There is a distinct economy to how we talk about our lives when the script gets rewritten.
When your world shifts off its axis, people naturally look for labels. They want precise medical descriptions , neat emotional summaries, and ideally, an itemised bill of who or what was responsible so they know which reaction to use. But language is about selection. Some words get retired because they’re inaccurate; others because they carry heavy luggage ; and a few simply because they sit behind a door that is locked.
Here are a few words you won’t find in my everyday vocabulary—and why.
“Brain Injury”
Factuall? Yes. Technically accurate? Absolutely.
Officially, my medical notes say cerebrovascular accident. “Accident” is a spectacular understatement. It makes a major neurological incident sound like I’ve clipped a wing mirror in a supermarket car park or dropped toast butter-side down on the floor
“Acquired brain injury” isn’t much better. It carries a heavy, somber vibe I don’t have the time, energy, or interest for that
“Stroke” is cleaner. It’s direct, everybody knows the score, and it’s palatable. It states the event in one clean syllable without opening a textbook or launching an impromptu clinical debrief. State the facts, done.
“Frustrated”, “Embarrassed”, or “Ashamed”
I feel them. Of course I do—living an adaptive life provides a steady daily combination of all three, usually before I’ve even finished my first cup of tea. But you won’t hear me broadcasting them.
Those feelings are mine. They’re for me to process, digest, and quietly bin in private. The second I hand my embarrassments over to an audience, it’s not communicating—it’s selling tickets to a pity party. I have zero desire to turn standard everyday small frictions into a tragic monologue, nor do I expect strangers to care.
“Regret”
See above. Retrospectives are fine for historic engineering projects, but dwelling on “what ifs” is a criminal waste of time. What happened happened. My trajectory shifted, the sat-nav rerouted, and we crack on. The internal landscape stays internal
“The Legal Stuff”
People are naturally nosy about the mechanics behind major life disruptions—the formal proceedings, the endless paperwork, the fault-finding, and the administrative bureaucracy that drags on in the background.
That door stays bolted and barred.. The machinery running in the background is exactly that- background noise; it doesn’t define the story, and it certainly doesn’t get discussed.
“fake,” or “imposter.”
There’s a quiet temptation, when your body or daily routine changes, to feel like you’re playing a part—that adapting is just a cheap, knock-off tribute act to how things used to be. It took a very long time to accept that .
Adapting isn’t a sham; it’s basic engineering. The leg brace, the modified routines, the alternate routes—none of it is a cover-up or a compromise. It’s just the way I have to work. Calling any of it out implies there’s some mythical, pristine baseline version of life I’m failing to deliver on. The now is my baseline.
Language sets the perimeter. By deciding which words get spoken and which stay firmly unsaid , I keep some degree of control .
Kind heart, sharp mind, and an eye roll that could stop traffic
