Inside my head: 7 things I’ve learned in 7 months after brain surgery

As I mentioned before in one of my previous blogs, I have this feeling that time has taken on a different meaning. It definitely hasn’t stopped; the world hasn’t been waiting for me to get better. I had to keep up, stand up, and keep going so I wouldn’t feel left behind. Luckily, I was able to—and I’ve actually learned quite a lot in the process. Here are the seven things I’ve learned over the past seven months since my craniotomy.

1.I am, indeed, proud of myself

It took a brain surgery and a facial paralysis for me to realize that I haven’t always been kind to myself over the past few years. Especially since I migrated to Germany and set myself the goal of building a career and a life in Berlin, I’ve been putting a lot of pressure on myself. Until now, I hadn’t taken a moment to stop, take a step back, and appreciate everything I’ve accomplished. I never told myself before: I am so proud of you! But that’s exactly what I’ve come to realize, and it’s what keeps a little smile behind my eyes. The strength, the resilience, the empathy, the skill of being okay by myself and with my thoughts, the strong work ethic I’ve cultivated, my never-give-up attitude, and my adaptability. As a colleague of mine recently told me: “To me, it’s like your superpower, because you’re street smart, too.”

Besides all the other skills and capabilities, I am street smart. I will survive. But lately, I’ve shifted gears and decided it’s okay to slow down a bit, rest, and say it out loud: I am fucking cool, and I made it!

2. Body image will play a huge role in your life—if you let it

This might not be a secret to most of you, but the world we live in is superficial. Far too often, it focuses on the wrong aspects of a person when it comes to assigning value and appreciation. It took me a lot of work—and I certainly wasn’t born this way—but I’ve come to accept my body for what it does for me every day, not for how it looks or how it “should” look in the eyes of people I’ll never meet (or like).

Having facial paralysis and not letting it take the joy of life from me has taught me that some people see this as an act of bravery. I recently went to the dentist for my regular checkup, and the receptionist said to me, “Kudos to you for leaving the house! I’m sure a lot of people wouldn’t dare.” I quickly thanked her and smiled, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since. For a moment, I felt uncomfortable knowing that some people might assume I’d even consider not leaving the house because of how I look. I mean, yes, I do have a bit of a droopy mouth, but beyond that, I’m still me. I am beautiful, and I have an 80% functional face (except for my eye not blinking), which allows me to see, eat, hear, smell, taste, talk, and drink. I genuinely appreciate words of encouragement—a lot. But I also realize that my body truly is my temple, and it does so much for me. It would be a sacrilege not to accept it exactly as it is, at this specific moment in my life.

3. My body, my rules. Surprise! 

The same way I decide what I eat, drink, or consume, I also decide what medicines I take, which sport I practice, what therapies I pursue, and—most importantly—what surgeries I undergo. I understand that sometimes surgery or a few injections here and there can seem like a quick fix for a problem. But it took me a long time to deal with medical professionals pushing for nerve reconstructive surgery for my face, or just commenting on my appearance. Not all of them (my eye and liver doctors have been angels) but, for example, my gynecologist: the last time I saw her, she walked in and her very first comment was, “And? Still angry?” Referring to my facial paralysis, as if I was making a grumpy face because I couldn’t smile all the time. Lol.

You do grow a thick skin, and there have been so many times I’ve had to bite my tongue. I always think to myself, “I need to be the bigger person. There’s no need to be mean. I’m a good patient, and I know they don’t come from a bad place.” Still, it took me weeks and weeks of reflection to not let comments like that frustrate me. I cried a lot. I felt angry, because comments like these always put this huge responsibility on my shoulders and made me feel like I wasn’t doing enough, no matter how hard I tried. It just added pressure and fear, it didn’t help. But I always found my safe space: my body, my rules. No matter how much people comment on my decisions, it’s my body, my pain, my self-esteem—not theirs. I make the rules here. Yes, that means I’ll only do surgeries that are 100% necessary to save or improve my quality of life. 

