Interruption, not conclusion: A stroke survivors journey and the art of a comeback

Chapter One: The misconception:

From the outside looking in, it seemed like I grew up in a typical middle‑class American family in southern New Jersey — mother, father, sister, a complete household. That’s the picture everyone saw. What they didn’t see was how much weight landed on my shoulders before I was even old enough to understand it.

Both of my parents were functioning drug addicts. My friends used to joke about wanting to hang out with my dad because every afternoon the shed reeked of weed. That was normal to them. To me, it was the reason I never touched drugs. My mother drifted through most days in a haze of pills, spaced out, disconnected, barely present.

My sister had undiagnosed special needs.  I was an afterthought. I never needed anything from them, so they basically discounted me as "he's fine." You have to remember — this was the late ’90s and early 2000s. Autism wasn’t widely recognized or diagnosed yet. But if she were a child in 2026, she would absolutely have an Autism diagnosis. The irony is that one of her twin boys has been formally diagnosed, and the other should be. The cycle continues.

I learned  early in life you can't always choose the cards you're dealt, like your parents or certain situations like a stroke, you just have to make the best of it. This is where I taught myself perseverance. And develop such a strong work ethic. So I kept my head down. I learned early that no one was coming to save me, and I moved forward on my own path, one step at a time.