“I was 22 when I had my stroke. Before that, I was living like any other 22-year-old – going out with friends, working, planning my future. Then, within weeks, it all changed.
I’d been struggling with pain in my left leg for ages, going back and forth to appointments, pushing for someone to look properly into what was happening. I actually had the stroke while in hospital for my leg. People say I was lucky it happened there, and maybe I was, but it’s hard to call it lucky when I’d been saying something was wrong and no one listened.
I don’t remember much of those first days. When my mum told me I’d had a stroke, I didn’t even believe her. No one sat me down and explained what had happened or what it meant. It was just a whirlwind of tests and medical jargon I didn’t understand.
My mum, who works in health care, stayed by my side and asked all the questions I didn’t even know to ask. Without her, I probably would’ve just broken down completely.
It never really hit me straight away that my whole life had changed. There wasn’t a moment where I thought, “This has happened, and this is what it means.” That’s especially hard for younger people. At my age, I didn’t expect this. I was living life – and suddenly I was in a hospital bed being told I couldn’t walk.
I spent two months in hospital. Days blurred into each other. I felt cut off from everything; like life was going on outside while I was stuck inside four walls. My mum and sister were my lifeline. We made little moments special – a coffee shop breakfast, lunch together – and it almost felt normal.
I’ll never forget the first time my mum wheeled me outside after five weeks. I’d actually written it in my diary: “Going outside today.” I’ve never felt so happy to breathe fresh air and feel part of life again.
From the start, all I wanted to do was walk. That was my goal. I didn’t care about my arm at first – which I regret now – I just wanted to get on my feet. I was stubborn. They told me to use my left hand for eating or writing, but I refused. In my head, if I could do something once with my right side, then I could do it again.
After leaving hospital, I received a bursary from Different Strokes that enabled me to access physiotherapy sessions in Bromsgrove. That support was huge.
The therapists pushed me in a way I needed. On my first day, they took away my stick and made me walk across the room. It terrified me, but it showed me what I was capable of. Slowly, I started rebuilding strength and confidence. I only use my stick now when I’m really tired, in unfamiliar places, or when it’s busy. It’s still my safety net, but it no longer defines me.
Recovery has been a mix of frustration and hope. I wanted answers – when will I walk again? When will I be myself again? I hated hearing “not yet.” But I’ve learned to let go of deadlines and focus on progress, even if it’s slow. If I could give advice to anyone going through this, I’d say: “Don’t be too proud. Put your ego aside.”
Asking for help doesn’t make you weak – it just means you’re being smart about your recovery.”
Read Kyra’s full Survivor Story here