Since my traumatic brain injury, I have lived with many invisible consequences. Along with the injury to my brain, I also fractured bones in my face. At the time, however, there was little recognition of those injuries and no treatment for the symptoms that would emerge. Later, during rehabilitation, my attention shifted. I began experiencing strange sensations in my face—my cheek, lips, beneath my nose, and especially in my tongue. I pressed my tongue against my teeth so har

My sister Donna Hunt Lafreniere My sister died. Even writing that sentence feels unreal. Even though she had been sick for far longer than anyone should have to suffer, when I learned she had passed, it still arrived as something I was not prepared for. Maybe we are never prepared. Maybe that is part of the human condition itself. I am the youngest in my family. Our family is complex; we have different fathers. My sister had existed in my life for as long as I have existed i

Since my brain injury in 2021, rest is something I can’t ignore. It’s no longer optional or negotiable. Yet, I realize how little I understand it. For a long time, rest meant less demanding activities—watching, listening, engaging differently. Now, I see that what I called 'rest' was still consuming, maybe even avoiding. Recently, I participated in my first artist market. I underestimated not just the day, but everything around it: preparation, decisions, mishaps. My printer

Site of Accident, Moabit, Berlin I walked into therapy in pieces. Not the kind of broken that announces itself clearly. No, it was a quieter, more disorienting kind—the kind where your body insists you are safe while your mind refuses to believe it. I hadn’t been in session for weeks, and it hit hard. Before my body found the chair, tears spilled out—uncontrollable, jarring, silent. Words—especially in German—abandoned me. Instead, I pressed trembling hands to my chest. “My b