23/04/2026
Lena, "Stroke doesn’t always look the way we expect, and it doesn’t only happen to “other people.” I definitely didn’t think it would happen to me.
The shock of being told I had had a stroke is unexplainable. I sat in the emergency room with my husband repeating, WTF, over and over again. How could this possibly have happened to me? I was 50 at the time and in the best physical shape of my life. Health and fitness were my passions, and I lived accordingly.
The blood clot that entered my brain happened on a Saturday night, and I didn’t recognise it as a stroke. I felt spacy and disconnected, and I was struggling to formulate what was going on in my brain into words. I couldn't remember the ritual my daughter and I shared at bedtime, and it scared her. I told her I was ‘fine, just tired’ and went to bed.
I went to the hospital the next morning, still not thinking it was anything serious. I felt okay, just a little ‘wobbly’. So when the CT scan confirmed I had had a stroke and I was admitted to hospital, I was in disbelief. That shock continued as I grappled with the idea that ‘someone like me’ could have a stroke. It didn’t feel fair and certainly didn’t make sense.
A week later, I was back in the emergency room. It was Easter weekend and the last place I wanted to be, but I was experiencing symptoms and had started to panic that I was having another stroke. In hindsight, it was likely symptoms of the first stroke, but at the time I didn’t have the knowledge or understanding of how I might feel or what recovery was going to look like.
Three months after the stroke, I had surgery to close a PFO (Patent Foramen Ovale), which the neurologists and cardiologists determined was the likely cause of the clot reaching my brain. A PFO is a small hole in the heart that can allow blood to move from the right to the left side and travel to the brain. I had never heard of a PFO, and the thought of heart surgery created another level of anxiety.
I’m not sure I ever fully comprehended exactly what my body had been through, and I think I was in denial for a really long time. I had trouble talking about the stroke, and there was a sense of shame attached. I went through periods of anxiety and panic, scared that it could happen again at any time.
I sought therapy and introduced mindfulness into my day to support my mental and emotional health. As an active, busy mum and coach running my own business, I struggled with the limitations that stroke fatigue and reduced energy brought. Stroke fatigue is incredibly challenging because it doesn’t seem to follow a pattern, and no one can see what you are going through. I also found it really hard to explain.
I had a hard time asking for help, and because I didn’t have any severe physical disabilities, I didn’t feel deserving of support. I felt like there were other people who needed it more, but with the encouragement of a friend who worked in brain injury, I found support through SHIU (State Head Injury Unit). They helped me to better understand what was happening in my brain and why things felt different. They introduced me to pacing, gave me someone to talk to who ‘got it’, and helped me figure out some goals and a way forward.
I was frustrated, but I tried to return to my life at a slightly slower pace, telling myself that I was okay, that it could be worse, and that I was one of the lucky ones… but I didn’t allow myself to grieve or feel sad over what was essentially the loss of my identity.
About a year after my stroke, I fell into what I would describe as burnout, or possibly depression. My body stopped me in my tracks again.
This time, I paid attention. I realised I needed to take time to truly heal and to feel my way through it. I stopped working with clients altogether and focused on my family and myself. I had to learn to say no to many things to reduce the busyness, and to manage my energy so I didn’t burn out from everyday tasks. But most importantly, I had to learn to let myself feel sad, and to accept that it was okay not to always be the strong one. I had to grieve who I was before the stroke in order to accept the life that was now mine.
I am still a work in progress, but two years on, things are looking much better. Instead of trying to return to the old version of myself, I have been creating new experiences. I now volunteer at Riding for the Disabled, prioritise myself and my family, and enjoy the calm and quiet of nature as much as possible. My approach to exercise has shifted in a healthier direction, and I am present in a way that may not have happened without the stroke.
I have adopted a slower pace of life, and mindfulness is now a regular part of my day. The stillness I practise has helped me rediscover who I am at my core, outside of my roles and the ‘doing’ that once defined my life.
If there’s one thing I would want others to take from my experience, it’s to listen to your body, even when the signs feel subtle or don’t quite make sense."
