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Originally written in 2015 — Revisited in 2025 I woke up in one of those heavy moods—dark, shapeless, and hard to name. The kind that perhaps only someone living with brain injury and PTSD truly understands. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to hear a male voice (a challenge, since I live with my husband). I didn’t want to be anywhere but alone. Yoga crossed my mind, but the appliance repairman was on his way, and my husband was deep in a meeting in his home office. I was

Originally posted October 26, 2015 | Refreshed for LouiseMathewson.com Fall has arrived, and once again, I feel myself tumbling into a quiet, shadowed space—like slipping down a rabbit hole. The Florida air is cooler now, inviting midday walks and open windows. That should lift my spirits. But still, something in me feels dimmed. Maybe it’s my sensitive, healing brain. Maybe it’s age. Maybe it’s simply the season whispering its own truths. Back in Chicago, where I grew up, fa

Originally written in 2015 — Revisited in 2025 A few days after I emerged from a coma, I was transferred by ambulance to a rehabilitation center. One of my first tasks was relearning daily care routines with an Occupational Therapist (O.T.). She told me I’d be taking my first shower. I remember wondering how that would even work. I could barely recall what a shower felt like, and the rehab shower room was unfamiliar territory. She walked me through the steps: where to place m

Originally posted in 2012 — Revisited in 2025 I’ve decided to start a blog. It’s taken me years to say that out loud. Every time I considered it, I’d retreat with a quiet “Yikes!”—because blogging felt like stepping onto a stage. And I’m an introvert of the highest order. There’s a story about me being born in a closet (literally), and another about being on stage at age five. I’ll share those in time. But here I am, out of hiding. Because something beautiful has come into th

Those who know me well know I love learning about psychology, the psyche, and the spirit. I’ve studied the Enneagram informally for many years, beginning during my time at Loyola in Chicago, where I was introduced to it through my Master’s program in spirituality. My desire to understand myself more deeply has always been tied to a longing for compassion—especially self-compassion—as I navigate this winding journey called life. One morning, I opened my “Ennea Thought of the

After my traumatic brain injury (TBI), I lost many things: a sense of safety in the world, trust in life, executive function, cognitive clarity, balance, the ability to write prose, and both short-term and long-term memory. For a while, I thought I had lost myself. Then one afternoon, I found myself sitting in a Barnes & Noble café. My iPod played “Creative Mind” by Jeffrey Thompson—music that always lifted my mood. Beside me sat my notebook, a Starbucks coffee with two pumps

Originally written in 2015, reposted in 2025 with renewed reflection Several years ago, at the end of May, I learned—along with so many others—of Beau Biden’s death at age 46 from brain cancer. Even now, the memory of that moment still stirs something deep in me. As a parent of a child who was nearing 45 at the time, my heart broke for Beau’s father, Joe Biden. The headline felt unreal. I kept repeating it, trying to absorb what it meant—for Beau’s children, his wife, his fat

Brain Injury Awareness Month  is observed every March  in the United States. It’s a time to honor the resilience of survivors and the families who walk beside them, raise public understanding of brain injuries—including traumatic brain injury (TBI)—and advocate for better support, research, and visibility. In honor of this, I created a Loving Kindness Meditation especially for survivors and their families. It’s offered with deep care and the hope that it brings moments of pea

Several years ago, as I packed for a seven-week adventure to Australia and New Zealand, it hit me: my husband and I were going to be out of the country during our usual family Christmas planning window. Each year, the six of us—our two adult children, their spouses, and the two of us—drew names for gift-giving. Our two grandsons weren’t part of the exchange, which meant they made out like bandits! Normally, my daughter-in-law handled the draw and mailed each of us a name in O

In an interview, someone asked me, “What’s the hardest thing about living with a brain injury?” I paused. “An excellent question,” I said. And it truly was—because in eleven years, no one had ever asked me that. At least, not that I can remember. The truth is, I look and sound so good that most people assume I’m perfectly fine. Normal. Whole. But what they don’t see is how hard some things still are for me. My family, for instance, expects I’ll show up to big gatherings like