the Institute also mentioned Dr. Chris Nowinski’s advocacy for concussion safety. I did my research on it and made a pledge to the foundation.

7. Was there anything in particular that drove you to that commitment to research? 
As pro athletes, we are conditioned to think this game will reward us for playing through pain. Once I realized it didn’t owe me anything, I started taking more accountability for my health. I’ve used football as an outlet and vehicle my entire career, but I won’t turn a blind eye to the neglect I’ve experienced. CLF is making room for those who support strengthening player safety. The only way we’ll see change is through research and policy shifting. Having uncomfortable conversations around concussions in sports is necessary. It’s time we all look in the mirror.

8. Why do you want to tell your story?
You typically get testimony after someone has made their way to the other side of healing. Well, I’m right in the midst of it all, and now serve as my own shelter from the storm. Somewhere along the way I learned to appreciate uncertainty and exit the loop of fear. I speak not only in regard to what I endured, but also for anyone else who is silently suffering from PCS.

9. What is your hope for the future of football?
Football is growing globally and as more players leave the game, others join. I hope we continue supporting what research shows and educate on the impact of repeat head injuries. The game is more than X’s and O’s; there’s no real-life counsel in your playbook. You can’t take it with you when you leave the game. I hope the culture of dismissing injuries shifts so more athletes don’t lose their mind, or their lives when the game ends for them.

10. How do you hope to use your role as a Concussion Legacy Captain to impact your sport?
My voice is one of the most powerful tools God gave me. I have many tangible experiences to reference. Instead of clinging to false hope, I decided to actively join the change I wish to see.

11. Finally, what would your message of hope and inspiration be to others who might be recovering from a concussion right now?
Be firm and advocate for yourself! Listen to your body. We are much stronger when we’re honest and vulnerable about what we feel. The clichés are true. Be hopeful in the presence of discomfort. Go back to a point in time where life was simple. Rediscover your joy and sit in these moments a little longer. Edit your life and the people around you. Lean on your family, close friends, and most importantly your faith. Get outside in nature and adventure again. Dedicate this challenging season of life for deeper self-mastery. When you wake up and put two feet on the ground, be determined your pain will subside. I channeled the same approach I had for football into healing. Only in my suffering did I find true peace. It may feel like you’re going from one extreme to the next, but your story too will end in triumph.

A Former Hockey Player’s Vow to Help Youth Athletes

“Be smart about anything related to your head. And as soon as something doesn’t feel right, you have to let someone know.”

That’s the message Lewis Simon has for his younger self. Now 23 years old, it’s something Lewis didn’t realize the importance of until a few years back, when a doctor told him he could no longer play the sport he loved because of concussions.

As a kid in Chicago, Lewis had one goal: become a professional hockey player and play in the NHL. He was a passionate, fearless, and aggressive player who had all the tools to make his dream a reality. If anyone was set up to succeed, it was Lewis. He started playing hockey at five years old and never looked back. He realized his potential at a young age when making sacrifices none of his peers had to make, such as missing out on school events.

“I knew since high school this is all I want to do,” said Lewis. “I’m going to play Division I, I’m going to the NHL, I’m going to do whatever it takes to pursue the dream.”

The pace really started to pick up after Lewis dropped lacrosse as a freshman in high school to focus solely on hockey. Then came a move to Pittsburgh as a junior to join a high-level travel AAA team to fast track his development and prepare him for a future playing career. But a severe traumatic brain injury (TBI) and lingering symptoms threw a wrench in those plans.

And though Lewis certainly suspects he experienced a few concussions growing up, they all went undiagnosed and largely untreated. There were days he’d be dizzy and sapped of energy, feeling like his head was in the clouds.

“Looking back, I was a very aggressive player and definitely had been concussed in the past,” said Lewis. “I just never knew because I didn’t have the proper education, or the trainers would simply clear me. There was no guidance.”

It was a vicious cycle. Lewis would take a big hit, get checked out, rest in bed for a week in the dark, fudge through medical forms saying he was better, and then be cleared to play again. Finally, after his third diagnosed concussion at the age of 21, a doctor handed him the news that ended his career.

Without hockey, Lewis felt lost. He needed to recover from his injuries but was still at an age where he wanted to be active, be social, and have fun with his friends. He spent six months in Rochester, NY without a degree, a job, and any college credits. His daily life consisted of going to the rink to watch his teammates, return home to play Xbox, then sleep.

“Those were the dark times for sure,” said Lewis. “I was able to act normal and like I was OK, even though I was miserable inside. If I were to do it over, I would’ve pulled the plug after the first month and gone home and recovered, but I thought being out there, I was doing the right things and I wasn’t.”

Lewis tried different doctors, including multiple vestibular therapists, until he found care that helped him feel better. He thought he could push through and continue playing one day. Ultimately, Lewis decided to put an emphasis on his future and retired from hockey.

Surprisingly, Lewis felt at peace with his decision. Being the driven person he is, Lewis immediately set out to reach his new goal of getting into the one school he always wanted to attend: Northwestern University. This time, no bad news. He was accepted.

Now enrolled at Northwestern, Lewis has kept his passion for hockey alive as a youth coach. And in addition to juggling classes and coaching, he has made time for another pursuit: his own youth apparel company called STY House. Lewis started STY, or Strengthen the Youth, in 2021 as a way to address the effects of concussion in youth athletes. An aficionado of all things apparel, Lewis originally imagined the brand as STYLE House, for men. But he wanted to use his platform for a mission he was passionate about, which led him to STY House. He has since partnered with CLF and donates a portion of his sales to our organization.

At his worst, Lewis said he was fighting his concussion symptoms the majority of the week. These days, Lewis’s symptoms come and go; he has both good and bad weeks. He is able to manage mostly by knowing what triggers his symptoms and doing his best to avoid those triggers. Some of these include bright lights, large crowds, and driving at night. He prioritizes getting an adequate amount of sleep, exercising, and eating right. Though he is still busy with school, coaching, and his business, he stays aware of his limits to keep his symptoms in check.

 

Earlier this year, Lewis shared his own #ConcussionHope video with CLF to inspire positivity and perseverance in others. He wants parents, coaches, and trainers to get properly educated to support and protect their kids. And though he can no longer play the sport he loves; he is grateful he can stay connected to hockey by coaching and guiding the next generation of young athletes.

To learn more about Lewis Simon and STY House, you can visit styhouse.com.

Hope with PCS: Kylie Lowell’s Recovery Journey

My name is Kylie Lowell and I am a Peer Support Volunteer for the Concussion Legacy Foundation (CLF). Before my concussions I played three sports and was active with my school and community. However, after getting hurt I had to give up the most important thing to me: sports. Basketball was always the sport I gave my body to. I loved the excitement and quickness of the game. While I was in eighth grade I got the opportunity to play on the varsity team. Unfortunately before getting the chance to, I got a concussion – while diving for the ball, a girl from the other team slammed her elbow into the side of my head. From that force, I fell backward and hit the back of my head on the gym floor. I do not remember much of the incident as I had blacked out for a few seconds. I was taken out of the game and did not return to play. I missed out on playing on varsity but I had no idea what was going to become of my future after that night.

The hardest part for me was the loss of sports and my friends. When I knew my sports career was over, I felt like a big piece of me had died. Sports were absolutely everything to me and I could never picture myself without them. Everyone would tell me I was born to be an athlete. Sports were my outlet and I dedicated everything to them because it was what brought me the most joy. To have to sit back and watch everyone else get to play while I couldn’t was and is one of the hardest pills to swallow. About two years into having Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS), I was diagnosed with dysautonomia which is a disruption to the part of my nervous system that controls breathing, heartbeat and digestion. I went from being able to run up and down the basketball court as many times as I wanted, to barely being able to walk across my yard without feeling like passing out. Going for simple walks, walking up the stairs, or carrying anything over 10 pounds made my heart rate go up to 190 bpm and above. It made my head throb and I felt as though I could collapse. This was and still is extremely difficult for me to come to terms with. I have always been an active person but now have to start over doing very little at a time because of the dysautonomia.

