Finding My (comedic) Voice Again

There was a long stretch of time after my stroke where it felt like I wasn’t just physically numb—I was silenced. I couldn’t speak clearly, couldn’t express my thoughts the way I used to, and people stopped really listening. They assumed, interrupted, filled in blanks that didn’t need filling. For someone who once thrived on quick wit and social connection, it felt like I was watching my personality dissolve in slow motion.

But inside, I was still there.

It started small—messy brushstrokes on a canvas, the quiet satisfaction of creating something that didn’t need words. Painting became a way for me to communicate again, to express the swirl of frustration, hope, and humor that had nowhere else to go. Each piece was like a sentence in a language only I spoke—but people started listening.

Then came improv. I was terrified. My speech wasn’t perfect, and my body didn’t move the way others did—but the stage welcomed me anyway. Improv taught me that communication wasn’t just about polish—it was about presence, about being in the moment, responding with whatever you’ve got. Most importantly it taught me how to justify, and have normal conversations again. I laughed. Others laughed with me. I started to feel seen again.

Eventually, I found myself on a mic doing stand-up comedy. Me. The girl in the wheelchair with slurred speech—telling jokes, getting applause, even inspiring people. It wasn’t just about laughs. It was about reclaiming power over my narrative. Turning pain into punchlines. Making people uncomfortable for a second, then cracking through it with connection.

Finding my voice again wasn’t just about speaking—it was about being heard. And now? I don’t just speak. I connect on a level I didn't even know was out there.