I was 25 when everything changed in an instant. What I thought was food poisoning turned out to be a massive brain stem stroke—a catastrophic event that left me trapped in my own body, unable to move, or speak a word to express the sheer terror I was experiencing. I was locked-in, fully conscious but cut off from the world around me. When I awoke in the hospital , I knew my life had shifted into something unrecognizable. I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep going.

Just a few months before, I had returned from two years living in Munich, full of energy and plans. I’d landed a promising job at a major U.S. bank and was preparing to climb the corporate ladder as a stockbroker. I had my Finance degree, my Series 7 license, and even advanced German under my belt. On the surface, I had it all. But I now see that I was chasing success without truly understanding what fulfillment looked like. I was playing hard, working harder—and unknowingly running on empty.

The stroke turned everything upside down. I spent 43 days in the hospital, followed by months in a rehab center. The simplest tasks—brushing my hair, speaking a sentence—became monumental challenges. When I could finally talk, my speech was severely impaired by apraxia and dysarthria, and I sounded like a slurred whisper of my former self. I would have gladly traded a paralyzed limb to regain my voice at the time. In addition to speech, I had to relearn how to walk, eat, write, and use the bathroom. It was like going through a second childhood—but with the painful awareness of everything I had lost.

Depression hit hard. At times, it felt impossible to keep going. But my family refused to give up on me. My brother exercised my limbs daily when I couldn’t move on my own. My mother tied my feet to the petals of a recumbent bike so I could begin the smallest of movements. I resented their persistence back then—but now I see it for what it was: unconditional love.

After two or three intense years of recovery and some unconventional therapies, I began to walk unaided. Still, it wasn’t until I stepped into a yoga class that things truly began to shift. I joined because it was low impact and seemed manageable—but I discovered that yoga was not just a physical practice. It taught me how to breathe again, mentally and emotionally. It gave me back a sense of self.

From there, my life slowly started to realign. I returned to school for a time, then volunteered at a radio station in New York City. It was there that I was first introduced to self-help and personal development, and it opened my eyes to the power of mindset. I realized that while I couldn’t control what had happened to me, I could control how I responded to it. I stopped seeing myself as a victim and started owning my choices, my habits, my perspective.

In early 2020, I joined a three-month long nutrition program—more out of curiosity than anything. After all, I I had what I thought was an extremely healthy diet. But to my complete surprise, the program transformed me in ways I hadn’t thought possible. My voice regained its strength and bass. My blood pressure, which had always been low, finally normalized. My circulation improved so much that my nose no longer turned red in the winter cold. I even regained the stamina and balance to hike again—something I hadn’t done in years. And that’s only naming a few of the major improvements.

That experience was so profound that I became certified to coach the very same nutrition program. For the first time in my life, I feel a deep sense of purpose. I often wonder where I’d be had I known this information when I first had my stroke back in 2005. But even so, I wouldn’t undo the journey. As painful as it was, it shaped me into someone I respect, someone I love.

Today, I help others reconnect with their health, their power, and their voice—just as I did. My story is no longer just about surviving. It’s about breaking into the light.

My name is Joseph Voloski and I am a firefighter and I have had a traumatic brain injury.

Yes, I was “hoping” to be a firefighter, however, I was planning on a career in the Air Force and as their slogan says “Aim High” by serving my country and traveling the world.  I could hardly wait to join the Air Force and did so on November 10, 1999, as a delayed entry recruit since I was still in high school.   This was a short-lived career as I had a vehicle accident on November 11^th in southern West Virginia where I sustained a Le Fort 3 facial fracture, an injury to my spinal cord, and a brain injury to my frontal lobe.  The head injury resulted in my brain swelling into the open palate area of my mouth and I was in a non-medicated induced coma for 23 days at the University of Virginia Medical Center. After a month at UVA, I was blessed to still be considered a child, therefore, I was transferred to the Kluge Children’s Rehab Center in Charlottesville.   The medical team gave my parents little hope to my being able to fully recover from these injuries.