4. True love goes beyond what life throws at you

This isn’t a sponsored marriage ad, but I am so grateful for my husband and how he has become my rock throughout this entire process. His kindness and acts of love have lifted me when I’ve been at my lowest. He’s been there for me with the tools he has, playing an incredible role in advising, supporting, and loving me.

Additionally, I have a daily ritual with my mom where we send each other voice notes. Thank God for WhatsApp—not a day passes without an encouraging comment or words of love and admiration from her. Our relationship continues to evolve, and I couldn’t be more thankful for the pillar she is in my life. I know that, no matter what, she will always be there for me in whatever way she can, and I’ll be forever grateful.

I truly hope I never have to be there for them in a situation like mine—I wish them a healthy, happy, and long life. But if they ever do need me (knock on wood), oh boy, I will be there.

5. There is very little value in comparing myself to others

I came to this realization not only through my recovery, but also in general, at work and with my overall progress. Benchmarks are great for business but they don’t work for people’s lives. The other day, I was listening to a podcast where the speaker said something that stuck with me: “Your healing timeline will never be exactly the same as someone else’s because that somebody else will have a different compilation of problems.”

This is so true. After my surgery, I did what a lot of us do—I went to online support groups and forums to find information and stories similar to mine, hoping they would help me cope with the situation without overwhelming my family and friends. However, I quickly realized that this could actually be counterproductive if my timeline didn’t look like theirs, or if I wasn’t experiencing the same improvements as quickly as they did.

At the same time, my surgeries, recoveries, and outcomes helped me see that my journey in life has been very different from others’—and that I don’t need to compare myself to peers, colleagues, or superiors to measure my success. I grew up in a setting that made me street smart. I was exposed to things others might consider “too much” of the developing world. I left a life behind and started from scratch, very young, in a different language and culture. I always had an extra degree of difficulty and I still made it.

There’s no point in comparing myself to my peers and colleagues. I’ve done great things, and so have they. It’s okay to be different, and it’s okay not to be on the same level all the time. We all have a different compilation of problems—and we all have come up with our own set of solutions. 😉

6. I’ll be forever thankful for how lucky I’ve been with all my therapists and for a healthcare system that isn’t perfect but does a pretty good job

The last 7 months have not been a walk in the park, and I didn’t get where I am on my own. It has taken countless hours of physical and psychological therapy to reach a place where I’ve learned so much about myself, about what my body can do, and how to equip myself with the tools I need to move forward. I’ve been incredibly lucky to have several therapists within just a few meters; I can simply walk to my appointments with my GP, physio, osteopath, acupuncturist, and speech therapist. I can even have online psychological consultations from the comfort of my living room. It’s a mix of men and women from all over the world who, in their own way, have built a connection with me and served as a mirror when I was too confused in my own head to see myself clearly.

I am so thankful for their kindness and patience, for their commitment—and even though it’s their job, I truly feel they have tried their very best for me and made sure I learned from them. I hope they’ve also learned something from me. The German healthcare system isn’t perfect, but it’s solid. I’m privileged enough to have built my therapy network, and now it flows and works—every week, it adapts to my schedule, and I adapt to it. It has become part of my routine, and I fully acknowledge that not everyone is so lucky.

7. Only time can tell

I wish I could tell you that now, almost eight months since surgery, my face is back to what it was before, that I can smile and blink as I used to. That’s not the case—at least, not yet. Will I get my smile back? I don’t know, and honestly, no one does. Our facial nerves are incredibly complex and deeply embedded within the brain, making it impossible to make any promises.

My approach for now is to allow my body and mind to take their time—to take it one step at a time, with kindness and by listening carefully to what I think they need. No one knows what the future holds. I want to believe that I’ll recover, but I know it’ll take time, and I’m okay with waiting. What my body and nerves have gone through wasn’t easy. I had a brain tumor growing inside my skull for probably around ten years, so I can’t expect to heal in just a matter of months.

I’m doing my part, and I’m taking care of myself—now more than ever, and for the right reasons. I hope it pays off eventually. The only thing under my control is how I react to the situation and how I let it affect my daily life. The only thing I can truly control is my decision to enjoy every day to the fullest—and to not let this take me down. This isn’t the end; life goes on!