There was a time not too long ago when the future looked bleak. In 2020, I suffered a stroke so severe that doctors told me I might not survive. It was as if the world pressed pause—and then tried to erase me completely. But as life often reminds us, even the worst storms can reveal a sunrise worth waiting for.

I didn’t just survive. I chose to live—magnificently, beautifully, and yes… imperfectly.

In the beginning, it wasn’t easy. My right hand, once dominant, was rendered useless. I was faced with aphasia, the frustrating inability to speak or understand clearly. Imagine being locked inside your own mind, unable to share your pain, fears, or hopes. That was my world.

But that world—my perfectly imperfect world—also became my canvas.

I began drawing with that same right hand, using it for therapy, self-expression, and healing. The shaky lines turned into illustrations. Those illustrations became stories. And those stories? They became my first book, A Cry in the Dark.

I wrote it not just for myself, but for the growing number of younger stroke survivors—many of whom think they’re too young to be at risk. I wanted them to know they’re not alone. I wanted their caregivers, families, and friends to know there is help, and more importantly, hope.

I’ve since discovered that writing isn't just therapy—it’s transformation. It gave me my voice back, in more ways than one. And as I continue my journey, I continue to evolve.

My new self is like a child. The adult in me wants to grieve what was lost. But the child in me—he’s excited. Every milestone is a celebration. Learning to walk again, to feed myself, to find the words that once came so easily—it’s all new again. And that’s okay. In fact, it’s beautiful.

So here I am, not trying to be perfect.

Because perfection was never the goal. Presence was. Peace was. Purpose was.

And I’ve found all three in this life I now live—not in spite of its messiness, but because of it.

So I say this to you, especially if you’re going through something you never imagined:

You don’t have to make sense to everyone. You just have to make sense to yourself.

You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you—bravely, unapologetically, imperfectly perfect in your perfectly imperfect world.

And that’s more than enough.