When My Brain Slowed Down: Living, Learning, and Working Through a Concussion

There is something deeply unsettling about not being able to trust your own mind.

Before my concussion, I moved quickly. My thoughts came in layers, connections forming almost instantly. Writing, teaching, researching—these were not just things I did, they were ways I understood myself. My mind was a place I could rely on.

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

The Invisible Disruption

A concussion is strange because it doesn’t always show itself in obvious ways. There is no cast, no visible marker that tells people something has changed. From the outside, I looked the same. But inside, everything felt different.

Simple tasks became overwhelming. Reading a paragraph could take multiple attempts. Screens, which are such a central part of my work and research, became exhausting. Even light, sound, and movement started to feel like too much.

There is a particular kind of frustration that comes with knowing who you are and what you are capable of, while being unable to access it.

It is not just physical. It is emotional. It is cognitive. It is deeply disorienting.

Time Slows, But the World Doesn’t

One of the hardest parts has been that the world does not slow down with you.

Deadlines still exist. Emails still come in. Meetings are still scheduled. Expectations do not always shift to match your capacity.

As someone who holds multiple roles—student, educator, researcher, community member—I felt this tension immediately. I wanted to keep up. I tried to keep up.

But my body was telling me something different.

Fatigue would come on suddenly. My focus would disappear mid-task. Words that once came easily would feel just out of reach. And the more I pushed through it, the worse it became.

This forced me into a position I am not used to being in. I had to stop. I had to rest. I had to step back in ways that felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

The Body Holds the Truth

What this experience has reminded me—very clearly—is that the body does not negotiate.

In my research, I often talk about trauma and how it lives in the body, how it shapes learning, attention, and engagement. Living through a concussion has brought that understanding into a very personal space.

I could not think my way out of this. I could not push through it using willpower or discipline.

My body set the limits.

There is a kind of humility in that. And also a kind of clarity.

It forces you to listen in a different way.

Rethinking Productivity and Worth

One of the most difficult internal shifts has been around productivity.

We are taught, in so many ways, that our worth is tied to what we produce. How much we get done. How quickly we move. How efficiently we perform.

A concussion disrupts that completely.

There were days where my biggest accomplishment was resting. Days where I could only manage small, slow tasks. Days where I had to step away entirely.

And that is not something our systems are built to recognize as valuable.

This experience has made me question the structures we operate within, especially in education. What does it mean to expect constant output from bodies and minds that are not always able to give it? What happens to learners who are navigating invisible injuries, trauma, or chronic conditions?

These are not abstract questions for me anymore.

Returning Slowly

Healing from a concussion is not linear. There is no clear point where everything returns to normal.

Instead, it is a process of gradual return. Testing limits. Pulling back. Trying again.

For me, that has meant reintroducing things slowly. Short periods of work. Gentle movement. Structured exposure, especially with screen time. Paying attention to how my body responds rather than how much I think I should be able to do.

It has also meant letting go of timelines.

This has been one of the hardest lessons. I am used to planning, to moving forward with intention and pace. But healing does not follow a schedule.

It asks for patience.

What This Has Taught Me

This experience has shifted how I think about learning, teaching, and digital spaces in very real ways.

It has deepened my understanding of:

• Cognitive overload and how easily it can happen

• The importance of pacing and flexibility in learning environments

• The need for trauma-informed and body-aware approaches to education

• The reality that not all learners can engage in the same way, at the same time

It has also reinforced something I already believed, but now feel more fully.

Care cannot be an afterthought.

If we are designing educational spaces—especially online spaces—we have to think about the bodies and minds that enter those spaces. We have to consider fatigue, injury, trauma, and capacity.

We have to create environments where stepping back is allowed. Where slowness is not penalized. Where healing is not in conflict with learning.

Still Becoming

I am still in this process.

Some days are better than others. Some days feel almost normal. Others remind me that I am still healing.

But I am learning to move differently. To listen more closely. To measure progress in ways that are not tied only to productivity.

This experience has not just slowed me down. It has changed how I understand myself, my work, and the systems I move within.

And while I would not have chosen it, it has given me a deeper awareness of something I carry into all parts of my work now.

Not everything can be rushed.

And not everything should be.