Newborn Tears
Lately, as my recovery inches along, I've noticed that although I often feel like a toddler, the toddler feelings at times feel... even earlier. Some days, it's less like being a feisty two-year-old and more like being a newborn all over again. That raw, brand-new-to-the-world stage where everything is basic, overwhelming, and completely dependent on the gentle people around you. It's humbling. It's exhausting. And weirdly, it's also kind of beautiful when I let myself see it that way.
Those Wide-Eyed, Wondering Stares
Newborns stare at faces, lights, shadows—with those huge, unblinking eyes—like they're downloading the entire universe one pixel at a time. No judgment, no rush, just pure taking-it-in.
Some recovery moments feel like that too. I'll catch myself staring at a wall, a window, my own hand, because my brain is slowly, slowly making sense of the world again. It's not blankness—it's deep processing. Curiosity mixed with caution. "What is this place? What am I in? What is going on?"
I try not to fight it. I let myself stare, let the brain do its newborn work of mapping reality one tiny piece at a time. Those staring sessions often lead to small breakthroughs later.
I Don’t Need a Nap!
Hey friends,
I’ve been thinking more about this whole “recovery feels like being a toddler” thing, and there’s one part that keeps hitting me harder lately: emotions. Toddlers don’t just have feelings—they have huge, unstoppable, all-over-the-body feelings that come with zero filter and very few words to match. And honestly? That’s exactly where my brain is right now too.
Those Giant, Wordless Emotions
One minute everything’s okay, and the next a wave crashes in—frustration, sadness, being overwhelmed, or even sudden joy—and it’s so intense I can barely breathe through it. My chest tightens, my face gets hot, tears might show up uninvited, or I just feel like I need to move or hide or yell but nothing comes out right. It’s like my brain is back in toddler mode: the emotion center is fully online and screaming, but the “let’s put this into calm sentences” part is still napping in the corner.
I catch myself doing classic toddler things without meaning to: crossing my arms tight, huffing, pacing in little circles, or just staring at the floor because saying “I’m upset” feels impossible. Sometimes the only thing that escapes is a shaky “I don’t know” or “It’s too much.” And that’s okay. It really is. Just like a toddler isn’t “bad” for melting down—they’re just overloaded—I’m not “bad”, my brain is failing at processing when the feelings get too big. It’s still wiring itself back together.
Stacking Blocks
Why My Brain Injury Recovery Feels Like Being a Toddler Again
If you’ve ever peeked into the world of brain injury recovery, you know it’s a wild, unpredictable ride. I’m still in the middle of mine, and lately I’ve realized something that makes me smile (and sometimes tear up): it feels exactly like being a toddler all over again. Not in a cute, “aww, look at the baby steps” way—though there are plenty of those in recovery sure—but in the raw, confusing, “what just happened?” kind of way. Let me walk you through it, because if you’re recovering too, or love someone who is, maybe this little comparison will help you feel a little less alone… and a little more hopeful.
The Sudden “Where Am I?” Moments
You know how toddlers sometimes wake up from a nap and have no idea how they got there? Raising five kids, I’ve seen this often in their toddler years. One minute they’re in the car, the next they’re in their crib at home, blinking in total bewilderment. They wake up from their nap and confusion is on their face as they look around at the bustle around them in this new room that is different than the quiet carseat they fell asleep in. That’s my life now with memory gaps.