As most of you know, the frontal lobe of the brain plays an enormous part in the higher functions of your brain that make you, well, you.  The effects of damage to the frontal lobe can vary greatly depending on the extent of the injury, and even the age of the person at the time of the injury. Why is age a major factor in the effects that frontal lobe injuries have? The reason is that this lobe is the last brain region to achieve full development, and as such is highly susceptible to developmental anomalies arising from physical injury before the mid-20s. Damage occurring during this time can result in permanent disabilities.

In my situation it was on the 4^th day at Kluge when the respiratory therapist was cleaning my trach and giving my Mom some “hope” by explaining to her how I would communicate with a wired shut mouth once I awoke.  He told me to make a “Tim the tool man Taylor” growl and unexpectedly I gave a growl and I woke up.  Everyone was elated that I was aware and could recognize people, however, I was still unable to recognize the functions of a pen and a piece of paper.  It was also discovered at this time that I had left side paralysis. During physical therapy a neuromuscular electrical stimulator was used on my leg with the “hope” of refiring the muscles.  By the way, it worked.   The other major injuries were that my tongue had been split in to 3 pieces and my jaw was situated in a fixed position.  Therefore, I spent the next 2 years living on a feeding tube.

My message is to provide “hope” to others.  I have had many doctors and therapist tell me what I would or could do after sustaining my frontal brain injury.  I was told how unlikely it would be for me to finish my high school education much less attain a higher-level education.  With the help of a terrific medical team and the fact that I did not lose hope, I defeated the odds and I graduated high school with my class and started college.  I was advised by professionals regarding what kind of career category I should look at applying for and being a professional firefighter was not one of them, needless to say I didn’t listen and continued to “Aim High” and pursue the professional career that I always wanted.    I have to note that it did take me a decade to complete, but I have attained a Masters’ Degree and finished the National Fire Academy’s Executive Fire Officer Program in April of 2022. The EFO program was started in 1985 and I am 1 of less than 5,000 graduates of this program.

Having a brain injury is incredibly scary for those who suffer them and their loved ones.  I still have lasting TBI problems, however, today, I am a civilian firefighter for the US Department of Defense.  I had the good fortune to achieve my goal of traveling the world and serving my country by living and working in Greece and Italy for five years.

My personal slogan is to never lose hope or let others or the fear of failure decide your future - you are the only one who is in control of your life.

A traumatic brain injury doesn’t just change your life — it changes you. It reshapes your mind, your pace, your relationships, and your understanding of what it means to be present in the world.

Before my injury, I lived with momentum. I moved fast, thought fast, and carried the weight of multiple roles, identities, and expectations. Then, almost overnight, everything came to a halt. I suffered a severe TBI that left me in a coma for nearly a month, paralyzed and intubated. When I woke up, nothing was the same — including me.

The left side of my brain had taken the brunt of the damage, impacting logic, speech, motor coordination, and executive function. I had to relearn how to communicate, how to move, how to navigate noise, light, memory, and everyday tasks that most people take for granted. It felt like being dropped into a new world with no map — one where my body looked familiar but everything inside worked differently.

What made it harder was how invisible so much of it was. People often assume you’re “better” once you’re out of the hospital. But for those of us living with brain injuries, the real work starts long after discharge. I struggled with sensory overload, fatigue, confusion, and the deep grief of not recognizing myself in the ways I used to.

Still, something quietly powerful began to happen. I slowed down. I listened more. I became aware of how deeply connected everything is — thoughts, emotions, energy, rest, movement. I began to notice the small wins: folding laundry without breaking down, making a full grocery list and sticking to it, walking into a loud room without shutting down. These moments became milestones.

Recovery isn’t linear, and it isn’t always visible. Some days, the world feels too loud. Some days, words still fall apart before I can speak them. But I’ve learned to stop measuring myself by who I was and start honoring who I’m becoming. I’ve found new strengths in my sensitivity, new confidence in my boundaries, and a kind of quiet resilience I never knew I had.

Living with a TBI has required me to reimagine what it means to heal. It’s not about going back to “normal” — it’s about building a new version of life, one that makes space for rest, patience, and self-compassion. It’s about choosing presence over pressure, and finding courage in the midst of uncertainty.