School was also one of my biggest challenges. I had no support from my school and I felt like I was not wanted there anymore. My friends were not compassionate and teachers stopped asking about me. I lost almost all of my friends simply because they thought I was faking and I was not a convenient friend due to my absence in school. When doctors would ask me to describe how I was feeling, I became speechless. I could not find the words to describe what I was going through when the symptoms were not visible. My way of processing information and being able to communicate it became so different. It is hard for me to reach the information I have and communicate that verbally, which is very frustrating.

The emotional toll of PCS was something I never would have expected. No one had warned me of the effects it could have on my mental health. I cannot stand the noise of people’s utensils and plates hitting together; it’s like nails on a chalkboard. There were endless days and nights of making my room completely dark and putting a pillow over my head to try and drown out the sounds. All I could do was sob and scream into my pillow begging for the pain to go away. The pain was unbearable. It was endless. I felt like I was quite literally going crazy. It was so frustrating to have to feel like a completely different person and not understand why. One of the hardest parts was the people around me could not see the pain I was in, so it was hard for them to believe me. After I had lost my friends and took a medical leave I hit absolute rock bottom. I was at home everyday with no contact from my “friends” and I refused to leave the house. At this time I was still not being seen by the correct doctors and had no accommodations to protect me in school. I became isolated and it caused a huge disruption in my family. It was like I had left the world for a few years. I had never felt so alone and like I had no reason left to be around, a feeling I would never wish on anyone.

However, the year after I had hit rock bottom my spirits were lifted for the first time in three years. While desperate for answers we came across the Concussion Legacy Foundation, and the Inspiring Stories section. I started to scan and read these stories of other teenagers with PCS who were experiencing everything I had been trying to put into words. The instant flood of relief and weight off my shoulders was indescribable. I could not believe it. I cried to let it out, knowing that everything I had felt was real and for the first time I knew I wasn’t alone. Two years before I had found CLF, I did not see a future for myself and the isolation took over me. Now, I felt a burst of hope and knew recovery was possible. After taking a medical leave my sophomore year, I had begun to think about other schooling options as I did not feel welcomed back to my sending school. I started to attend an alternative high school called Mount Tom Academy. I began at Mount Tom Academy as a sophomore but was able to complete three years of academic classes in two years. I had worked harder than I ever thought possible and completed classes during the summer without teacher instruction. I began to believe that graduation was in my grasp and I wouldn’t be held back by my injury. After starting to get the right treatments I noticed my symptoms were starting to improve. I had learned how to manage my symptoms better and that was a huge help for myself.

I had been seen by many doctors and medical professionals and none of them could give me answers. It was not until I saw Dr. Neal McGrath that I finally felt like I was not crazy in how I was feeling. He was kind to me and did not question my symptoms. He was the first doctor who started to give me the appropriate accommodations for school. After a few months of seeing him, we had found the Concussion Legacy Foundation and Dr. Robert Cantu. As I started to see Dr. Cantu, my health improved and I was able to become successful in school.

As I have been involved with CLF throughout my recovery, I have experienced great opportunities in a short amount of time. About a year after I had been mentored by someone at CLF I was asked to be in a video for their gala. I told everyone who was watching about me and my relationship with my mentor. I felt so empowered during the process because I knew it would at least help someone out there and that brought me comfort. After having a life-saving experience with CLF I became a mentor to other teenagers. I wanted to give back and hopefully help others like I was helped. I have been a mentor for about two years now and recently I was featured on Boston 25 News. The interviewer had seen my video and wanted to interview me about my concussions and mental health. I was again so thankful to CLF and Fox 25 for giving me the platform to hopefully help others know they are never alone.

 

My advice to others who may be struggling is to reach out. I know it can be scary but reach out to CLF, me, or anyone else on here because we all understand you. When I was connected with my mentor through CLF it helped me so much to be able to talk to someone who understood every single feeling I had when so many others did not. I would also tell you to stick with your gut and know that what you’re feeling is absolutely real even if people tell you it is not. It can be so discouraging when no one will believe you but I believe you. Always stick to your gut and know it WILL get better. I think it is important for people suffering from PCS to know that it is OK to let yourself have these feelings. I have held in a lot of the emotion surrounding my PCS because I did not know what I was feeling was understandable. Although I have lost a lot throughout my recovery, I have also gained a lot of insight that will help others and serve me well in my future. I now get to help others going through PCS and spread awareness and I am extremely grateful for that.

 

Why I Stopped Playing Football at Age 17

My name is Matthew Solomon. I have loved football for as long as I can remember. No other sport has captured my heart and soul the same way.

Football is a very intricate sport, one that I think many people don’t fully appreciate. Small nuances can make the difference between a hard-fought win or loss. Every game is an exciting adventure to watch, and with only a few games each season, every week counts. Whether you are a player or a fan, when your team is winning, there is no greater feeling of pride.

And the people behind the sport? Football players are a different breed. They may be strong or fast, or both, but always tough, even fearless. Yet in football, no individual alone can carry a team. The whole is always greater than the parts and being part of a team is like a second family. You work together, celebrate together, and share disappointment together. That camaraderie is very powerful, and sometimes even the underdog can achieve incredible victories.

Over the years I played flag football then progressed into tackle. Outwitting, outmuscling, or outrunning an opponent is thrilling. Scoring a touchdown is the greatest feeling in the world.

My brain injuries didn’t start until my freshman year of high school when I blocked a punt with my head. I don’t even really remember it. It was near the end of the game and my adrenaline was running so high, I didn’t start to feel the concussion symptoms until that evening.

After dinner, I saw my school doctor and was placed in a dark room to recover. The doctor alerted my parents, coaches, and teachers, and the return-to-play protocol was slow and thorough. I was told to stay off my phone and my computer. My head hurt and I had a heightened sensitivity to light. I was lethargic and slept a lot, and I wasn’t very hungry. After about 36 hours at the health center, I was sent home for the weekend to rest and was instructed not to read or watch TV. I missed the last football game of the season against our biggest rival. I was sad to miss such a fun tradition at my school.

The next week I went back to class to listen. My teachers were told not to expect that I participate, do homework, or take any tests. The following week catching up on schoolwork was a bit stressful, but I got to go back to the trainer under our return-to-play policy. I was tested for headaches while increasing my workout activity each day before I was allowed to go back to football practice.

The following season, upon falling to the ground after a tackle, I had an awful feeling that I had injured my brain again. I recovered quickly from that hit, but later the same season, I was stiff-armed by a much larger player in a practice and once again suffered a diagnosed concussion.

I knew in my heart that this could impact my long-term health. The concussions seemed to come easily. The risks were becoming great. I was missing school, friends, and time just being a teenager. I see NFL players, some of the best in the world, suffer concussions right before my eyes. I read about CTE and the things that it causes some people do, how they suffer, and maybe hurt others. I see the struggle my grandparents go through with my grandfather’s dementia. Brain health is so fragile, yet so critical to leading a healthy and happy life.

I was angry and sad. After letting it sink in for a bit, and talking to my coach, we decided I would finish the season as a student assistant coach. Aside from helping the coaches at practice and games, I watched film and logged team stats. I was on the sidelines with the squad through all the ups and downs. I love this game whether in pads or not.

I stay active and have fun in many other ways. Health and fitness are very important to me. I enjoy weightlifting and I run track in the spring. At school, my friend and I started a “rec games” club where we’ve played kickball, capture the flag and other non-contact sports.

I took an online scouting class during the Covid-19 lockdown, track football stats in my free time, participate in a number of football chat rooms, and have fantasy drafts with my friends. I hope to study sports management and work in the professional sports industry someday. I love this game. I always have and I always will.

Every student-athlete has different goals and experiences. I find competing very exciting, and I love the camaraderie of a team. The important thing is to be true to yourself. For me, that means prioritizing my brain health for my future.

If you think you have sustained a concussion, tell a coach, see a doctor, and take the necessary time to heal. If you think you see someone else suffer a concussion, speak up.

Lost Inside Myself: My Battle with PCS

Warning: This story contains mention of suicide and may be triggering to some readers. 

Posted: May 24, 2021

Lost Inside Myself

My current symptoms are a result of not just one concussion, but a cluster of three head hits sustained over a three-day period. These most recent concussions occurred in early September 2018 – the first when I was hit in the back of my head with a car door. A day later I had gotten water in my eye in the shower and whipped my head back. Then later that night I ran into a metal bedpost in our bedroom. Clearly, I’m a walking disaster so there is no telling which hit specifically caused the concussion(s).

