Insanity… My Dear Friend

Insanity. It’s a word often thrown around carelessly, yet the weight it carries can be both familiar and foreign to those who have lived through its grip. For me, insanity became an unexpected companion—one I met after my life-altering injury, when everything I knew about my world shifted in an instant. It wasn’t just a change in my physical state; it was a transformation of my mind, my heart, and my soul.

For the longest time, I couldn’t comprehend what was happening to me. My body, once strong and capable, now felt like a foreign entity. I struggled to reconcile who I had been with who I was becoming. It was like I was living in someone else’s body, someone I didn’t recognize, someone whose movements didn’t align with my thoughts, my desires, or my will.

It felt insane to wake up every day, still fighting my own reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me wasn’t the same one who had lived a vibrant, active life. She had been replaced by someone broken, someone limited. I could barely recognize the person I had once been, and in turn, I couldn’t figure out who I was meant to be now.

And yet, through the chaos, through the confusion, through the deep and painful moments of isolation, insanity became my dear friend. Not the kind of friend that drags you down, but the kind that shows you how much you’re capable of enduring, how much you can rebuild, how far you can push past the boundaries that once defined you. Insanity, in its own strange way, offered me clarity.

I had to lose my mind to find it again.

In the months and years following my injury, I came to realize that insanity wasn’t something to fear. It was a reflection of the extreme emotions and challenges that come when you’re forced to live a new reality. When you’re up against something that seems insurmountable, your mind can feel like it’s breaking, and that’s okay. What I learned is that sometimes, you have to go a little insane to transform into someone stronger, someone who can adapt and overcome.

When I was faced with this new life, I had to confront a version of myself I hadn’t been prepared for. I had to navigate feelings of grief, loss, frustration, and helplessness. But I also had to be patient with myself. The process of healing—physically, mentally, and emotionally—wasn’t linear. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t easy. And it certainly wasn’t “sane” by any traditional measure.

But through it all, insanity taught me the most valuable lessons of my life.

It taught me that resilience isn’t about avoiding madness. It’s about embracing it, understanding it, and learning to live alongside it. It’s about shifting your mindset to see that the storm isn’t something to escape from, but something to weather with grace. You don’t have to have all the answers right away. You don’t have to “get it” all at once.

You just have to trust that you’ll get through it, piece by piece, moment by moment.

Insanity, in this context, is not a descent into chaos; it’s a tool for self-discovery. It’s the force that pushes you to examine your limitations and, in turn, realize they’re not as binding as you thought. It’s the fire that forges your character, burning away the old layers of who you were and leaving behind the new, stronger version of yourself. The one who can handle life’s uncertainties with grace, even when things feel completely out of control.

The one who understands that some of the most profound transformations come from the most painful experiences.

So, insanity… my dear friend. You didn’t break me; you taught me how to rebuild. You didn’t bury me; you showed me how to rise again.

And for that, I’m grateful.