I may walk more slowly now. I may need to take breaks, ask for help, or step away from overstimulation. But I also live with a kind of clarity that only comes from having to rebuild yourself from the inside out.

My life after brain injury isn’t what I expected — but in many ways, it’s more honest, more intentional, and more meaningful than the one I had before.

And that, I’ve come to believe, is its own kind of victory

My name is Phillip and this is the story of my Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), and subsequent recovery to where I am at today, the new me. Let me start off by saying the new me is not who I was from before. It is a different me. A person I have struggled with and finally accepted. Is it better than I was before? In many ways it is definitely not but in some other ways yes. I hope you can relate to my story and gain inspiration from it. That there is a chance for recovery. Yes, it is hard and at times seems impossible. There are people from my accident that I want to blame. This is all their fault. Why me? Unanswered questions and so much anger and frustration. Yes, I have been where you are. Life is not fair. Why would God let this happen???? Again, more questions without answers. From all I have been through I have found that the most difficult part that kept me from “fully recovering” was me. Not only me but, more so, accepting the new me.

On July 3rd, 1997 it was a typical day, I worked a full day at my job at an amusement park, met up with a friend who also worked at the park (coworker friend) and went to a graduation party that was hosted by fellow students – not parents. It was a good time. I hung out with other classmates, drank a bit and ended up sleeping (or passing out, I do not remember. This is more or less what I have been told.) in the passenger seat of my coworker friend’s car. It turns out another “friend” at the party (aka the person I so desperately want to blame for my accident) had a spare set of keys, got in with my coworker friend to the car I was asleep in, made a bad decision and started driving back to Erie, PA where we all lived. The kid that was driving was highly intoxicated at the time. While driving home he took a road with several twist and turns, which my fellow classmates (the crew) had dubbed “the speed way.” The drunk driver of the car took a turn way too fast, turned the car so much that it was heading off the road, overcompensated to get back onto the road, and ended up driving into a tree. The car hit the tree on the passenger door where I was reclined in my sleeping bag still asleep and ended up propelling me through the passenger window into the tree, then up into the windshield and back into the passenger seat as if I never had moved. My coworker friend, who was in the back seat, was thrown into the windshield and would end up with several stiches and scars on his forehead. After the accident the drunk driver was somehow able to drive the car to drop my coworker friend off at his home and then drove to my home to try and drop me off. During this time, I was unconscious. When the driver got to my place, he was unable to wake me up or get the car door open. A neighbor saw the car and called the police. When the police arrived, they ended up calling an ambulance, woke up my parents to the nightmare like situation, and ended up arresting the driver. I was taken to the hospital critical care unit, which would become my residence for what seemed like an endless period of time.

When I chose to sleep instead of drive at the party it would be twenty-two days before I would be semiconscious again. One week in the ICU and then I was moved to a step-down unit. My parents were told the chances of me recovering were slim and a vegetative state was mentioned more than once but, by the grace of God, I began to come out of the coma. The first memory that I can recall after the accident was waking up to a bell that kept going off in the hospital. I looked at my family and said "That bell is annoying!" That would be the beginning of my memories of my seemingly endless journey to recovery. More or less, I was a baby who had to learn how to walk, talk, use the bathroom, and eat again. During my time in the coma, I had a feeding tube inserted in my stomach. Nothing better than getting ground up food/nutrients pumped into your stomach. Initially, I thought it was all a dream and did everything I could to wake up from this nightmare. You have to remember I just came out of a coma and had no memory of what had happened, where I was, how I got there, that I had been at a party, or (since all of my short-term memories were gone, which was like the last month of my life before the accident) that I had recently graduated high school. I figured if I was able to get home then this would all end. I tried everything to get home, got really mad and agitated, tried to wake up by tugging on my feeding tube, until I finally came to terms that this was not a dream but, rather, my new life struggling to be who I once was.