My first diagnosed concussion happened in 2016 after a volleyball accident at work when I was an athletic trainer. After that diagnosis, I slowly returned to normal activities as my symptoms subsided. I attempted to manage this last cluster of concussions the same way. I continued to have vision and noise sensitivity issues but assumed they would improve with time if I was careful. By November 2018, I was still struggling with daily living, so I went to see my primary care physician. She diagnosed me with Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS) and referred me to their concussion management team. I received therapy for visual processing issues, vertigo, headaches, anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

My vision issues, vertigo, and headaches were incredibly intense and forced me to isolate in our home for multiple months. My husband and I sat in almost complete darkness and silence, with only side lamps for light and speaking in hushed tones. Unable to watch television, I sat alone in the dark for most of this time, only listening to podcasts and reruns of shows I’d seen enough times to replay the images in my head.
I couldn’t tolerate any part of the outside world for a very long time. I went six months without going to the grocery store. When I was forced to go out, I looked like Carmen Sandiego with a wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses, and earplugs or noise-canceling headphones. I looked like I didn’t belong. I felt like I didn’t belong. When I stepped outside of the house, my skin crawled from sensory overload.

I looked like I didn’t belong. I felt like I didn’t belong. When I stepped outside of the house, my skin crawled from sensory overload.

As time dragged on, my physical symptoms slowly improved. I was able to manage my mental health well in the beginning with the help of my neuropsychologist and counselor. I felt like I had a good-sized toolbox of resources to manage my anxiety and depression, which I had experienced and taken medication for when I was a teenager. I soon realized that the changes that were occurring in my brain were unlike anything I had experienced before and they were going to turn my life and sense of self upside down.

To me, it wasn’t a rollercoaster of highs and lows, or two steps forward one step back, until after I hit the one-year mark. Up until that point if I wasn’t battling one symptom, I was battling another, and the causes seemed unpredictable. My vision and headaches finally started to improve around February and March of 2019 after stabilizing on all the medications. As those physical symptoms got better, my mental health took a drastic turn for the worst. The mental health challenges I endured over the next few months were excruciating and the physical symptoms I still paled in comparison to the soul-torturing nightmare that was going on inside of my head.

I felt lost inside myself – like someone I didn’t know was behind the wheel. She was a person who did not feel at home in my life, who did not feel like she connected to and loved the people whom I loved, who was easily triggered, and who felt impulsive and dangerous. It felt as though she was going to hijack my life and burn everything I loved and worked so hard for to the ground. For a few weeks I talked to my therapist and neuropsychologist about whether I could be dealing with something in addition to anxiety, depression, and PTSD. I was concerned I was manic depressive or developing a personality disorder.

After my breakdown in the summer of 2017, nine months after my volleyball concussion, I stopped drinking alcohol and drastically limited my caffeine intake. Had I not quit those things that could eventually develop into an addiction or that I could self-medicate with, I think my story could have ended very differently.

I also struggle with perfectionism, so the confusion around what I was experiencing was especially brutal. I was a people-pleasing perfectionist who tried to always think of others, do nice things, be a good person, and analyze my words and actions for how they might affect others. It ate me alive to feel like I was someone who represents all the worst things I ever feared I could be. My anxiety was in overdrive and my depression about the horrible human being I was becoming was causing me to completely withdraw from every relationship in my life. I was dissociating and self-isolating in order to protect myself and the people that I loved. I believed I had to turn off my heart and my spirit to keep them from infecting this beautiful, tender, vulnerable, precious life of mine.

My anxiety was in overdrive and my depression about the horrible human being I was becoming was causing me to completely withdraw from every relationship in my life.

One day, I hit a breaking point. I had gone to an appointment with my primary care physician and I lied to her about how I was doing mentally. I had suicidal thoughts a few times in the weeks before the appointment and was starting to feel like the people in my life would be better off without me. I shared none of that information with her. I drove to work after my appointment and broke down sobbing in my car in the parking lot. I called my husband and told him I no longer trusted myself to keep myself alive any longer. It was a giant red flag to know I was dangerously close to the point of no return, yet I still felt like withholding information from my physician. I needed a safety net because I wasn’t able to keep myself afloat anymore. Despite wanting to be off medication so my husband and I could start a family, I made the difficult decision to go back on medications. That day in the car, I realized I needed to stay alive before thinking about the future.

I met with my neuropsychologist the next day and she said I had a survivor’s instinct. That was something I didn’t expect – wasn’t I thinking about suicide? She explained how even at what felt like rock bottom, there was a part of me, the fighter in me, that understood how withholding information from a medical professional was deceptive. The fighter in me overrode whatever else I was feeling. We also talked about whether I thought I needed to go inpatient for suicide watch. It was scary to have to self-assess your ability to keep yourself alive. Until now, I don’t think I really appreciated the amount of integrity and grit it takes to evaluate your own mental stability and know you are the only person who knows if you are being truthful. I decided that I did feel “stable,” for lack of a better word, enough to start meds and not go into inpatient care. I bumped up my therapy to twice a week and was barely making it from day to day. I was practicing mindfulness like it was my religion to keep me afloat until the meds kicked in. I was in a kind of vast and unending darkness that I feared would swallow me whole. But I began to see a light in the corner. I had to keep it in my vision for fear that if I blinked it would go out, like a candle in the wind. Each day, the light grew slightly bigger, stronger, and warmer. I was starting to find some space and some room to breathe.

I was in a kind of vast and unending darkness that I feared would swallow me whole. But I began to see a light in the corner.

As the meds kicked in and the depression slowly started to lift, I was now regularly filled with grief. I cried. A lot. I was so overcome with grief for the life and future I felt like I had lost. My heart was filled with such brokenness, this is not how it was meant to be. I slowly realized that this grief was my heart unfreezing and although I was still very disconnected from the people and the things in my life that I loved, my heart missed them. That was important. That was a cause for hope.

 

Finding My Way Home

By the end of April 2019 and after two months of medication, I decided to transition back to work full-time as a P.E. and Health teacher. I was constantly exhausted, falling asleep by 6:30 p.m. and sleeping 11-12 hours on workdays. At this time I had also finally conquered the feat of everyday necessities like going to the grocery store. I could slowly start to do small things to lift my spirits like going for a walk or seeing family, but I could only do it on days I didn’t work.  I felt like I was running my life on a cost-benefit Excel sheet. Before doing any activity or leaving the house, I’d have to ask myself “what is this going to cost me?” and “what am I going to gain?” Life was not enjoyable, but I wasn’t constantly suffering anymore.

During the summer I got to really work on self-care. I walked on the greenbelt, swam in the pool 4-5 days a week, and spent time journaling. I was also able to focus on my relationships by taking love from just a feeling and making it into an action. I had come to realize I wasn’t feeling the same emotions I used to feel when I thought of someone or was with someone I cared about. I needed to work on flexing my love muscle and I diligently tried to cultivate this feeling in myself for the people in my life. This helped for a while but slowly morphed into me analyzing encounters I was having with those close to me. I started to question my decisions and picked apart my interactions with others. My dissociation only compounded as I continued to assess the damage PCS took on my life. Getting out of my head was so important and through mindfulness, I slowly got there. It took a ton of work. It still takes a ton of work. But each day, week, and month, the work slowly gets easier.

My PCS eventually crossed from the months and into the years category. The idea of having PCS for years seemed unbearable and I really started to wrestle with how long I thought I could go through life like this. Could I care for others or children? Did I think I could be a worthy wife for my partner? Was it fair to my husband to ask him to stay married to me if I am like this forever? I tried to spend some time, but not too much time, mulling over these questions and their possible answers. A wise friend of mine named Ellen, who also had PCS (if you don’t already have a friend who has it, go find one) once said, “Sometimes it’s hard to know if there is an answer. You can drive yourself crazy looking for answers. Eventually, you just have to be OK with not having answers to some of your questions.” She could not have been more right. The conversations I had with her and another friend, Tessie, who serendipitously also had PCS at the same time as me, changed my perspective and my life. I don’t think I would be here today if it wasn’t for them. Find a PCS partner in crime, it will be one of the most important things you do on your journey.

Find a PCS partner in crime, it will be one of the most important things you do on your journey.

