50 First Dates, Burnt Tea & Starting Over

Let’s talk about 50 First Dates (2004), starring Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore.

On the surface, it's a romantic comedy about a woman who wakes up every morning with no memory of the day before.

Funny.

Sweet.

Ridiculous.

But the older I get, the more I realize it isn't really a movie about memory loss.

It's a movie about starting over.

Every.

Single.

Day.

And honestly?

Life has a funny way of handing you your own version of that script.

Mine just happened to involve a bad day & a brain aneurysm.

Now before we get too deep, let's be clear about something.

When I say brain aneurysm, people immediately picture inspirational music, dramatic hospital scenes, and me emerging from the experience looking like a brave warrior princess.

That is not what happened.

What happened was I went from being a fiercely independent woman to having to ask my husband to help me shower.

Not in a cute movie way either.

I mean standing there, humbled by life, saying:

"Did you rinse all the shampoo out?"

And then...

"Maybe check again."

And then...

"You know what? While you're down there, just check..."

Nothing says personal growth quite like handing over quality-control duties for parts of your body you normally manage yourself.

God didn't just humble me.

He put me on the express lane.

The Tea Incident

Everyone talks about memory loss in big dramatic terms.

Nobody tells you about the tea.

The tea is where the real trauma lives for me.

Before the aneurysm, making tea was simple.

Water.

Tea bags.

Done.

Afterward?

Tea became an extreme sport.

I've boiled tea so long it turned into roofing tar.

I've scorched a stainless-steel pan so badly I had to carry it to the fire pit wearing welding gloves like I was disposing of hazardous waste.

At this point my family doesn't ask:

"Are you making tea?"

They ask:

"Is the tea making it?"

I now own a smartwatch with a tea timer.

A TEA TIMER.

At 20 years old I thought adulthood meant financial freedom and gardening.

At 40-something, adulthood means technology reminding me not to burn water, and checking the tempature limits on pots.

The Parts Nobody Sees

The hardest part wasn't forgetting tea.

It was forgetting pieces of me, and my story.

My siblings will tell stories from our childhood and everyone laughs, including me.

Meanwhile I'm sitting there trying to assemble the memory like a thousand-piece puzzle missing half the box.

I know the story happened.

I know I was there.

I recognize the faces.

But sometimes the details feel like they're locked in a room I can't quite reach anymore.

Photos help.

Sort of.

Photos are like movie trailers.

You get flashes of scenes, all the good parts.

A smile.

A location.

A moment.

Then your brain starts trying to work backward and reconstruct the plot.

Some days it works.

Some days it doesn't.

And if I'm being honest?

That still hurts.

Relearning the Basics

After my first brain operation, I lost feeling in my right arm.

Unfortunately for me, my right arm happens to be attached to my dominant side!

Cue panic. Because I did!

Because nobody prepares you for the moment you realize you're going to have to relearn things that you've done automatically your entire life.

Let's just say personal bathroom logistics suddenly became a left-handed learning experience.

There were twists. There were turns.

There were muscle cramps. There were Fuck it’s

There were moments I questioned every decision that led me to that exact point in life.

And somehow nobody talks about that part of recovery.

Everyone wants to celebrate walking again.

Nobody discusses the Olympic-level flexibility event happening in the bathroom.

Or the tears of happiness for small tasks.

Laughter Saved Me

Humor became my life raft.

Because if I couldn't laugh, I was going to drown in fear.

There were moments I looked like a cross between Chewbacca and Harry from Harry and the Hendersons because I couldn't get around like I used to.

At one point I had to ask my husband to take me to get waxed before I re-entered society.

Nothing builds intimacy like saying:

"I love you."

"Also, can you schedule my transformation back into a human being?"

My son kept me positive.

My husband kept me moving.

My friends kept me grounded.

My family kept me focused on tomorrow instead of what I had lost.

And honestly?

That's what got me through.

Not strength.

Not toughness.

Not My Pride.

People. My People!

What Recovery Actually Gave Me

Something happened after I came home.

I started making phone calls.

Calls I'd been putting off for years.

People I needed to forgive.

People who needed closure.

Conversations I should have had long ago.

I realized life isn't nearly as permanent as we pretend it is.

And carrying anger is exhausting.

Especially when you've already got enough things to carry.

The aneurysm didn't make me weak.

It made me honest.

And that honesty gave me peace.

Final Thought From The Rekindle Room

If I could talk to the woman sitting in that hospital bed, scared out of her mind and wondering if life would ever feel normal again, I'd tell her this:

God isn't trying to water down your faith.

He's helping you build a bridge to it.

And bridges aren't built when everything is easy.

They're built when you need a way forward.

👠 The Rekindle Question Is?

What if the hardest thing you've ever survived wasn't meant to break you...

What if it was meant to introduce you to a stronger version of yourself?

🔥 And just remember:

Sometimes healing looks like courage.

Sometimes healing looks like forgiveness.

And sometimes healing looks like a smartwatch reminding you not to burn the tea.

With Love, I need to check on the Tea :)

JC