After the Bleeding in My Brain: A Moment That Changed How I Live

Today, I listened to a YouTube video of Sri Akarshana speaking about a friend who fell and was taken to critical care after doctors found bleeding in the brain. He spoke about the importance of being present — of living in the now — and of telling the people you love that you love them. Because in moments like these, you never truly know when the last moment will be.

It brought tears to my eyes. It took me back to a time in my life when I wasn’t sure if I would live or die.

I spent almost two weeks in the intensive care unit after my brain aneurysm. I cried often. I was alone a lot. And at the same time, I had no choice but to rest and heal. I remember how vulnerable and helpless I felt. I remember the fear of not being able to show up as the mother I wanted to be for my children.

People would come by my hospital room — someone from the church offering prayer, or volunteers stopping in to see if I needed anything. One woman came in and talked to me about small exercises I could do to regain strength. She also gave me a word search book. That small gesture meant more than she probably knew.

My motor skills were slow. My mind felt fragile. I knew I needed to gently exercise it. Each day, I would try to find one word. As the days passed, I noticed progress — I could find more words than the day before. It was quiet, slow proof that healing was happening.

When I was discharged, recovery became my focus. Health mattered in a way it never had before. I learned to move slowly. To be intentional with my time. To be mindful of who I gave my energy to. Living with intention was no longer a concept — it was necessary.

That way of living has stayed with me.

Today, I prioritize my health. I eat well. I exercise. I care for my body with respect. In my relationships, I no longer force connections or spend time where it doesn’t feel real. My children and my well-being come first.

And in my work, I’m creating something on my own terms — something I can build slowly and with care. I’m still learning what I’m here to do. But I know this much:

I’m meant to be here.