During my recovery I would go through eye surgery to repair where my hard contact had been pushed into my retina during the accident, MANY meetings with neurologists both in Pennsylvania and in Ohio at the Cleveland Clinic until the head of neurology ask my parents a question that would change my future. He asked what they were doing for my recovery. You see it was not enough relying on the doctors, nurses and therapists. We needed a vision and a plan so, per my parents’ direction, my stay at the rehabilitation center came to an end. I moved home for better meals, familiar smells and long comfortable sleep. Then during the day, I would go back to the rehabilitation center for treatment. After MANY MORE rehabilitation sessions, which still go on to this day but are far less often, I was given a chance to be me again. Before I was released from the hospital I had been going to rehabilitation consecutively for two months. I attribute my initial recovery to an excellent support staff made up of doctors, nurses, friends, faith, and my immediate family who were the main drivers. Now would start my time going to rehabilitation sessions from home.

Once I was home, after months at the Hamot Medical Center, Leir and outpatient rehabilitation, my parents and I wanted me to start where I had left off with my pursuit for my college degree. In September of 1997 I started taking general education credits at home, and auditing courses such as psychology at Gannon University. I did well in these courses so we decided that it was time for me to pursue my degree on the Main Campus at Penn State University. This was where I had been accepted prior to getting in my accident. I started out at Penn State on January 5th, 1998, seven months after the accident, taking my general education and introductory engineering courses. I stuck with my pre-accident intention towards a major in chemical engineering. This would end up morphing from Chemical Engineering to Mechanical Engineering. Prior to my new start at PSU, I enrolled in the office of disability services where I received assistance with my classes, such as extra time to take exams using a proctor. The extra help was appreciated and utilized up until my junior year in college when I decided to complete the remainder of my time in college on my own with no safety net. Gutsy yes, but absolutely necessary to build up my own confidence! After attending 4.5 years at PSU, I graduated with my Mechanical Engineering degree and a job at a shipyard working on aircraft carrier designs.

One would think that graduating PSU would prove undeniably that I had recovered from my accident. To my family it did, but to myself I still felt like I was damaged or limited in some way. After college I would continue to try and prove to myself that I had recovered. I went on to get my Masters of Business Administration (MBA) at The College of William and Mary. That not being enough I studied, was tested, and was able to pass an exam to obtain my Professional Engineers License. I run, go to the gym, and stay fit. But it still did not feel like I had recovered. I have gone to speech therapy classes and seen therapists to discuss my feelings.

Currently, I work as a mechanical engineer designing small modular reactors (nuclear power units). Always double checking to make sure not to be Homer Simpson. I have a home and a family with a loving wife (my second marriage), five boys, three dogs, and two lizards. With all of the graces in my life I still try and find time to work on myself. To continue my recovery.

People that experience TBIs spend countless hours walking down the road to recovery. Like I have asked many times and I am sure you do too, why me? Why did I go through all of this to make it to where I am? Was it natural selection? Or did God let me live because he saw something worth saving? Now that I have recovered what is my purpose? That is where you all come in. I want to let you know that there is hope. That you all have a future and it can be as bright as you strive to make it.

One night, one second changed my life forever. Would I go back in time if I could to pick a different outcome? At first I say yes, rather, hell yes but that would make me erase all the wonderful people that have helped and guided me to this point. Life is what happens every day, living is what we choose to do with it. I hope and pray that you can find it within yourself to accept the new you and achieve your own recovery.

My name is Dave Van Aken and I’m giving a little information about my new journey. It’s been an incredible journey. Over 2 years ago, I arrived at the hospital at VCU and I was very sick. The doctors gave me 24 hours to live, but if the team could keep my blood pressure stable for 24 hours, they would be able to transfer a new liver into my body. Since that day, things in my life are incredible, I certainly do have some opportunities for my everyday needs. But I am certainly grateful and blessed. I’ve got an incredible group of family and friends who have supported me throughout this journey.

With the liver came some new opportunities. At first, my body was so full of infections that the doctors had to open me back up and do a cavity wash. Through this journey, I think I have had up to 30 procedures, my eyes don’t work like they used to, my ears sometimes, loud sounds overwhelm me. My ears are not as sharp as they used to be, but there are certain sounds that just trigger me to get a little overwhelmed. Over the past couple of years, it is getting better. That’s all we can do - Get up every day and do the best we can.