I had to come to terms with some hard truths and the quicker I did that, the quicker my heart softened, and I started to see a road home – a road back to myself. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, that road started with trust. Trust is about the hardest thing to lean into when you have PCS. For me, I didn’t feel I could trust anyone, and I didn’t feel like I or anyone could trust my brain. After suffering from PCS for so long, I felt my brain and body were always in danger. But I had to learn to trust. I had to trust that it would be OK. I had to trust this was happening for a reason. I slowly realized that home isn’t a place you find – it is a place you make. By making a home within myself, I created a place I’d always feel safe. I transitioned from feeling like a broken monster who could never belong anywhere to a healing person.

 

I have done immense amounts of work to help destigmatize mental health challenges at my job and in my community because I never want anyone else to feel as alienated as I did. I remember in the darkest hours of the darkest days believing there isn’t a place for people like me in this world. I thought I’d never again fit in and never again be made whole. Every time I write or read these two sentences, a weight fills my heart and tears fill my eyes. I feel those words perfectly encapsulate my PCS experience. It makes me so grateful I made it out alive and it fills me with so much empathy for those that did not.

I work very hard to focus on being present and what is in front of me instead of what happened or what the future will look like. It took a lot of deconditioning and reconditioning for me to learn that self-care isn’t selfish – it’s self-preserving and self-sustaining. I need self-care to function to the best of my abilities with these new parameters in this time that I prefer to see as “the weirds” instead of my “new normal.” “The weirds” is a phrase I’ve adopted from my favorite podcast, Staying In with Emily & Kumail. They use it to describe the time of COVID, but I think it also eloquently describes PCS recovery. “The weirds” seemed more palatable than a “new normal” and a much better description as this experience is weird and nothing about it is normal!

In November 2019, at the end of a long break from work and a year after being diagnosed with PCS, I had two days where I was symptom-free enough to forget I had PCS. Feeling that well for just two days changed everything. It gave me hope and changed what I believed was possible for me. Then I returned to work and all my symptoms came back. It was the same routine and my mind and body just felt like they had had enough. My symptoms continued to increase over the winter. Having the stark contrast of feeling healed against a flood of symptoms upon returning to work really proved how significantly and negatively my job was impacting my recovery. If being symptom-free was possible even for moments in time, that needed to be the goal. I wanted quality of life. I was sick of surviving. I had been surviving for too long. I decided to leave my job.

 

A Place to Belong

In the most unfortunate of circumstances, God and Mother Earth brought the world to meet me where I was at. The cost the coronavirus took and continues to take on the world is astronomical. I see the hardship, sacrifice, anxiety, and turmoil not only on the news but in my own home. It feels unfair and selfish to revel in the peace I have found during this time. The world has come to a grinding halt. It is slower, quieter, and everything my brain yearns for my environment to be. I am outside for hours most days gardening, hiking, walking, or riding my bike around the neighborhood. I can do activities all day long with a small break or two, instead of only tolerating a few hours of activity. It is amazing what my brain could do when I am not with middle school students for 40 hours a week. My headaches are almost gone and I am completely off of my nausea meds. Most importantly, I feel more and more like myself. My sense of humor and wit, my kindness in acts and words, my thoughtfulness in the way I deeply think about others and their situations, my compassion and empathy for people, and my personality are returning. I can look around and feel like this is my life, these are my people, I belong here.

 

It has been over five years since my very first diagnosed concussion and I have been experiencing symptoms off and on from multiple concussions ever since. I deserve better and so do the people I care about. Things are definitely improving, but there are still hard moments. I have started to taper off my antidepressants and that feels scary. I think I am ready but the little doubters in my head make me question if I can do it or if I’ll fall apart. But I’ve found things that help me focus on the positives and I am sticking to them. I am doing my best to give myself the grace I deserve and proud of what I survived. I am proud to have survived. I am so grateful for the people who kept showing up for me every day even when I couldn’t show up for them or myself. I say to myself, “How lucky am I that I get to fall in love with my life all over again?” I feel even luckier that through this journey I’ve also fallen even more in love with my husband. I feel so blessed for my life and the growth I’ve had- the closure and resolution I’ve found where there was brokenness, the relationships that grew boundaries and connections in ways I never thought possible, and the light that found its way to me through what felt like impenetrable darkness. For all PCS took away from me, I have gained so much through it all.

For all PCS took away from me, I have gained so much through it all.

I hope part of my reason for having PCS is helping you. You are not alone. You will make it out the other side. As much as I disdain the term, you will find your “new normal.” You will create a worthwhile place where you can feel at home in “the weirds,” in your “weirds.” It may take endless therapy sessions talking about how afraid you are that things won’t feel or be the same but you will slowly start to evolve. You will see a shift towards a wholehearted you. Self-compassion, boundaries, strength, intuition, giving grace and leaning into the unknown will slowly and surely start to come easier. And it’s in part because over time, you changed your mindset. You have to believe you can rediscover the good in you.

I’ll leave you with one last story, a Cherokee parable titled “A Tale of Two Wolves”:

An old Cherokee told his grandson,
“My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all.
One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies and ego.
The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy and truth.”
The boy thought about it, and asked, “Grandfather, which wolf wins?”
The old man quietly replied,
“The one you feed.”

May feeding your “Good Wolf” get easier. May you find the presence necessary to experience the beauty that is around you. May your head be full of peace and your soul be full of hope. May you find companionship in your journey and grace in your heart. May you practice self-compassion and learn to love the parts you once believed to be unlovable. May you never ever feel alone.


If you or someone you know is struggling with concussion or suspected CTE symptoms, reach out to us through the CLF HelpLine. We support patients and families by 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.

Suicide is preventable and help is available. 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 emotional support, call the 988 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.

College Teammates Launch Concussion Awareness 5K

Posted: March 16, 2021 

Courtney Spitzer’s story

Gymnastics became increasingly more difficult on my body as I grew older. By my 20s, many skills felt different, including my Jaeger—a skill on the uneven bars in which a gymnast starts in a handstand, swings forward, releases the bar, flips, and catches it again. If she misses, it’s a 10-foot fall to her stomach. By my senior year of college, I repeatedly fell off the bar multiple times a day, whiplashing my neck with each impact.

By November 2017, I was not feeling right. I had sustained two fairly serious concussions the previous year, so I was familiar with the symptoms. This experience was similar, but I remembered no specific impact, and neither I, nor my doctor, attributed this to a brain injury. For the next five months, I was sent from one physician to another as my extreme fatigue, headache, and nausea persisted, interspersed with confusing symptoms like low blood pressure and GI issues. No one could pinpoint the problem, until one day, my doctor, fresh from new training on concussion treatment, walked me through a series of tests which I failed miserably. I was diagnosed with Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS) and referred to vision and vestibular therapy. At this point, there were only two months left in the school year, and I had missed the entirety of my 20th, and final, year of gymnastics.

Because of the understanding and flexibility of my professors, I successfully graduated from Cornell University in May and moved back to San Diego, having improved significantly, but without fully completing my treatment. Two weeks later, I was rear-ended. I reverted to my disoriented, nauseous and emotionally volatile state. Worst of all, I felt like my personality was gone. After weeks of little progress but plenty of fear, a cancellation gave me an appointment at UCSD’s concussion clinic. In addition to vestibular and vision therapy, I began a regimented return to physical activity and slowly took-up running. My balance and normal vision returned; my nausea, fatigue, and headaches decreased; and I finally felt more like myself.

When I was given an opportunity to work under a researcher at Harvard Medical School a few months later, I moved to Boston. My proximity to medicine and history of concussions influenced my decision to pursue a medical degree, so I enrolled in night classes and began studying for the MCAT. This overexerted my brain, and my fatigue returned, my headaches increased, and I felt my functioning slipping. I was referred to the concussion clinic at BU, and again, started vestibular therapy, a regimented exercise routine, osteopathic manipulation to help with neck pain, and acupuncture to relieve sharp pains emanating into the base of my skull.

Since this final visit to BU in 2019, I now feel like my normal self. I usually live symptom-free, but some days still experience headaches and brain fog. I’ve learned how to manage, when to take it easy, and when a run will likely relieve persistent fogginess. I understand how daunting the PCS healing process can be and the intense frustration of setbacks, but I take solace in knowing that my experiences have directed my goals. For anyone struggling with PCS, I hope you can find peace in your resilience and feel confident that one day you’ll feel like yourself again.

