16 - Community: Part 1

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It was in 2009 that I moved away from my hometown of Winnipeg, Manitoba for an internship in another city. I had already been away from home a lot traveling, but this was the first time I left to actually live somewhere and not just visit.

Winnipeg sometimes gets a bad rap for its weather, infrastructure and crime - cue music from Winnipeg's own The Weakerthans, “One great city.” And like any place, it’s residents are the first to talk smack about the city. But like a person with a gruff exterior, for those who grew up there, it’s what's on the inside that counts. Winnipeg is the heart of the continent and if you look close enough, you can find within it a lot of heart. The last time I was in Winnipeg in the winter, I gave the city my own personal slogan: Winnipeg. Cold on the outside. Warm on the inside.

I have a very great group of friends from Winnipeg. I'm still connected with my rock climbing friends, high school friends and heck, I'm close with four people I've known since before the age of five! A number of them now have partners, houses and kids. I'm always grateful for the time they put aside to see me and the effort that goes into getting everyone together when I'm in town. I know it's a special circumstance when me or other friends come into town to visit, but it's nice to feel that sense of community has not disappeared.

For anyone who's moved away as an adult, you may relate when I say that it has been hard at times to find and feel that sense of community in my new city.  I may have met a lot of new people and added a lot of new friends to my Facebook page, however it has taken a lot of time to develop more meaningful relationships - the kind where friends are willing to drive me to my medical appointments, bring me food when I can’t cook and sit with me while I cry.  I would say that it took a good four years to find that; four years to feel like I truly belong.

For the first year I lived away from home from 2009 to 2010, I actually did have a ready-made community waiting for me in my new city. I was living with my partner at the time and I was part of a small internship program. There were six interns in total and for that one year we were family. We got together on holidays, hosted regular dinners and explored the city together. Despite it being a stressful, challenging and financially straining year for us all (unpaid more than full time internships, amiright??), we still had each other and we knew we were working towards a common goal. There was a clear end and payoff to what was a meaningful, supported and controlled challenging part of life.

When the internship ended in 2010, three of the six graduated interns moved away. My community downsized by half. About 11 months later, I had my first concussion.

When I moved away from home in 2009, I did receive a lot of the same “good luck” wishes that most people do:  “Good luck, take care of yourself!”  “We’re going to miss you, but we know you’ll do great!”  These were of course lovely things to hear as a send off, but those closest to me said something different that I’ll never forget: 

“Krystal, it’s ok to give up and go home.”

This may sound kind of ominous or discouraging, like I was expected to fail.  However, that wasn’t at all the intention.

I think sometimes when we make big decisions, we build up in our heads exactly what we want that experience or outcome to look like.  We may think that if we just work hard enough, we’ll achieve that outcome no matter what.  I think of past parties, a wedding and vacations I’ve planned, expecting it to be the best time ever, and then spending that time disappointed and frustrated with the people around me when something didn’t go according to plan…

The problem is that the expected experience or outcome I had fabricated was just that - a fabrication.  It’s ludicrous now to think that if I just work hard enough I could make all the exact details of my dreams a reality.  For that to happen, I would need control over all variables including the weather, time and other people’s thoughts and actions.  Last I checked, I still couldn’t break any of the laws of physics, nor have I become one of the X-Men…

I’ve also come to learn that pursuing something too long that isn’t a good fit can actually be harmful.  So the idea behind “it’s ok to give up and go home” gives me permission to recognize when something just isn’t right.  For me, it doesn’t assume a probable failure, but instead takes away the shame we often associate it.

In 2010, I was still living with my partner and I still had two friends remaining from internship.  That small group had also made one other new close friend.  Altogether we created our own little community.  When my concussion happened in 2011, unfortunately, hard times also hit all of my other friends in this micro-community - we were all going through the worst times of our lives.  To put this into perspective, one friend was in a financial crisis from substantial and unforeseen house problems while the others had lost people close to them.  Indeed, in the first three months of my PCS, we had attended three funerals… We did our best, but we couldn’t support each other.

My psychologist at the time described it with this imagery: they said my friends, my partner and I were all like ladders with broken rungs and cracked wood.  We were leaning up against each other trying to hold up one another, but individually and even altogether, we weren’t strong enough to do so.  Instead, we all crumbled under the weight of it all.  Indeed, my friends had a lot of their own personal trauma to take care of.  My partner at the time tried to take care of me, but wasn’t also able to take care of himself.  One year after my recovery, that romantic relationship ended.  When my most recent struggles with PCS set in again, the friendships I had with the others also faded.  I had lost that community.

I don’t want it to sound like I blame the brain injury for my failed relationships, because I don’t.  I also don’t want it to sound like I blame those people for not being there for me.  I will say that for a long time I did feel confused, upset and even betrayed.  Those friends had been with me for so long though so much, how could they give up on me now?  I saw this pattern repeat.  There were other friends who at the beginning of my most recent PCS extravaganza were keen to help and check-in.  But as the months and years went on, some of that faded too.  I felt like I had no one to depend on; like I was no one’s priority.

These relationships were the topics of many therapy sessions and I finally came to see this for the natural ebb and flow that it is: people come and go in my life.  There were many other reasons that made me and my ex-partner a bad fit and those friends and I were developing different interests in life as time went on anyways.  Those relationships may have failed, but it would have been harmful to continue pursuing them, expecting them to be a certain way or like how they were before.

Everyone is dealing with something hard.  Not everyone is going to be able to be there for me, for everything I need in life.  The fading of these relationships is no one’s fault.  I need to give permission not only to myself, but to others to recognize when something just isn’t working.  We all need to take care of ourselves, which at times may mean making ourselves our own priority, as we can’t expect others to always do that for us.

If it’s ok for me, then it has to be ok for others to respectfully give up and go “home,” even if that leaves me behind.

The title of this post is “Community” because at the end of the day, I think regardless of health, brain or social status, that is what we all really want and need.  I did, in fact, give up and go home twice so that my mom and dad could take care of me - so that at a time when I was isolated due to PCS, I could feel that sense of community once more. And I have since then built friendships that have endured the struggles of my TBI alongside me - I have found new communities and strengthened other friendships that I am forever grateful for.

I’ve also accepted that I can’t expect any one, two or few people to always be there for me; to always take care of me.  They say it takes a village to raise a child, but I believe it takes that same village to support and care for an adult. During wedding ceremonies, there’s often a point when the officiant asks the people in attendance if they will be there to support the couple in their union.  At this point, I’ve historically been like “yeah, sure, whatever - whoo wedding!  When do I get to eat?  When does the bar open??”  But whether it’s at a wedding or any other celebration in adulthood, I now truly realize the magnificent importance of that commitment to supporting others.

This brain injury has delivered many life lessons and has made me want to be a better person in a number of different ways.  I want to be the type of person that can make themselves available to others in need, when I can, within my limitations.  I want to be an active member of my communities and I want to be a part of communities made of compassionate people.  No one, two or few people can give me everything I need; it’s a big job and no easy task.  But, if to the best of my ability I take care of myself and others, and if others do the same, than many hands will make light the heavy work of building and sustaining healthy communities for all.  No matter where you live.  No matter where you come from.

You can take the girl out of the heart of the continent, but you can’t take the heart out of the girl.  May this be true for me and all of us.

Best in brain health,

- Krystal

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