03/09/2026

I lost my mind in November.
Or wait, maybe I should say my brain broke? 

Yeah, maybe this second sentence is better because I kind of “felt” the moment it “snapped.”  I’m not sure whether I heard it or felt it but I remember the second it happened because I was looking at the face of “the neurologist” and he was saying things to me while in my peripheral vision I saw various people in scrubs running into the room.  He was telling me specific details about the test results and I remember looking at him so hard (can you look at someone hard) because I was trying to catch the words as they came out of his mouth -- I needed to “see” the words -- I needed the letters to be there so I could be sure I understood what he was saying but there was so much noise and so many bodies running around me and moving the bed and bringing the blood and he was talking and then even he realized his speech was not important right now because something really bad was happening in this room and he stopped talking and people kept rushing in and this was bad and then something broke.  Something detached in my brain and I immediately thought, “Sh*t! This is it.  THIS is what the books talk about.  This is the moment when something goes terribly wrong and you are still there - still in the moment - still solving the problem - but something’s not right.  My beautiful brain that I had worked so hard to fill with great things froze.  Something is definitely not right here.” 

And so there I stood with my broken brain, and my broken family member, and decisions to be made and coping to be coped.  I was the best person in the world to be here right now for him. I knew what to tell him.  “I bet you're scared right now, huh?”  “Yes, yes, I am, he said,”  and then he and I repeated over and over “I am safe.  I am safe.”  He was in the best possible place to have this horrible thing happen.  Every person in the room was an expert.  It was like watching a ballet - a choreographed life saving dance performed by people with intense expressions - this was nothing new to them.  They looked like they knew what to do and that they knew it very well might not work.  And my brother and I kept repeating, “I am safe.  I am safe.” 

And he was.  The machines started to beep the right cadence.  The blood was mopped up.  The room thinned out.  And there he and I sat.  And our nervous systems relaxed a bit, our breathing slowed, we didn’t speak.  It’s true, “I am safe.”

And then he wasn’t.  It happened again.  I ran for the nurse.  The room filled back up.  The ballet was reprised.  The warriors wielded their weapons and fended off the problem - this time expressions more intense - optimism maybe a bit less optimistic - and I went through the motions, I knew my script, “Look at me. You are safe. You are safe.” And typing this right now, my heart is racing and I am remembering that I fully knew that everything would be okay and that maybe nothing would be okay and I just did what I knew to do surrounded by these amazing medical heros.

And then things settled down.  The machines started to beep the right cadence.  The blood was mopped up.  The room thinned out.  And there he and I sat.  And our nervous systems relaxed a bit, our breathing slowed, we didn’t speak.  Again it was true, “I am safe.”

And then he wasn’t. It happened again.  Are you flipping kidding me?  I ran for the nurse - and this third version - this flipping third version of this dance was performed by a cast who was exhausted and no one would meet my eye and the one nurse, the younger one, this new one said out loud in despair, “I know how this is going to end,” then noticed that I’d heard him.  I don’t think he realized his mouth had said the words.  I think he thought he had just thought them.   But he was simply speaking what everyone was thinking.  Because I was also thinking that, but my mouth was saying, “I am safe.  I am safe.” 

And again, he was safe.   The machines started to beep the right cadence.  The blood was mopped up.  The room thinned out.  And there he and I sat.  And our nervous systems relaxed a bit, our breathing slowed, we didn’t speak.  He fell into a deep sleep.   And I sat in a hospital room knowing that my beautiful brain was broken.  And I did not like the knowing of that.

Ultimately those remarkable experts saved him and he went home to recuperate.  And I went home with a broken brain.  And I came back to work and I joked with my staff and filled out the paperwork and I taught people things and my mind was not working.  This was not okay. 

I scheduled a session of Equine Therapy, because if anything would help it would be the horses.  Don’t ask me why it works -  it just does.  Roll your eyes all you want.  I know results when I see them.

 I went during the one  week in the history of mankind when it rained and rained in Phoenix.  The therapist called and said the arena is a wreck.  It’s muddy and you’ll be slogging around during the session - do you want to reschedule? Absolutely not - my life is muddy and I’m slogging around in it - this is the perfect tableau. 

Before entering the arena they asked, “what do you need today?”  And I said,  “I need to cry and scream and rage.”  Then I asked if that would upset the horses and the equine specialist simply said, “We’ll see.”  He assured me that I don’t need to worry about the horses.  And so I slogged and tripped through the mud and sobbed and  yelled and raged.  I turned and saw two horses  fighting - they were biting each other and I panicked - did I cause this?  I’d never seen anything like this, and I guiltily looked to the specialist who silently assured me, this all is fine.  The horses are fine - they are reflecting what is happening in me - they are helping me get this out.  And they did.  They surrounded me.  They provided a mirror for me.  They reminded me how strong I am.  They helped put my brain together again. 

So why am I telling you this? Our marketing department, otherwise known as “Janice,” kept telling me I need to get a blog done - do a blog - make a blog.  And all the blog ideas seemed pointless and small and a waste of everyone’s  time.  If I’m going to say something I need to say something meaningful.

And this is the big news folks.  The  blessing was that I was able to experience what so many of our kiddos and clients experience.  A trauma so big that it breaks your brain.  And you’re stuck and you’re lost and have to have help to fix it.  And lucky me, I knew where to go for help.  And I could pay for the help.  And I got the help.

And as a supporter you are helping Everybody Matters be the place where people can go, where people can afford and where people can get the help.  You are the reason they can know, “I am safe.”

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