How We Are Peer-Led
The weekend before my accident, I was a busy bee. But honestly? That was just our normal with four energetic boys.
I was working overnight shifts on the weekends, going to school during the week, and loving every minute of our chaotic, beautiful life. At 34, I was athletic, loved obstacle course races, and was always on the move. That particular weekend was a whirlwind: I passed my embalming finals, we celebrated our son’s 12th birthday, our boys conquered a mud run, and I managed to squeeze in a brief rest during the day.
Before the world flipped upside down, there was a song playing. I’ve loved The Killers since high school, and their music was the last thing I heard before stepping into work that night. ❤️
4:00 AM
The night of my accident, I was the only employee in the building, working back in the kitchen.
What happened next was only captured by the security cameras. The footage showed me suddenly grabbing the side of my head, grimacing in severe pain, stiffening like a board, and falling backward. I hit my head with tremendous force against the floor—an impact so brutal it immediately triggered a seizure.
Twenty long minutes went by.
Eventually, a guest wandered downstairs looking for help. Finding nobody at the front, he walked back into the kitchen. That’s when he found me on the floor, still actively seizing. He ran to call 911.
When first responders arrived, they moved fast, doing everything they could to save my life. In the chaos of trying to stabilize me, they had to cut my favorite sweater right off of me.
Inside the Storm
At the hospital, the reality of my injuries set in: I had sustained a severe traumatic brain injury (TBI) alongside a subarachnoid hemorrhage—though to this day, it's uncertain whether the bleed caused the fall or the fall caused the bleed.
To keep me alive and allow my swelling brain room to expand, doctors placed me in a medically induced coma and performed a bifrontal craniotomy, removing the top of my skull.
While I lay unconscious in that coma for a week, a silent storm raged inside. I suffered three separate ischemic strokes: a bilateral cerebellar stroke, a thalamic stroke, and a brainstem stroke that severely impacted my pons. The medical team did everything humanly possible—stacking medications and using therapeutic massages just to keep blood flowing through my system.
Eventually, the time came to wean me off the sedation. The doctors told my family I would wake up within 24 to 72 hours.
But I stayed sleeping.
The Sound of Recovery
During that long, terrifying first year of recovery, one specific song stayed on repeat ❤️🩹:
If you watch it and truly listen to the lyrics, you’ll understand. What is shown in that video is exactly what was going on inside my brain. And what is said… is everything I feel.
My journey didn't end when I stayed sleeping—it was only just beginning. Thank you for walking this road with me as I share my story.
Why I Share My Story: The Heart of Moving Mountains
When you survive something that reshapes your entire existence—when you wake up to a world where you have to relearn, rebuild, and redefine what life looks like—you realize very quickly how crucial it is to not walk that path alone.
My journey from that kitchen floor, through the strokes, the coma, and the long road of recovery, is the very reason Moving Mountains exists today.
Moving Mountains isn't a team of distant experts speaking from textbooks. It is a peer-led organization built by people who have actually walked through the fire. We know what it feels like when the unexpected hits, when your world stops, and when the mountain in front of you feels impossible to climb. We are here because we’ve been in those deep valleys ourselves.
Peer leadership means empathy over sympathy. It means shared understanding, authentic connection, and real hope from people who truly get it—because we’ve lived it.
I stayed sleeping for a while, but when I finally woke up, I knew my story couldn't end with survival. It had to turn into purpose. Moving Mountains is that purpose: a space where our lived experiences become the light that guides others out of the dark.
No matter what mountain you are standing in front of today, remember this—you don't have to climb it alone. We are right here with you, every step of the way. ❤️🩹
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