In the past few episodes, I explained what a drag it is to wake up one morning and have your world turned upside down by an ugly stroke. The shock. The realization. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But it happened. Life comes with no guarantees and no assurances.
I also wrote about something just as important: that without the support of you know who you are, I wouldn’t have made it. Not in a million years. My writing groups. Close friends. And Substack.
You wouldn’t let me quit. My subscriptions stayed put, and many of you, without even knowing what had happened, sent me kind words and encouragement. Some probably assumed I’d simply taken a break, which is normal for writers. The truth is, I still wanted to die. No exaggeration. Never mind quitting. Die!
After all, how could I possibly write again? With what tools? By what means?
The very thought of starting over made me sick to my stomach. It felt impossible. Physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. When I tried to explain this to my BFF outside of Substack, she gave me the strongest push anyone could hope for. Thank you, Missy. I will never forget what you said. And it was enough.
As the days passed and intense therapy followed, the body, that incredible machine, began to respond. Slowly, the right side, the most affected, started to move again. Then came speech therapy. Memory exercises. Learning how to eat properly again. Day after day after day.
Substack became my break, my incentive, my reward. The promise waiting at the end of each session. Do your exercises, and you get to write. Finish the work, and you get your time here. What a relief that was. The light at the end of the tunnel. Do this, get that. Finish that, earn this.
It felt like victory, to borrow from Apocalypse Now.
It became my revenge against fate, against an event that almost killed me. And strangely, something else happened. I can’t explain the mechanics of it, but my creativity skyrocketed. I suddenly didn’t have enough hours in the day to write articles, essays, thoughts, and reflections on life.
When you write from the heart, people notice. The writer notices too. It flows naturally. And believe it or not, because of the stroke, not despite it, my writing improved. It felt right. I had faced the biggest curveball life could throw and survived something that felt inevitable. I could have cursed it all day long, but this quiet revenge was far more satisfying.
Then came the avalanche of subscribers. I had been on the platform for just over a year when the stroke hit, with a few hundred subscribers to my name. Afterwards, the numbers began to grow steadily, especially with the arrival of Notes.
Notes came at exactly the right time. Truly. The dynamic was simple. Social media of a different kind. Atypical. Human. It became a catalyst for my main publication and a space for brief exchanges and genuine connections. Precisely what the doctor ordered. Pun fully intended.
And the rest, as the wise seer says, is history.
So… this closes the chapter on my return from the dead and my unlikely landing in the arms of Substack. Not as a miracle story, not as inspiration bait, but as proof that stubbornness sometimes beats the odds.
Be stubborn! :)
If there’s anything worth taking from this, it’s simple: don’t quit while you’re still breathing. Not because everything will work out, but because you don’t get to see what’s next if you leave the room too early.
I stayed.
I persevered.
And life surprised me again.
That’s more than enough reason to keep going.
Until next time.
Love and light ❤️✌️
René
There was no alternative. I literally was contemplating suicide.
Superbly written! This has to be the best in your 3-part revelatory series. Kudos to you!