ReWired To Heal

The Day My Life Tilted

December 22, 2015.
The day my world tilted.
The day my life quietly split into before and after.

I was 35. Happily Married. A mother to two — my daughter and my four-legged son. I was in the middle of what felt like a well-earned pause: a short career break after ten intense, successful years with a FAANG company, enjoying the expat life in the Philippines, telling myself I finally had time for fun. For the first time in a long while, life felt Balanced. Steady. Predictable. Earned.

And then “it” happened – my cerebellum “short-circuited.” In a matter of hours, the version of life I knew — and the version of myself I trusted — disappeared. What followed wasn’t just a medical emergency. It was the beginning of a humbling process of relearning how to live in a body that no longer behaved the way it used to. It was the beginning of a long journey—one that would require me to rework nearly every aspect of my life: my sense of self, my marriage, my motherhood, my career, and the rhythms of everyday living.

That morning didn’t arrive with drama. It arrived quietly – when I woke up with double vision and a weird feeling of imbalance. I tried to carry on as if nothing was wrong. I brushed it off. Maybe it was exhaustion after a crazy fun trip to Disneyland. Maybe it was just dehydration after all the traveling to India, to HongKong, back to the Philippines. Maybe I just needed rest. 

When the feeling didn’t fade even the next day — when standing, walking, even simple movements felt too slow — we decided not to wait. What began as discomfort slowly became concern. And concern soon became an emergency. 

An MRI was ordered without delay and the diagnosis arrived just as quickly with the words that changed everything: A stroke. In the cerebellum. This wasn’t the first one. There were signs of earlier, silent strokes — moments my body had carried quietly, until it couldn’t anymore.

This wasn’t just a sudden medical event.
It was the moment my life divided itself—cleanly, irreversibly—into before and after.

I didn’t yet know what recovery would ask of me.
I didn’t know how much I would have to relearn.
I only knew that the ground beneath my life had shifted.

And nothing would ever feel the same again.

If you’ve stayed with me until this line, I’m grateful.

This story unfolds in parts—through fear, healing, relearning, and becoming—one chapter at a time.

You’re welcome to walk the rest of the journey with me, in the days ahead.