Lauren Wong’s story

As a senior in high school, college gymnastics seemed like an exciting next step in my athletic career. I was ready to take on the NCAA and planned to compete all four years as a consistent member in the Cornell University lineup. However, that all changed in January 2015 during my freshman year. I was at practice when I was on the floor performing a round-off back handspring double pike when I over-rotated the landing and smacked the back of my head on the floor as I rolled backwards. Initially, I felt fine and was adamant that I could continue with practice despite our trainer’s concerns. As the day progressed, I started to feel more and more out of it. My balance felt off, I was seeing double, and I was having major difficulty concentrating. After another hour or so, I was crying for no reason and complaining of head pain and the bright lights aggravating me. Another few hours passed and I wasn’t able to walk without assistance. My memory is still extremely fuzzy on the rest of the day’s events. I was out for the rest of the season and had to drop all but one of my classes. Recovery was extremely slow, and I didn’t start to feel like myself again until the summer.

By fall of sophomore year, I was feeling back to my old self after months of rest and recovery. Unfortunately, I suffered three more concussions throughout my collegiate career; one each academic year. Although each concussion decreased in severity, my Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS) worsened, and after my third concussion, I began having visual problems and could not see properly. I started vision therapy and received special glasses to wear while studying. However, I wasn’t able to continue treatment due to travel difficulties and balancing therapy while still taking a full course of classes and gymnastics practice.

In 2018, I graduated from Cornell University and returned home to Los Angeles, California. I was still suffering from constant headaches, fatigue, and adverse reactions to blinking lights so I sought out treatment again. I figured being in LA with so many great universities and sports teams in the area it would be easy to find a doctor who understood my symptoms and could provide me with the appropriate treatment. Unfortunately, I was wrong. I went to my primary care physician and even a concussion clinic from a well-renowned university hospital. Both doctors told me that it was impossible for me to still have symptoms from my concussions and that I simply suffered from migraines. They gave me various medications and sent me home. These medications obviously were ineffective, and I was feeling utterly defeated; crazy that I was still having symptoms, frustrated that no one believed what I was saying, and hopeless that I would ever feel relief from my symptoms.

Fortunately, I have a great support system of friends and family that believe my symptoms and that I can get better. Because of their support and by hearing other’s concussion stories, I am motivated again to start finding treatment for my PCS. I currently still suffer from many symptoms but am searching for new treatments available near me and am hopeful that I will return to my normal self! I have learned it’s never too late to start looking for treatment and you are not alone. There is an amazing community here that believes in you and supports you so don’t give up and keep on moving forward one day at a time!

Why we created the Resilient Minds 5K

Our concussion histories led us to create the Resilient Minds 5K for the Concussion Legacy Foundation, as we believe in their mission to support vital research, connect patients with necessary care, and highlight individuals’ stories to provide hope for those currently experiencing this debilitating injury.

Please join us for the Resilient Minds 5K or support us by donating to CLF!

Noelle Foley’s PCS Roller Coaster Ride

Posted: August 5, 2020

Concussion. A word I don’t want to say for the rest of my life. But that’s just not the case, because I’m about to say “concussion” a whole lot in this story. I wouldn’t wish a concussion on my worst enemy… well maybe my WORST, worst enemy…

So how did I get my concussion? It was September 2019. Yes, September, as in nine months ago! I went to a theme park I’ve never been to with the intent of having a jolly ole time, but unfortunately it didn’t end up that way. After having a few snacks and riding some rides, my boyfriend Frank and I decided to go on this interesting looking roller coaster. It looked different, but I didn’t think much of it. I looked at the safety warnings, and they were no different than any other roller coaster I’ve been on.

We got on the roller coaster, strapped in, got the over the shoulders seat secured, and the ride began. The coaster started out normally and went up for the drop. It dropped, and immediately went directly back up and BOOM my head and neck thrash back causing my head to hit VERY hard against the headrest. I felt an immediate blow to my skull, with an intense sense of pain right away. I wanted to get off the ride immediately, but unfortunately this was only the beginning. The whiplash motion happened a few more times, each time my head slamming against the headrest. After the last drop, which was the highest drop of all, the roller coaster took a few rough upside-down turns, slamming my head even more, and at the last loop, we remained upside down for a few seconds. Fun, right?

So, the ride finally came to an end, and I got off and immediately felt like a huge bag of sh%t! I was nauseous, dizzy, and obviously in a ton of pain. I took a seat to rest for a while. I put ice cubes on my head, neck, and body to kind of wake myself up (I didn’t pass out, I just felt extreme fatigue like I wanted to go to sleep). It never occurred to me this could possibly be a concussion. I had never had a concussion before so it didn’t cross my mind that a roller coaster could cause a brain injury.

Frank took this picture moments after I hit my head:

This picture where I look sad, angry, and in pain is exactly how I was feeling. And yes, those are tears forming in my eyes. To be honest, I don’t remember much of the day after this. The next day, Frank and I had plans to fly out to LA to film a quick project. I woke up that morning feeling like absolute crap, but we stuck with our plans because I thought the pain would pass. On our ride to the airport, I felt extremely nauseous, like I was about to throw up. I honestly thought I was feeling this way because I ate junk food the day before, but looking back, I was clearly feeling nauseous because I had a brain injury.

Days went by, and I still had a horrible headache. Weeks passed, I still had a horrible headache. A month went by, and surprise, I still had a horrible headache. It wasn’t until my older brother, Dewey, told me I could possibly have a concussion. At this point, about a month after my head injury, it still never crossed my mind that I could even possibly have a concussion. When I think of suffering a concussion, I think of being in a car accident or being punched in the face or getting knocked out or being thrown off a Hell in a Cell… not riding a roller coaster. I’ve been riding the biggest, tallest, most intense roller coasters across the country since I was in first grade (yes, I was tall enough even at 6 years old). Over the past 20 years I’ve ridden hundreds, if not thousands, of roller coasters and I have never had any type of issue or injury.

Right after Dewey told me about the possibility of a concussion, I did a simple Google search and it turned out I had almost every single symptom of a concussion. I finally got an appointment to get my head checked out. Right away, the doctor confirmed it was a concussion and ordered physical therapy sessions and also ordered an X-ray of my neck because the doctor could feel my neck was very stiff. The X-ray came back that the cervical spine in my neck was curved backwards, most likely as a result of the whiplash of the roller coaster.

I can count on one hand how many times I’ve driven at night in the past nine months. And when I’m in the car at night, with someone else driving, I have to wear sunglasses and completely cover my face with a jacket, blanket, or hat. As far as sounds, it feels like I have the hearing of an owl (fun fact- owls can hear the heartbeat of the mouse 400m away). Well maybe my hearing isn’t that intense, but it is still super-dee-duper sensitive. From the vacuum, to the TV, to my little brother talking too loudly, to my dogs barking, sometimes it feels impossible to escape the sounds. So that’s why I have earplugs next to me at all times so I can just pop them in if the noises are too overwhelming.

The back of my head is still extremely sensitive to touch. Even when I’m trying to go to sleep, it hurts to put my head on the pillow, so I have to readjust a lot to find a way for my head to be comfortable. Also, every time I’ve been in the car, I have not let my head even touch the headrest, just in case we hit a bump or hit the brakes a little too hard. I just cannot risk my head even being slightly hit. I’m scarred from headrests, literally.

Aside from the obvious pain that comes with concussions, I’ve also been suffering mentally and emotionally. In simple terms, I’ve been a mess. Not a hot mess, not a cute mess, just a straight up MESS. Basically, every single one of my emotions has been heightened and amplified. I’ve been through periods of depression throughout this whole concussion journey. I’ve had mental breakdowns, meltdowns and panic attacks; some of which happened in public.

One of the very last times I was in public, before the pandemic, Frank and I went out to this nice restaurant for dinner. They sat us at a really nice table, but it was right under a bright light, so we had to move tables. We sat down again at a dimmer lit table and as we were looking at our menus, a big party sat down next to us. Right away they started taking pictures with flash! My mortal enemy! And by the fourth flash I internally started to freak out. I grabbed my stuff, told the waiter I have to leave (he was very confused) and I essentially ran out of the restaurant leaving Frank behind. And then I let it all out in the stairway (my tears). It really sucks because everywhere I go, I have to be on alert of bright lights and loud sounds, even at places like restaurants. This certainly wasn’t the first time I had to leave something because of lights, cameras, or loud noises. Do you know where it happened a lot? The Disney Cruise I just went on a few months ago.

