5 Steps to Rebuild Your Life and Find Purpose: A Guide for Trauma and Coma Survivors

I know what it feels like to wake up in a life you barely recognize.

Rebuilding life after a coma taught me that survival was only the beginning. Recovery meant learning how to move forward physically, emotionally, and mentally while finding a new sense of purpose.

After a near-fatal medical crisis, I spent approximately three and a half weeks in a coma. When I woke up, I quickly learned that surviving and recovering were two very different things.

People may tell you how fortunate you are to have survived—and they're right. But survival doesn't erase what happened.

There can be physical limitations, fear, frustration, uncertainty, damaged relationships, financial pressures, and the realization that life may never look exactly the way it did before.

For me, recovery meant intensive rehabilitation and learning how to function in a body that had changed. It also meant confronting the choices and circumstances that had contributed to my medical crisis.

I couldn't change what had happened.

But eventually, I realized I still had a choice about what happened next.

These are five lessons that helped me rebuild my life and find purpose after everything changed.

1. Face the Reality of Where You Are

One of the hardest parts of recovery was accepting that I couldn't simply return to the person I had been before my medical crisis.

I wanted my old life back.

But some things had changed permanently.

After approximately three and a half weeks in a coma, I faced a long rehabilitation process. Things I once did without thinking suddenly required tremendous effort.

At some point, I had to stop measuring every day against the life I used to have.

Instead, I began asking different questions:

What can I do today?

What needs the most attention right now?

What can I improve?

What do I need help with?

What am I responsible for changing?

Acceptance didn't mean giving up.

It meant dealing honestly with the life that was actually in front of me.

That's where rebuilding began.

2. Become an Active Participant in Your Recovery

My medical crisis taught me the importance of being involved in my own healthcare.

That doesn't mean ignoring doctors or assuming you know more than trained medical professionals.

It means asking questions.

Understanding your medications.

Knowing why something has been prescribed.

Speaking up when something doesn't seem right.

Getting another medical opinion when appropriate.

And making sure the healthcare professionals treating you understand the complete picture.

My own story involved years of pain, escalating prescription medication use, dependence, and choices I made along the way.

I've learned that accountability matters.

Healthcare professionals have responsibilities.

Patients have responsibilities too.

Today, I strongly believe in advocating for yourself when working with qualified healthcare professionals.

Your health is too important for you to be a passive participant.

3. Respect How Long Recovery Can Take

Recovery didn't happen for me in a dramatic movie montage.

It happened slowly.

Sometimes painfully.

Sometimes frustratingly.

After waking from the coma, I spent about eight weeks in rehabilitation at the VA learning how to function again.

Progress could be measured in things most people wouldn't even notice.

Movement.

Balance.

A few more steps.

Learning a different way to accomplish an everyday task.

Getting through another difficult day.

There were times when I wanted recovery to move faster than my body was capable of moving.

Eventually, I learned something important:

Little progress still counts.

You don't have to rebuild your entire life today.

Sometimes the victory is simply doing the next thing you're capable of doing.

Then, I'll do it again tomorrow.

4. Accept That Your Identity May Change

For a long time, I measured myself against the man I had been before the coma.

That was a difficult comparison because some things weren't coming back.

Eventually, I had to stop asking:

How do I become exactly who I was?

And start asking:

Who can I become now?

That's a very different question.

My physical abilities had changed, but I could still think.

I could still work.

I could still love my family.

I could still build a business.

I could still have faith.

I could still help people.

And eventually, I could tell my story.

The medical crisis became part of my life, but I didn't want it to become the only thing that defined me.

I was more than what happened to me.

That realization gave me room to start building again.

5. Give What Happened to You a Purpose

I can't go back and erase what happened.

I can't erase the comma.

I can't erase the physical consequences.

I can't undo my own mistakes.

But I can decide what I do with those experiences now.

That's one of the reasons I wrote Almost Gone.

I wanted to tell the complete story—not simply the medical crisis, but the life that came before it and the long road that followed.

My story includes family, work, pain, prescription medication dependence, personal choices, a near-fatal medical crisis, rehabilitation, faith, recovery, and second chances.

Writing about those experiences gave them another purpose.

Maybe somebody going through a difficult period will recognize part of themselves in my story.

Maybe a family member will understand what someone they love is experiencing.

Maybe someone will become more involved in their healthcare.

Or maybe someone who thinks their best days are behind them will decide to keep going.

You don't have to write a book to give your experiences meaning.

Purpose can come from helping your family.

Supporting someone else.

Volunteering.

Returning to work.

Deepening your faith.

Creating something.

Or simply becoming the person you wish you'd had beside you during your hardest days.

Rebuilding Doesn't Mean Going Backward

For a long time, I thought recovery meant getting my old life back.

I've learned that isn't necessarily what recovery means.

Sometimes you don't go back.

You build forward.

You take what remains, accept what has changed, learn from what happened, and begin constructing a life around the person you are today.

My life isn't the same as it was before my medical crisis.

Neither am I.

But different doesn't mean finished.

Today I have work I care about, people I love, faith that has sustained me, and a story I never expected to tell.

Most importantly, I'm still here.

Your Next Chapter May Look Different

If you're recovering from a coma, serious illness, injury, trauma, or another life-changing experience, I can't tell you exactly what your road will look like.

Every person's circumstances are different, and medical recovery should be guided by qualified healthcare professionals familiar with your individual situation.

But I can tell you what my experience taught me:

Don't measure your entire future by your hardest day.

Give yourself time.

Accept help.

Ask questions.

Take responsibility for the things you can control.

Recognize progress even when it's small.

And find something meaningful to move toward.

I was almost gone.

I wasn't expecting another chapter.

But I got one.

And that's what Almost Gone: A True Story of Survival, Coma, and a Second Chance is ultimately about—not pretending the past didn't happen, but discovering what you can still do with the life that remains.

Sometimes a second chance doesn't give you your old life back.

Sometimes it gives you the opportunity to build a new one.