Mental Health After Spinal Cord Injury: Tools, Truths, and Triumphs

When I experienced my spinal cord injury (SCI), everyone's immediate focus was almost entirely on the physical.

The doctors, the rehab specialists, my family and friends, they all rightly zero in on stabilization, adapting mobility, and relearning how to navigate a world built for standing, a world built for abled body people. But once the initial dust settled and I found myself with my thoughts, a different kind of reality set in. The mental and emotional toll of a sudden, life-altering injury can feel heavier than any physical limitation. I tell people all the time that the easy part was getting shot and the hard part is what comes after.

If you are newly adjusting to life after an injury, please hear this: it is entirely normal to struggle. Grief, anger, anxiety, depression and a profound sense of loss are not signs of weakness; they are a natural human response. Normalizing these mental health struggles is the first step toward true healing. Rebuilding your life doesn't mean pretending everything is fine, it means building a toolkit that supports your mind just as much as your body. I did and by doing so it gave me the ability to be productive and have a new norm that didn't consist of suicidal ideations.

Here is an open look at the tools, practices, and resources that helped me navigate the emotional landscape of life with an SCI.

1. First thing first I got a great therapist. Tori Seals not only helped me navigate my PTSD from being shot, but she also helped me live again. It was important to me to find a therapist that could relate to me. Meaning share the same culture and religion. That made me more receptive to opening up and being honest with my feelings without the fear of being judged or misunderstood or honestly taken to jail.

2. The Power of Peer Community: Loneliness can be one of the steepest hurdles after an injury. Connecting with others who truly get it changes everything.  Before my injury I was friends with a wheelchair user named Wesley Hamilton. The crazy part is we knew one another before both of our injuries due to him dating my cousin who is like my sister. So, once I became disabled, I had a seasoned wheelchair user to turn to. Not someone who knows someone in a wheelchair or works with people in a wheelchair. But someone who is actually in the trenches and living that life every day. Someone who was once abled body and now disabled. Someone who I can relate to on more than just being in a wheelchair. We have the same injury level, both were shot, both are African American, both are single parents. Those similarities helped me have a bright light on the world that I was now destined to navigate from a wheelchair. With his organization, Disabled But Not Really, I was able to meet other lifelong friends that are just like me. We share our stories and realize that we aren't alone and that the things we are going through are common.

3. Meds oh Meds: I was also prescribed medication from my doctor, and it was a turning point. I don't share this to suggest a one-size-fits-all approach — only to normalize the idea that symptoms sometimes need medical support to give you a nudge alongside therapy and lifestyle tools. For me, medication didn't change my circumstances, but it lowered the volume on anxiety and depression enough for me to use the other tools consistently. That's what matters: mental health support can be layered. If you're unsure, talk to a qualified professional. You deserve care that's personalized, not rushed. You also deserve a doctor who doesn't automatically push meds on you but helps you find natural alternatives for your depression and anxiety. 

   Adjusting to a new baseline takes time. There will be days when the toolkit feels heavy and the progress feels slow. Healing isn't linear; it's a series of small, daily choices to keep moving forward and not give up.