Imagine waking up one day and finding that your imagination has gone missing. No, I’m not discussing running out of ideas while crafting a new design or concept. I’m talking about a complete blackout of your mind’s eye. Welcome to my world of acquired aphantasia, courtesy of a traumatic brain injury (TBI) that decided to remodel my neural pathways.
The Day the Pictures Stopped
It was supposed to be just another day of preparing to visit my mother in the nursing home. Stress was already my unwelcome companion as I tried to multitask – washing dishes while turning the TV on the mantel to face the kitchen. Who knew that a simple knot in the wood of the mantel would become the domino that toppled my world of mental imagery?
As the TV began its descent, my instincts kicked in. I held on instead of letting gravity win, trying to prevent it from crashing to the floor. In a twist of irony (and physics), the TV flipped forward, hitting me in the head with an impact that would reverberate through my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined – quite literally, as it turns out.
Little did I know that moment would flip the off switch on my imagination, leaving me with a mind as blank as an unwritten page. But the TV didn’t stop at just erasing my mind’s eye; it also jumbled up other parts of my brain, leaving me to navigate a maze of mental challenges I never saw coming.
From Technicolor to Radio Waves
As an entrepreneur, my imagination was the cornerstone of my career. Over 30 years, I built businesses that transformed my creative visions into reality. I developed a hair addition system that sustained a thriving business for decades. I brought my childhood imaginary friend to life as a toy carried by Toys R Us. One of my designs, a high-end bag crafted from recycled tractor and truck inner tubes, was featured in the Neiman Marcus catalog. Losing my ability to visualize was like a sculptor suddenly finding their hands numb.
Since 2017, I’ve been on a winding path of recovery. As I embark on this new blogging journey about my experiences, I face both familiar and unfamiliar challenges. Starting this blog is my first venture back into the business world since the injury, and it feels like learning to walk all over again, except this time, I’m doing it with my eyes closed.
I’d find myself sitting at my desk, eyes fixed on an empty document, hoping for a mental slideshow to kick in. Instead, there was nothing but silence. My mind had gone from a blockbuster movie theater to a silent film with plenty of plot but no visuals. I could sense the narrative of my recovery unfolding but couldn’t see it anymore.
The Idea Drought
It wasn’t just about losing the visuals in my mind. It felt like my brain had hit pause on my creativity, and ideas that once came quickly now struggled to show up, as if they were stuck behind a door I couldn’t open. I felt like I was sinking in creative quicksand. The harder I tried to move forward, the more I seemed to sink. My usual brainstorming techniques were as helpful as a screen door on a submarine. Mindmapping? More like mind stumbling. And don’t even get me started on visualizing success.
The confusion was real. How do you explain to someone that you can’t “picture” what they’re saying? It’s like describing color to someone who’s never seen it. “Yes, I know what a beach looks like; I just can’t picture it in my head anymore.” At this point, most people just nod, clearly not getting why this is a problem.
Fear: My Unwelcome House Guest
Fear didn’t just visit; it unpacked its bags and settled in, turning everyday tasks into monumental challenges. It whispered constantly: “What if your creativity is gone for good? What if… what if… what if…” The frustration wasn’t just about the creative block but the realization that I couldn’t rely on my old methods. The path forward felt cloudy, with no clear way to move ahead.
But as they say about hitting rock bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up. And that’s when I realized that I didn’t need to see to believe. Maybe, just maybe, there was another way to create, to imagine, and to move forward. Little did I know, my journey into a new visualization world was just beginning, a world where seeing isn’t believing; feeling is.
Discovering a New Way to Visualize: The Olympian Connection
Just when I felt like I was navigating an endless fog, I stumbled upon the story of Olympic gymnast Stephen Nedoroscik. Stephen isn’t just any athlete; he’s a pommel horse specialist who has achieved remarkable success despite significant vision challenges. His eyes lack depth perception, and he’s extremely sensitive to light, so much so that he can’t obtain a driver’s license. Yet, there he was, performing at the highest level on the world stage. You can read more about his inspiring journey here.
How does someone with such visual impairments excel in a sport that demands precision and spatial awareness? The answer was simple and profound: he doesn’t rely on visualizing his routines in the traditional sense. Instead, Stephen focuses on feeling his movements.
Before his performances, he closes his eyes, moves his hands subtly, and mentally rehearses each motion by embodying the sensations, not by picturing them. Stephen’s journey showed me that limitations can be transformed into strengths. Despite his visual impairments, he didn’t let that stop him from achieving Olympic success.
Instead, he adapted his methods, focusing on muscle memory and the physical sensations of his routines. Stephen’s process deeply resonated with me. While our challenges are different—his being physical vision and mine being mental imagery—the core of our adaptation is the same. We both found alternative pathways to access our abilities by shifting our focus from seeing to feeling. It dawned on me that visualization isn’t confined to the mind’s eye; it’s also about the mind’s touch, movement, and intuition.
Discovering a New Way to Visualize: My Childhood Home
Inspired by Stephen, I began experimenting with this new form of visualization. Instead of straining to conjure images that wouldn’t appear, I focused on the sensations connected to my ideas. One day, while casually browsing online, I stumbled upon photos of my childhood home on Redfin. To my surprise, the house had undergone extensive renovations, and the familiar spaces I remembered from childhood had been transformed into something almost unrecognizable. Intrigued by these changes, I pulled out old family photos I hadn’t looked at in years, sparking an unexpected connection.
Rather than trying to recreate a perfect image of my old home, I began to imagine myself sitting in the living room, not through vivid visualizations, but by tapping into the emotions and sensations tied to those memories. Reflecting on the journey, I realized that one of my first creative ideas since my TBI came from this experience. I created a photo book combining family memories with images of the renovated house to share with family members. As I worked on it, I considered turning it into a coffee table book one day.
Though it’s still just a thought, this project marked an important milestone for me, a return to creative thinking. The house depicted in this image is my childhood home, blending family memories with a creative twist. Here’s a glimpse of that creation:
A New Path Forward
Embracing this new form of “visualization” has reignited my creativity and eased my anxiety that had been my constant companion. I no longer sit at my desk, paralyzed by the absence of images in my mind. Instead, I engage with my ideas through sensations and movements. My stream of consciousness isn’t just flowing again; it’s carving out new channels, exploring uncharted territories. This journey taught me that losing one sense can sometimes unexpectedly heighten others.
While I may never regain my mind’s eye, I’ve gained a deeper connection with my body and emotions. I’m learning to trust in this new way of experiencing the world, which doesn’t rely on visualization but thrives on embodiment.
Closing Thoughts
The road to recovery and adaptation is rarely a straight line. It’s filled with twists, turns, and the occasional pothole. But by remaining open to new methods and inspired by stories like Stephen’s, I’ve found a path that works for me. So, if you face a similar obstacle, remember that seeing isn’t the only way to perceive. Often, the most profound insights don’t come from what we visualize but from what we feel within ourselves.