I was 38 years old when I experienced an ischemic stroke in August 2016. Despite extensive testing and care from some of the best doctors in Houston, the cause of my stroke was never determined.

It all started with a headache and dizziness. I felt extremely tired, slept a lot, and noticed I was off balance. My internist initially thought it might be vertigo. But when I couldn’t walk a few days later, we went to the hospital—and that’s when we discovered it was much more serious.

Everything about our daily life stopped. I spent 18 days in the hospital, and afterward, my world revolved around recovery. I had planned to homeschool our children, but that door closed, and they transitioned back to public school. I couldn’t drive for two years. The life I knew ended, but our community surrounded us with love—people prayed, brought meals for over a year, and gave me rides to therapy. That support carried us through.

After the hospital, I began six months of outpatient occupational and physical therapy to relearn how to walk, build strength, and manage daily tasks. The next six months, I completed vision therapy to address partial blindness. Following eye therapy, I experienced medication side effects that required pelvic floor therapy. Due to ongoing weakness on my left side, I still go back for physical therapy “tune-ups” from time to time. Recovery came in layers—it wasn’t linear, but every step moved me forward.

Partial blindness brought sensory overload. With one sense diminished, the others went into overdrive—smells, sounds, and lights became overwhelming. I wore earplugs and sunglasses just to cope in public. Going out felt unsafe, so I mostly stayed inside. Whenever the anxiety became too much, I cried. It was more than crying—it was bawling. I was not an emotional person, but after the stroke, I became one because I couldn’t control the sobs. This condition is known as pseudobulbar affect. I didn’t feel like myself and didn’t trust myself—or the world outside my home. That isolation was one of the hardest parts. But even harder, in some ways, was the guilt. I felt sorry for my family—for my husband, who suddenly had to care for me in ways neither of us were prepared for, and for my kids, whose lives came to a halt because mine did. They were involved in sports, in routines, in the normal chaos of childhood—but it all stopped. People offered to help, to drive them to practices and games, but it became too much to coordinate. Everything paused. And I carried a deep sense of guilt as the mom who now required all the attention. I hated that my children had to adjust to a new version of me—one I barely recognized myself.

You wouldn’t know just by looking at me, but there are times that can overwhelm me. When that happens, I’ve learned to pause, breathe, pray, and reset. I’ve had to become more intentional with how I manage energy and emotions—and that’s been part of my healing.

My husband was my rock. He became my full-time caretaker, household manager, and encourager. He held our family together while standing firmly beside me. He was patient when I wasn’t, strong when I couldn’t be, and always full of hope. Caregivers don’t get enough credit—but he walked every step of this journey with me.

My faith in God gave me strength. I truly felt that God promised me restoration—and that gave me something to hold onto. The love and prayers of our family, church, and community reminded me that we were never walking this alone. I leaned to hold on that hope when I didn’t have answers.

You can’t always see the effects of a stroke. I often wished I had a sign that said, “Proceed with CAUTION!” People can seem okay on the outside while still struggling internally—mentally, emotionally, and physically. A little patience and kindness can make all the difference for someone who’s still healing.

Build a team that supports your whole health—doctors who listen, therapists who challenge and encourage you, and spiritual leaders who pour into your heart. In addition to my doctors, I worked with Laura Mangum, a registered and licensed dietitian who looked at the science of my body—understanding that data was key. She taught me the best way to "Let food by thy medicine and medicine be thy food." Learn about the side effects of any medications you’re taking and weigh whether the outcomes are worth it. Don’t hesitate to get second opinions, and stay curious about what might help you heal. Bring it all before the Lord. Talk to Him about your concerns, your questions, and your fears. A counselor can be an important part of your team, too. Recovery isn’t just about surviving—it’s about rebuilding every part of who you are, step by step.

My doctors told me that regular exercise can cut the risk of stroke in half—and that’s been a huge motivator.

Walking was a great starting point. I walked the neighborhood with my trusty furry friend, Lucy. I wondered if I’d ever be able to jog again, so after a year, I began trying short stints—just to see what was possible. Lucy was always there to encourage me. She was the best walking partner, and I’m so grateful God answered my son’s prayer by bringing her into our family—because she turned out to be exactly what I needed.

After a couple of years, I wanted to start back at my local recreational center, so I joined senior adult classes. They were gentle, welcoming, and exactly what I needed to rebuild my confidence and strength. Water aerobics was especially helpful—it was low-impact but still gave me a solid workout.

More recently, I started doing Pilates and LOVE it! It’s gentle yet powerful, and it’s helped me build strength, stability, and a deeper awareness of how my body moves. Pilates has become a cornerstone of how I care for my body and protect my health.