February 18th.
Today marks three months.
Three months since bacterial meningitis. Three months since the stroke. Three months since my life split into before and after.

Three months.
It feels impossible.
It honestly feels like I've been in some sort of time warp — like someone pressed pause and fast-forward at the same time.

And yet…
There are signs that time has passed.
I'm walking again.
I can get out of bed by myself. I can make my own food. I don't need someone to bathe me or lift me or physically care for me in the way I once did.
The process, I suppose, is unfolding the way it should.
I've made leaps. I've made bounds.
And still…
I don't quite know how I feel.

Am I celebrating? Am I grieving? Am I in shock? Am I just…tired?

My brain still feels foggy. Like there's a thin veil between me and full clarity.

It's strange to hit a milestone and not feel fireworks. It's strange to look at progress and still feel unsure.

Maybe this is what recovery really looks like.
Not a straight line. Not a triumphant movie montage. But a quiet rebuilding.
One physiotherapy session at a time. One meal at a time. One walk. One ordinary task that used to be impossible.

Three months ago, I held onto the knowing that I would improve.
And here I am — improving.

I think I'm going to sit with this.

And after the Step Up program later this morning, maybe I'll understand a little more about how I feel.

Or maybe I won't.

Either way…
I'm learning to trust the process.