For a long time, I thought I had to pretend I was fine. That I was still the same girl I used to be before the injury smart, athletic. But I was 10 years old. And the truth is, nothing was ever the same again.

At first, I resisted it. I mourned who I used to be. Not wanting to give into the person I had become. But over time through hard moments, healing moments, and some big realisations I began to see the bigger picture. My brain injury didn’t break me. It shaped me. And even now, after all the challenges, I wouldn’t go back and change a thing

Before the Injury: Who I Thought I Was

When I was younger, I was the loud one. The excitable, bubbly girl bursting with energy always talking, always moving. Looking back at old photos now, I laugh, because I still make the same big expressions. That part of me never really left.

I was smart, really smart. Maths and English came naturally to me and writing was always a strength. I was athletic, too. Swimming was my thing, and I was good at it. I was always one of the fastest in P.E, the one who loved sports day, the one with another competition just around the corner.

Everything changed not long after one of those swim competitions. I remember thinking, I’ll be fine. I’ve got another race coming up. But then… I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t talk. And just like that, my whole world flipped.

What Recovery Actually Looked Like

Recovery for me was hard and it wasn’t just physical. Yes, there were therapists and physios helping me learn how to walk and talk again. My balance came back eventually. But inside, something felt permanently shifted. It was like the outside world saw me getting “better,” but I never truly felt the same.

Only recently someone pointed out that I still have a slight kick in my right leg when I walk. That I concentrate really hard when I’m tired, trying to stay steady. But I didn’t allow myself to process any of that for years. Not properly. Not emotionally. Because at ten years old, you don’t have a full grasp on life, let alone the language to understand trauma.

It wasn’t until I turned sixteen that the grief hit me properly. That’s when the mental recovery began. I was constantly angry all the time. I’d find myself thinking, Why me? What if it happens again? I didn’t feel like myself. I didn’t feel like anyone. I felt like an outsider in my own hometown, stuck somewhere between the person I was before and the person I was becoming.

The moment I realised this wasn’t going to be quick or easy was when life caught up with me. I was finishing high school, and suddenly I was supposed to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. But how could I do that when, for years, all I’d been focused on… was learning how to walk in a straight line?

The Turning Point

The moment everything started to shift for me the moment I realised I didn’t have a full grasp on reality anymore was when I started working. Becoming a lifeguard, of all things. A job where I was expected to protect other people, when I couldn’t even protect myself from grief and pain. It was overwhelming. It felt ironic. And honestly, it cracked something open in me.

My therapist was the one who pointed it out: all my big life decisions at sixteen were centred around life saving it, preserving it, understanding it. It was heavy. Almost too much to carry. But it made sense, in a weird, painful way. My whole world had once revolved around survival. Of course I’d gravitate toward roles that mirrored that.

That’s when I started looking for ways to cope meditation, journaling, crystals, anything that might help ease the storm inside me. But what truly stuck was writing. Writing gave me a place to land. A way to make sense of everything going on in my brain, because for a long time, I genuinely didn’t understand it.

That’s why I created Makia. It started as a place for me to offload. To write things down, then write them again this time in a way I could actually make sense of. It became my mirror, my grounding, my healing.

And now? Things feel different. I’ve worked through a lot of what once felt impossible to even name. I’ve found people who believe in me. A charity that gave me a platform. My story has been shared in articles, radio interviews, and even reached an American charity. I never imagined I’d be here but here I am. And I’m not done yet

What It Taught Me

During the hardest times, I learned to love myself. I know that sounds cliché, but it’s the truth. For years, I hated who I was constantly wondering why I couldn’t just fit in, why I couldn’t be a “normal” girl like everyone else. But now? I love that I’m not like everyone else.

I love that I’m the confident, bubbly girl who feels everything deeply. I love that I’m still here. When I really take a step back and look at my life, I feel nothing but gratitude. The fact that I was allowed to continue living that I got a second chance that’s a blessing. And I’m going to honour that every single day by doing the best I can with what I’ve got.

For a long time, I told myself no one would care about my story. That it didn’t matter. That I was fine now. But the truth is… I’m not “fine.” I’m different. I’m new. I’m someone who has been shaped completely by a brain injury. And that story? It matters.

Lately, people have actually started listening to what I have to say and in that space, I’ve realised something huge: I have a story that no one else on this planet has. It’s uniquely mine. And that story… that’s my strength.

I spent so long worrying about what I was going to do with my life. Now I know: not everybody had to restart life from scratch. But I did. And somehow, I’m still standing. Still learning. Still growing. I was one of the lucky ones and maybe I’m just on a different timeline. But I believe now, with my whole heart, that everything will work out for me exactly when it’s meant to.

Why I Wouldn’t Change It

Looking back on my life, I was recently asked in an interview, “Who would you be if the brain injury had never happened?” And I was stumped.

Because the truth is there is no version of my life without the brain injury. That is me. It’s part of my DNA now. Once Morgan Thain… now stepping fully into a new identity as Morgan Thain Miller, a name that reflects who I’ve become and the family that held me through it all.

Changing my name was more than symbolic. It marked the beginning of a new chapter the moment I reached out to Headway, the moment my blog started to skyrocket, the moment journalists began contacting me to share my story. All of that came from a decision rooted in the person I’ve become because of the injury.

And honestly? Without it, I have no idea who I would be.

This version of me is softer, stronger, and wiser

and I like her more.

Final Reflection

Maybe you’re carrying something that changed you too. A moment that split your life into ‘before’ and ‘after.’ This is your sign: your story isn’t over. It’s only just beginning.

Remember, it all starts with self love

-M