I have an incredible group of doctors, everything from liver, eyes, ears, physical doctors. I was hospitalized for over 320 days. I was unable to drink or eat. I lost my ability to be able to do for myself - physically I was just a shell. I couldn’t hold a cup, I couldn’t write very well, I can’t see every well at times. I was unable to move in the bed, I had a problem because I was in the bed so long, I had a hole in my back which went down to the bone. The nurses had to completely clean my wound and roll me over every 2 hours, to keep it clean and help it heal. Through this you can imagine there was a great deal of medicine to keep me stable and heal. For about this first 3 months, through many of the procedure and because I was so sick, I don’t really remember much of what happened.

And that’s a blessing, because I can tell you, my family knows what happened every day. I can certainly tell you, I was blessed that my mom and Dad were there next to me for all of those 325 days. The nurses, caregivers, doctors, therapists, the people that helped me were there every day. And through this I ended up toward the – what I thought was going to be the end of my stay – I got Covid, so I remained isolated, with testing every couple of weeks to determine how Covid was working on me.

My brain had some issues – hallucinations and nightmares. I thought people were trying to kill me, people were trying to kill my dad and people were stealing my medicine. I thought they were raping me; I was seeing ghosts. While most of the time at the hospital I cannot remember much, I can tell you I remember most of those dreams/hallucinations/nightmares. I don’t think about them often, but sometimes they show themselves again. This is all part of the journey.

I had dialysis for a year as my kidneys had failed as well as my liver. And another man I never met, a family gave me a new kidney and gave me another opportunity to live the life I have.

At some point I had a seizure in the hospital and began medication to help control them.  One of the worst seizures – again something thing I don’t remember – occurred at home.  I fell off the bed and broke my ankle and spent 3 months trying to clean that up and heal.

But at some point, the docs and nurses told me I have to continue to move because if I didn’t, I would not ever leave the bed and not be able to enjoy the life I now have. At some point they started to push me, gently, maybe sometimes not so gently. But to get up and move. One of the therapists helped me walk, and that day, I think I took 6 steps and then another 10 steps. I reached out to my dad and sent him a text – they helped me with that – and a picture showing that I had walked 10 feet that day. And I told everybody that at some point – I thought I told everyone in 6 months – that I was going to walk a 5K. And I kept telling everyone, and as my journey continued, the goal was still there.

I had to learn to wash myself in the shower, to brush my teeth, to make my breakfast – coffee and make sure that the stuff I ate was ok with the liver guy, the kidney guys as everyone has similar things for me to eat, and things I could not eat.

My dad – I call him my valet – had to take me back and forth to - I don’t even know how many doctors’ appointments, sometimes up to 4-5 a week.

I had to get people to the house to help me with PT and Speech therapy, to get me where I can do things on my own. We have gotten past that and now work with specialists. I work out on my own – 4-5 days a week. I can do this in my house and I also go to PT 2x per week. And I try to do this and walk as often as I can.

That dream of the 5k is still there and so I going to try, all I can do is the best I can. There will certainly be opportunities as new places, people, things I see or hear, the weather, too many things. But I am walking with the VCU group for the Liver Walk here in Richmond. I’m going to go as slow as I can, for as long as I can. And my dad, who was there every day at the hospital, every day, he’s going to walk with me. The two of us are going to do the best we can. I’m 52 and dad is 72. My mom is not walking with us She is a polio survivor. But we’re going to show up. That’s what we do, we show up and there is nothing we can’t handle.

At some point this opportunity, this walk this 5k, will be part of a book I am putting together for all the people who have helped me on my journey. It is to so I can tell myself and the universe what and why I have worked so hard to get to this point. Cause I’m not exactly sure what the plan is for me, but somebody in the universe has a plan for me. And I going to give that opportunity to a book, a talk, a podcast, or something to give my experience to others who may be going through the same or worse journey. And that’s all the details I can remember so I can get this out of my head. And I’m going to talk with my father, my pop, my valet, my rock to help me explain this and one of the things they said we can put this out on social media and ask for donations to help people going through.

We always have choices, we have to choose every day to work as much as we can today, do the best we can, we can put our head on a pillow and do the best we can to wake with a smile in the morning and start this over again today. If somebody hasn’t told you today that you are important and they love you, well I do. Love you.