There’s a moment in every survivor’s journey when reality finally settles in, not the medical reality, but the personal one.

For me, it was the morning I tried to stand up out of bed and expected my legs to cooperate the way they always had. They didn’t. My balance wobbled, my brain lagged behind my body, and I felt like a guest in a house I used to own.

In that moment, it hit me:

My body wasn’t bouncing back overnight.

My strength wasn’t returning on my timeline.

My recovery wasn’t going to be a straight line upward.

And I’ll be honest with you, I was frustrated. Angry. Embarrassed.

But mostly, I was grieving.

Nobody prepares you for that part.

The grief of realizing you’re not stepping back into your old life, you’re stepping into a new one, whether you’re ready or not.

Healing isn’t linear. It’s not predictable. And it certainly isn’t quick.

But it is possible, and that’s the truth I’ve learned, slowly, stubbornly, and with a lot of humility.

Why Healing Takes Longer Then We Expect

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗼𝗱𝘆’𝘀 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝘃𝘀. 𝗢𝘂𝗿 𝗘𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲

Emotionally, I wanted to be “back to normal” within weeks.

My body, on the other hand, was operating on months… maybe years.

I had lived a full, active, purpose-driven life:

• 30 years teaching band

• Owning a music store

• Performing

• Coaching

• Building businesses

• Raising a family

I wasn’t used to slowing down.

But healing forced me to slow down before I understood how to do it gracefully.

𝗪𝗵𝘆 𝗔𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗥𝗲𝗰𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆

At 68, the bounce-back isn’t what it was at 30 or 40.

Aging adds layers, muscle loss, slower neural recovery, reduced endurance.

But aging also brings something else:

wisdom, patience, and perspective.

Healing became less about speed and more about direction.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 “𝗕𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱”

I’d watch others living their lives, working, traveling, creating…

and I felt like I was stuck in place.

The truth is:

Feeling behind is normal.

Feeling frustrated is normal.

Feeling discouraged doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong.

But healing is still happening, even when it feels slow.

....especially when it feels slow.

The Grief of Losing Your Old Self

This might be the hardest part of recovery to talk about.

When I had my stroke, and later my heart attack, I didn’t just lose strength.

I lost a version of myself I’d spent decades becoming.

𝗜𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗟𝗼𝘀𝘀 𝗜𝘀 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗹

I wasn’t the same man who stayed up late writing music.

I wasn’t the same teacher who could conduct a band for hours.

I wasn’t the entrepreneur with limitless ideas and energy.

And when you lose that version of yourself, you feel untethered, unsure who you are now.

𝗠𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗢𝗹𝗱 𝗘𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗴𝘆, 𝗦𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗽𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀, 𝗠𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁

I’d reach for a thought that used to be instant and find it missing.

I’d walk across a room and feel slow.

I’d look at tasks I used to conquer and find myself hesitating.

Those moments feel like little funerals, quiet reminders of what used to be.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗘𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 𝗣𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝗛𝗶𝗱𝗲

There’s anger.

There’s denial.

There’s sadness.

There’s fear.

And there’s the shame of admitting you’re not okay.

𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲’𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱:

Grief isn’t a setback.

It’s part of healing.

You can’t rebuild something you won’t acknowledge was broken.

The Body You Have Now; and How to Honor it

At some point, I had to stop fighting my body and start partnering with it.

𝗦𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗠𝗼𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗩𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗠𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿

For me, it was things like:

• Getting out of bed without hesitation

• Stretching without discomfort

• Feeling more balanced on my feet

• Walking farther than the week before

• Having a day with more clarity and less fog

These moments became my new “wins.”

𝗟𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗣𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴

The old Bob pushed hard.

The rebuilt Bob listens first.

I learned to notice signals, stiffness, fatigue, sluggishness, and respond with care instead of frustration.

𝗧𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗠𝘆 𝗕𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗻𝗲𝗿, 𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗺

My body survived for me.

It carried me through a stroke, a heart attack, grief, and the emotional storm that followed.

It deserved patience, not anger.

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗠𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗗𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗛𝗼𝗽𝗲

Even simple movement, gentle stretching, walking, strength work, my 5-Minute Movement Reset, started rebuilding more than muscle.

It rebuilt belief.

It rebuilt momentum.

It rebuilt hope.

Movement reminded me that I wasn’t stuck.

I was healing.

The Hard Truth That Made Rebuilding Easier

Here’s the truth no one told me, but it changed everything:

“You can’t go back, you can only rebuild forward.”

𝗪𝗵𝘆 𝗔𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗜𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗚𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗨𝗽

Acceptance doesn’t mean you’re done fighting.

It means you’re done fighting yourself.

It means allowing healing to unfold instead of demanding it match your old timeline.

𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗔𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗢𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗼 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀

Once I stopped wishing for the old version of me, I became able to appreciate the man I was becoming.

A little wiser.

A little slower, but more intentional.

More grateful.

More grounded.

More present.

More compassionate toward others who were struggling too.

Acceptance didn’t weaken me.

It strengthened me in ways I didn’t expect.

Conclusion

If you’re reading this as someone who’s rebuilding, your health, your identity, your strength, or your confidence, I want you to hear this clearly:

Rebuilding is noble.

Rebuilding is brave.

Rebuilding is proof that you’re still choosing life.

You’re not behind.

You’re not failing.

You’re not done.

You’re becoming.

And every slow step, every small win, every hard day you overcome is shaping a new chapter you never expected… but maybe needed.

A Gentle Invitation

If you want to talk about what supported my recovery, physically, mentally, emotionally, feel free to reach out.

No pressure.

No agenda.

Just two people walking the same road from different directions.

And if you’re rebuilding right now…

you’re not alone.

Bob