I booked a Disney cruise back in October, one month after my concussion. After a little research, I found that most concussions last one to two months, tops! On average, concussion symptoms typically last only a few weeks. The cruise was booked for the end of February and I thought “There is NO way I could possibly still have concussion symptoms by then.” Boy was I wrong!

I was looking forward to this cruise so much! I’m a huge Disney fan, and I haven’t been on a Disney cruise since I was in middle school, so I was just really excited to feel happy for once… but it did not turn out that way. The morning of the cruise, I was feeling horrific; even worse than normal. Most likely due to a few restless nights before. Basically, sleep is the only thing that helps me, and if I don’t get enough sleep, it’s going to be a very, very bad day.

We get on the cruise, walk around for a little, eat some lunch, and all I want to do is lay down, even on this gorgeous cruise ship. I felt so horrible that I missed dinners, shows, and even the Pirates of the Caribbean dance party. I basically missed every fun activity on the cruise ship because my head could not tolerate the pain and I was internally miserable (despite what my Instagram looked like). Most of my Instagram pictures in the past nine months have either been throwback pictures or me just putting on a fake smile.

Here is what I actually looked like on the cruise:

It is a very scary thing how much pain a smile can hide. Not just in pictures, but in real life too. I put on a smile for other people when the last thing I wanted to do was smile. I just don’t like to be a downer or bring down the mood of others, especially while on vacation. I do feel bad for Frank because he missed out on all the fun activities of the cruise because he mostly stayed with me.

In the beginning of my concussion journey, I could barely talk or smile because I was in so much pain and it was honestly exhausting to put much energy into something as simple as grinning and speaking. Over time, I got better at talking and smiling, not because I was feeling better, but because I got better at hiding it. The average person would never suspect I was in so much pain underneath my smile.

So that’s how my concussion has been going. I’ve been trying several different treatments for my head, but nothing seems to actually help. I’ve tried physical therapy, acupuncture, electrotherapy, cupping, breathing exercises, extremely deep neck massages to help break up the pressure in my neck, flotation tanks, SOS manual therapy, herbal medicines, eating healthy, and taking supplements.

I’ve also been resting a ton; I was self-quarantining even before this pandemic, despite it looking like I’m living my best life on Instagram. I didn’t leave my house or wash my face for three weeks in January. That was where I was at, just no motivation for anything. I’ve cut down screen time on my phone and computer, I stopped emailing companies, which has made me lose a lot of work. I’ve cancelled fun plans and trips. I haven’t been able to work out in nine months because it makes me feel even worse. I’ve basically stopped life. And I’m sure a lot of you are feeling the same way right about now because of the current situation of our world. I want to continue to try out other treatments, even the most outlandish ones, but it’s been hard the last few months with places being shut down, and I don’t want to put myself (or my family) at risk if I were to go to clinics that are open. I’ve recently been trying to manage the pain with monthly migraine prevention injections. They hurt way worse than any other shot I’ve had, and I have to do the shot myself. Some days it helps, other days it doesn’t… at all.

There are a few reasons why my concussion symptoms are lasting so long. One doctor told me that I could have sustained multiple concussions, a cluster of concussions, while riding the roller coaster. Each time my head slammed on the headrest could’ve been a new concussion. Another reason could be because of the curve in my cervical spine being backwards, therefore putting extra pressure on my neck, not allowing enough circulation and blood flow to go to my brain. I have been trying out different ways and supplements to increase blood flow to see if anything helps.

I recently spoke on the phone with Olympic Speed Skater, Carlijn Schoutens, who also suffered from Post-Concussion Syndrome for nearly a year. It was really nice to talk to someone who shared some of my exact struggles and knew exactly what I was going through. It definitely helps to speak to someone who has been in a similar position. I know what you’re probably thinking right now… “what about your dad?” While my dad has suffered many concussions throughout his wrestling career, he said none of his concussions ever lasted this long. It’s hard for him to give it advice other than just rest and take it easy, but he did connect me with Chris Nowinski, Ph.D. who is the CEO of Concussion Legacy Foundation, and he helped me find the correct clinics and doctors to go to.

Not only has this concussion affected my life, it’s affected my family and loved ones’ lives too. I can tell my family is super annoyed by me and my concussion. They say they have to live their life under Noelle’s rules… which is kind of true! Noelle’s rules include: no bright lights! If they turn on any lights, they have to let me know before so I can take cover and close my eyes, and same goes with turning off lights. No loud noises, so they need to keep their voices low, keep the TV low, and prevent my dogs from barking at all costs. Sometimes they have to help me take food out from the fridge because the fridge lights are way too bright for me.

I cannot wait until the day where I can be headache free and not force a smile and drive at night, and take pictures with the flash on, and just be happy. All these things I’ve taken for granted my whole life. I really cannot wait until all the pain is gone, because this is truly ruining my life.

Every day is different for me. Some days I’m OK, and some days I feel like I got hit by a train. Some days I feel completely defeated by my concussion, but I still have hope that there are better days ahead. And if you’re reading this and you are also suffering from a concussion or anything else going on in your life, just know that things will eventually get better, even if it takes a long time. You just have to stick with it and think positive thoughts, and not give up!


If you’re interested in being connected with a mentor like Noelle was with Carlijin, if you need help finding a doctor, or if you want to learn about evidence-based treatment options for your symptoms you can submit a request to the CLF HelpLine. A dedicated staff member will point you toward resources to help in your recovery.

Renewed Purpose After PCS: Ryan Pamplin’s Story

Posted: August 5, 2020

“I was really motivated coming out of my injury to do something about the injury that would make it so I could look back and be glad that it happened,” Pamplin said.

In this CLF Personal Story video, Pamplin vividly details his toughest days with PCS feeling like he was in a “mental jail,” and how he was able to make it through.

“There’s just no relief,” Pamplin said. “You lay down you want to get some sleep; you can’t get good sleep. For me I had terrible vivid dreams every single night so I would wake up just drained emotionally and physically from the dreams. I would go back to the doctor and the doctor would just say, ‘give it time.’”

After about three months, Pamplin was able to slowly return to reading and spending limited time on his phone.

“It was just over time building up my tolerance of what I could actually do to get back to a place that I could function like a normal human,” Pamplin said.

He hopes sharing his recovery success story will encourage and inspire others.

“There is comfort in knowing that other people have come out the other end of it and survived and thrived,” Pamplin said.


Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, which provides personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. If you are seeking guidance on how to choose the right doctor, find educational resources, or have any other specific questions, we want to hear from you. Submit your request to the CLF HelpLine and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.

Changing Course: New Passion After Concussion

Posted: July 27, 2020

August 2019:

In the past two years, everything I once knew about my life changed. I was left in an ominous, dark place. My vibrant world shattered, and I’ve been trying to put the pieces together since. The cause of these life-altering circumstances? Concussions.

Before experiencing one of my own, the word “concussion” carried little weight. I had no awareness of the magnitude and severity a concussion could potentially have. At the time, I only knew of people experiencing minor concussions which seemed to have little to no impact on their actual life.

I hate to admit this, but I viewed players that didn’t practice or compete in their sport due to a concussion-related injury as somewhat undedicated — or even mentally weak. Growing up in athletics, I was taught to push through physical pain unless the injury was serious. Unlike other serious injuries, concussions are not visible, so understandably I viewed them as less significant. I thought having a concussion just meant that you would experience some headaches, a little light sensitivity, and that you were “supposed” to rest/not practice for a couple of days.

Boy, was I wrong.

It took having three concussions for me to finally understand the severity and detrimental effects concussions can have.

I received my first concussion during volleyball practice my freshman year at the University of North Carolina. We were doing a drill called “pit.” In the pit drill, one player is on the court at a time, going all out after each ball, which is hit at every imaginable speed and angle. Normally, the player digs a hard-driven hit or flails to pick up low shots. During the play where I got concussed, my coach tossed a ball fairly high down the line. I could have easily run there to play the ball on my feet without having to dive. However, in the most un-volleyball like manner, I took two steps to the corner, turned my body to the ball, and launched myself in its direction. I was parallel to the ground, at least three feet in the air, resembling the form of a perfect pool day “belly flop.”

