04/06/2026
Living with Aphasia: A Battle with Words
When I first began to speak again after my stroke, my speech was painfully slow, often slurred, and unrecognizable. At first, I could only manage a single word—a nonsensical, meaningless sound that became my automatic response to everything. I knew the right words in my head, but this absurd word was the only one that would come out. It wasn’t a word I had ever heard before, yet it became my entire vocabulary.
The word? Narwagi.
Imagine the frustration—years of education, a lifetime of conversations, and now my entire world was reduced to Narwagi.
But from the very beginning, I refused to drown in self-pity. I knew that would only hold me back.
As I slowly regained some control over my speech, I was mortified by the sound of my own voice. It was unfamiliar, rough, with an odd growling intonation that made me feel even more self-conscious. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my voice.
Speaking became an exhausting, deliberate process. I would spend ages searching for the right word, only for a jumbled, awkward phrase to emerge—if I was lucky. Conversations felt like they were happening in slow motion, my brain running at the wrong speed. And when the words finally came out, they were slurred, labored—like a werewolf on Va**um.
I had the overwhelming urge to tell people: This isn’t my real voice! I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t on drugs. Inside, my mind felt hurt, painful, and numb—all at the same time.
So many of my neural pathways had been damaged or destroyed by a massive hemorrhagic stroke. Finding the right words takes far longer than it used to. If you’ve ever had a word on the tip of your tongue but couldn’t quite grasp it, imagine that feeling—multiplied by fifty. That’s what it’s like.
It’s exhausting.
I think of my brain like a giant conveyor belt in a well-oiled factory. When everything is running smoothly, people work efficiently, and tasks get done without a hitch. But with Aphasia, it’s like that famous I Love Lucy episode—the one where Lucy and Ethel are overwhelmed by chocolates flying down the conveyor belt, struggling to keep up, everything quickly spinning out of control. That’s my brain now. Words don’t come easily; they take time. Healing takes time. Relearning takes time. And patience—so much patience.
One of the hardest parts? Dealing with people who don’t understand—who assume, judge, or talk down to you. That’s a pain Aphasia survivors know all too well. And on top of it all, many of us are also battling physical disabilities and relentless fatigue.
But if you’re determined, time and practice will become your allies. Slowly, you build stamina. You develop new skills. You keep pushing forward.
I can’t fully explain Aphasia—it’s just one piece of the massive puzzle. But I can tell you this: it won’t define me.
And it won’t defeat me.
Yvonne Kent PaterasTom & Salud’s Real Life Re-doTom & Salud’s Real Life Re-doStrive For Greatness-Let’s Talk StrokeStroke Support GROUPInspirational quotes