This line from a favorite song captures the essence of some thoughts I’ve had today.
In speaking with people with concussions this afternoon, I was reminded yet again of how this is such an invisible injury. There isn’t outward physical evidence to cue people into the fact that someone is suffering and not feeling like themselves.
People can be experiencing pain, extreme fatigue, overstimulation from sensory input (especially noise and lights), difficulty following and engaging in conversations, dizziness, etc. etc. etc. Because of these things, they may pull back from activities they love, choose to not attend social events, stay quiet and disengaged during group conversations, and say no to invitations from friends and family.
This can be disconcerting and confusing to the people who love them. They may ask things like: “Why can’t you go out with us this weekend when you were able to go last weekend?” “Why won’t you participate in my wedding celebrations?” “Why are you not acting like yourself?”
The answer to all of those questions is that that person has had a brain injury, and the symptoms can vary from day to day and hour to hour. It is probably killing them inside that they don’t have it in them to participate in the things they love with the people they love. It’s not you, it’s not them, it’s the concussion.
And it’s not just people with concussions who deal with invisible injuries and pain. There is so much mental and emotional anguish in this world — so many people suffering from fear, anxiety, depression, addiction, grief, and so on — that others cannot see.
We do not know what other people are suffering, so when someone acts in a way that seems unusual or rude or uncharacteristic, let’s give them the benefit of the doubt. People act that way because they are hurting in some way themselves.
Some suggestions for how to help: give them space, ask them what they need (they may not know the answer to that question), just sit with them.
In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can’t see.