Gravity took it from there and my face broke the fall. My teeth hit first (which I would later need orthodontic work to fix), then my nose, and lastly my forehead. I blacked out. The next thing I remember was waking up feeling liquid streaming down my face. I was confused and in pain. For some reason, I was determined to prove I wasn’t crying, so I announced to the circle of teammates surrounding me, “I promise I’m not crying,” to which someone quickly responded, “it’s blood, not tears.”

By this point, the athletic trainers were by my side to bring me off the court. I was completely out of it. Every time the trainers attempted to stand me up, my body would go limp and I would start to pass out.

The pain didn’t start to kick in until I was placed in the wheelchair that brought me out of the gym. My normal senses began to deteriorate, and indescribable suffering came in their place.

To this day, the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced was the 30 minutes that followed my head smashing into the gym floor of Carmichael Arena.

The intense ringing that filled my ears led me to believe my eardrums were going to rupture. Everything in the room seemed to be spinning at an inconceivable rate and being pushed in the wheelchair only exasperated this. While I was whisked away, I felt as if I was on one of those fast-spinning, gravity-defying carnival rides that you would find at the state fair — the kind of ride that makes you sick to your stomach. By this time, I was nauseous and aggressively dry heaving. My throat felt like it was closing up, and I was gasping for air. The pounding in my head was extreme; it felt like something was trying to break out from inside my skull. My eyes ached, and my vision was clouded with piercing white light. It almost felt cinematic, like a dying character being told “don’t go into the light.”

I remember experiencing all of this simultaneously, while also streaming in and out of consciousness. I even asked my trainer if I was dying. Looking back on this day, I know I overreacted, but during that 30-minute time span, death truly felt like my reality.

After those 30 minutes, my symptoms subsided; still present, but less extreme. I was brought to a doctor’s office on campus and diagnosed with my first concussion. I was clueless to concussion protocol and recovery treatment. My biggest concern was when I would be able to play again, because we were in the middle of a record-breaking season. I had to go through a series of steps and tests before I was cleared to play. My concussion symptoms — that is, after the first day — were more annoying than they were painful. They would improve each day, and after two and half weeks, I was back playing on the court. Upon returning, I thought to myself, “I’m glad it was just a concussion, and not a bad sprain or break … otherwise I’d have to be out for way longer.”

Reflecting on that now, the naiveté of this statement sickens me, and I only wish I could go back in time to share what I know now with my ignorant freshman self.

The summer going into the 2017 volleyball season, I had never felt more on top of my game. I trained all summer and was in the best shape of my life. I played some of my highest level of volleyball, all while accomplishing one of my dreams of playing for the USA Collegiate National Team. After that I headed back to work camps at UNC and prepare for what looked like a promising season. Concussions were the last thing on my mind, partly because I knew I would never make the dumb decision of launching myself airborne towards a ball again.

During the last open gym of summer, our team was scrimmaging, and I called for a fast set to the pin. I saw a wide-open seam in the block and swung. At the last second, the middle pressed her hand into the seam. The ball instantly bounced off the block, into my face, and ricocheted back over the net. My neck snapped backwards in response to the initial hit, and I landed dazed. I felt a slight headache and dizziness, but I didn’t think much of it because I was not experiencing any of the severe symptoms that accompanied my first concussion. I continued to play the rest of practice.

After open gym, I let our trainer know that I got hit pretty hard and had a bit of headache, but nothing too concerning. She gave me some ibuprofen and told me to monitor how I was feeling in the following days. After Thursday’s practice, I went home and felt fine for the rest of the night. The next day I was a little groggy and slept a lot more than usual, but for the most part I still felt normal. I did not experience severe symptoms until Saturday morning — a day and a half after the initial impact. I woke up Saturday morning dizzy with an intense headache and nausea, accompanied with light and noise sensitivity. I called our trainer and she drove over. The symptoms progressively got worse and I began to projectile vomit.

The trainer rushed me to the ER to get a CT-scan of my head because of the sudden increase of symptoms, which is often an indication of a more serious problem, like a brain bleed. Thankfully, the scan came back clear, but the doctor confirmed I was yet again concussed. What I did not know at the time was that this concussion would change the course of my life.

I was released from the hospital and prescribed anti-nausea and headache medication. I laid in a dark room for two days, and when I wasn’t asleep, I was throwing up. Around day four, my symptoms started to progressively decline. I was under the assumption that just like my first concussion, I would go through the protocol and be back in no more than two weeks. Our 16-day preseason training was a week away, and I was determined to play in the season opener at the end of the month in Wisconsin.

After a week of resting, I started feeling more normal, but I noticed that certain things or activities would trigger certain symptoms, causing them to range from barely noticeable to unbearable pain.

I began feeling more and more frustrated because I was not getting better or progressing the way I did the first time around. The symptoms became more bearable but they never went away. I convinced myself I was feeling better by creating an excuse for each of my symptoms. I told myself the headaches were just normal headaches that everyone got, the exhaustion was from not getting enough sleep, and the oversleeping was because I was exhausted — an oxymoron, I know. I fibbed my way through concussion protocol, telling the trainers what they wanted to hear so I would be cleared to play. I was cleared two practices before we competed, and fully practiced in one of them before playing the following day. During warm-ups, I began to get a bad headache. I took a couple of ibuprofen and brushed it off like it was no big deal. During the game, I got hit in the head twice while blocking. I was only a little bit concerned because neither hit was significantly hard. I slept through the night and felt OK during the morning. We took a bus to the airport and flew back to Chapel Hill. That Monday, I knew deep down that I was in fact, not OK.

I attempted to practice, but less than halfway through, I completely broke down. I was sobbing uncontrollably, and my trainer took me to a quiet, dim-lit room. I bawled until there were no more tears left to cry. My trainer comforted me and helped calm me down. She assured me things would be alright. School started, and things started to go downhill — fast.

I realized on the first day of class I was unable to read more than a sentence or two. My eyes weren’t tracking properly. When I attempted to read anything longer than a sentence, all I saw were jumbled letters. My eyes didn’t know where to look. I went to see our team physician, and she told me I wouldn’t be traveling to Puerto Rico with the team the upcoming weekend so I could focus on recovery. I had been looking forward to that trip since the release of our schedule during the spring.

On Thursday, the day before the team left for Puerto Rico, I started feeling unlike anything I had ever experienced. I was scared.

My body started shaking uncontrollably and I began to vomit. Thankfully, my roommate and friend were home, so they quickly brought me to the emergency room. I was too weak to walk, convulsing, and continuously throwing up. The doctors ran different tests, which seemed to take hours, before figuring out my sodium levels had dropped to 119. Normal sodium levels are between 135-145. Sodium levels below the 120 range commonly cause seizures, comas, and even death. Research shows concussions and brain injuries can impair the pituitary gland which regulates sodium levels. The doctors were uncertain if this was caused by my concussion or another underlying factor. However, it’s important to know how wide the spectrum of issues from a concussion can be.

The doctors hooked me up to a saline IV and I was monitored throughout the night. My coach and some teammates stayed with me at the hospital until around 1 a.m., even though they had to wake up at 4:30 a.m. to catch their flight to Puerto Rico. Their presence was a necessary comfort I desperately needed during the scariest night of my life. I will always be incredibly thankful for my Carolina family and the selflessness that was shown to me that night.

After being released from the hospital, I focused on taking my recovery process one day at a time. I knew it was going to be anything but easy. It was like riding a roller coaster that I could not get off; there would be days where it would seem like I was getting better, but then I would wake up the next morning feeling worse than ever before. Healing from my concussion was anything but linear.

Arguably, I spent more time in various doctors’ offices than I did in my own apartment.

I remember making a joke to my coach at one point, saying I was a Division I doctor-goer, because while my teammates were doing 20-plus hours of training a week, I was at one of my never-ending appointments. During this year I cried more days than I didn’t, and prior to my concussions, I think I cried maybe two times total since starting college. I medically under-loaded my class schedule, and thankfully for the classes I was still enrolled in, the professors were accommodating and more than understanding.

What’s more, the concussion caused my pre-existing ADHD to heighten, so the classes I was still in seemed unnecessarily laborious. I was put in vision therapy for the entirety of the fall semester to retrain my eyes to track. I had to start wearing special glasses that spaced letters out and helped me to see better. My academic advisor would read me the assigned readings from class when I still couldn’t read for myself.

On top of vision problems, my heart rate was affected as well. Concussions commonly affect the autonomic nervous system, which regulates all sorts of bodily functions like heart rate. While laying down, my heart rate would be in the 50s, and upon sitting up it would jump to the 90s. When I would stand, it would go into the 120s, and walking put it in the 140s. A light jog would cause my heart rate to reach the 170s. The rapid variance in my heart rate would cause me to get light-headed every time I would stand. I had to wear a heart monitor for weeks. With this cardiovascular problem, I was unable do even the simplest of workouts.

One night, a few months after suffering my concussion, I caught a 24-hour bug that was traveling around the team. This sickness caused nausea and vomiting. I woke up feeling sick, so I walked to the bathroom feeling more light-headed than normal. When I was walking back to my room, I passed out — making a loud thud from hitting the back of my head on the tile floor of my apartment. I woke up to my concerned roommate frantically talking on the phone with my trainer, asking what to do. I was groggy and confused. I went to the hospital for my second CT scan of the year to make sure my skull was intact. Thankfully it was, but unfortunately, I was set back in the recovery process and three weeks of progress in vision therapy were erased.

When sustaining my concussion, I also got whiplash. Whiplash mirrors many of the same symptoms caused by a concussion. I had X-rays taken of my neck to gage the severity of the whiplash. To this day, I will never forget the phone call I received from my doctor saying, “don’t freak out, but there is a possibility you could potentially be acutely paralyzed. You would need spinal surgery to fix your neck. Further imaging needs to be taken in order to confirm this. The next possible appointment for a neck MRI is tomorrow at 2 p.m.”

Obviously, I freaked out, imagining the worst possible scenarios and crying on and off non-stop until my appointment the next day. I had to wait three days for the results of the MRI. As you could imagine, the time in between the appointment and when I received the results moved unbearably slow. I was praying non-stop and hoping for a miracle. The MRI results showed my C3 and C4 vertebrae were congenitally fused, meaning I would not become paralyzed and I would not need spinal surgery. However, my C1 vertebrae, also known as the “atlas,” was off by 9 mm. If the atlas is displaced by as little as 3 mm, you begin to notice various symptoms. So, I saw a chiropractor multiple times a week throughout the entirety of the year to fix the alignment of my spine. The curvature of my neck was significantly changed from the impact. It has never returned to what it once was, and I still see a chiropractor frequently.

Throughout the year, I had constant and debilitating headaches. I remember the worst of these was a migraine that I rushed to the doctor’s office for. I was put on an IV and laid in agony until the medicine numbed the pain. Most days felt like a battle, and constantly fighting against life left me worn out and exhausted. I began to see my personality change right before my eyes, and I felt helpless in salvaging the person I knew myself to be. I was unrecognizable to myself and felt like a shell of the person I once was. The mental aspect of having a concussion was by far the most challenging part. I was struggling with depression and anxiety of which I have never dealt with up until that point.

The simplicity of everyday things became dreadful.

Seeing friends while walking around campus became an emotionally taxing façade. Everything I once knew about myself was stripped away. I lost my joyful personality, my identity as a student, an athlete, and as a teammate. I felt like I was letting down the people in my life because I was not the same Julia and it was obvious. The people I was closest with stuck by my side and helped me get through this arduous time. Words cannot express my gratitude for the support system I was blessed with.

Though this chapter in my life was inconceivably hard, I would not go back and change what happened to me.

I learned how to have fortitude, resiliency, and complete trust in God when facing my life’s toughest battle. Before my concussion, I used to base my faith off my worldly circumstances. But now, I realize that no matter my situation, God is still good and a relationship with Jesus is more valuable and powerful than any of life’s circumstances. My faith grew tenfold and I grew more as a person in one year than the previous 18 years of life combined.

I have a new sense of perspective that allows me to look at life through a totally different lens. I believe that no life experience is ever wasted, and if my story is able to prevent or help someone going through a similar situation, then it’s all worth it. Awareness on concussions as well as how to perceive and deal with them is necessary. In my opinion, there isn’t nearly enough awareness on the severity of concussions, due to a lack of understanding and the ambiguity that accompanies this invisible injury. Steps, like the work CLF is doing, must be taken in order to generate further awareness, and I am hoping to contribute by sharing my story.

Upon being cleared and returning to the indoor court, nothing felt the same, and I knew the sport would never feel like it once did. Even though I was cleared to play, I was still struggling with the residual effects of post-concussion syndrome. Every time I stepped on the court, I was riddled with anxiety and plagued with fear. I never did get through a full practice of indoor volleyball again. I knew something needed to change, but I refused to give up athletics.

Around this time, I had begun playing beach volleyball with the UNC club team. Beach volleyball felt entirely different than indoors to me, and far safer. To this day, I have never felt the threat of getting another concussion while playing beach. The ball is a bit bigger and softer, and the game is played a lot differently — this is not to say that getting a concussion in beach couldn’t happen, but the chances of getting one are far slimmer. Plus, I always had a dream of playing beach volleyball professionally after college, even though I’ve never actually played the sport.

This was my opportunity to change my path and pursue a dream I wouldn’t have had enough courage to, had the concussion not made the familiar now unfamiliar. So, I emailed some beach volleyball programs, telling them my story and my interest in the sport. I visited some California schools before deciding on the University of Hawai’i.

My first year at Hawai’i was challenging, but in a far different way than the previous two years of dealing with concussions. I was pushed as an athlete in ways that I’ve never experienced before. I felt like a fish out of water playing beach volleyball. I honestly hated the sport in the beginning, mainly because of the difficult and uncomfortable transition process. Beach volleyball is a game of imperfections and I strive for perfection in my sport, so it was beyond frustrating to say the least. I made a promise with myself to stick with it, regardless of how I felt.

Once competition started, I began to fall in love with beach volleyball and the tiresome hours of unenjoyable work paid off. Just like the healing process of my concussions, my progression in the sport of beach volleyball resembled that of a roller coaster. Some days I would feel giddy with excitement, loving every moment of learning and growing, while other days left me questioning the belief I had in myself and the decision I made in changing my life course to pursue this sport. What got me through the challenging times was holding onto the days where everything felt right — like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The good days started to multiply, and the bad days began to diminish. I am now able to look back at the trials of these past two years with clarity, making sense of their importance in shaping my life’s path and purpose.

There is a quote I came across during the time of my concussion and one that I still hold near to my heart:

“Sometimes when you’re in a dark place you think you’ve been buried, but you’ve actually been planted.”

My concussion was a chapter in the story of my life, and because of it, I’ve been planted. Rooted in faith, I continue to grow towards my dreams.

July 2020:

If you were to tell me I’d be where I’m at today in the midst of recovering from my concussions, I would have called you a liar. I remember feeling like I would never see the light at the end of the tunnel and the life that I once knew would never be able to reconstruct. The lifeline that I clung to and relied on during those tough times was my faith. And faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains. I firmly believe faith is the reason the seemingly insurmountable mountains in my life were overturned. It’s now been 3 years since my last major concussion. Today, I’ve never felt better physically or mentally, including prior to the head traumas — which is crazy to think! I am happier, healthier, and feel more like myself than ever before. Don’t get me wrong, I still have bad days, but most days I wake up excited for what lies ahead. I recently graduated with a BA in Communications from the University of Hawaii at Manoa with a 3.55 GPA (which was shocking because I’ve always struggled academically). I will be starting a graduate program in the Marshall School of Business at the University of Southern California in the fall. I will be competing for the Trojan’s on the beach volleyball team while using the remainder of my NCAA eligibility. I’ve fallen in love with beach volleyball and plan on pursuing this passion for as far as it will take me. I never in a million years could have orchestrated or picked a better path than I am on now. It’s obvious God’s sovereign hand has been shaping every step and detail of the way. I now think about life wildly different from my previous conceptions before my concussions and that is one of the biggest blessings that came from this hardship. I will always take the lessons I’ve learned during these past few years with me wherever I may go next.

Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, which provides personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. If you are seeking guidance on how to choose the right doctor, find educational resources, or have any other specific questions, we want to hear from you. Submit your request to the CLF HelpLine and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.