Sometimes, the answer is found not in what we say—but in what we’ve never been able to say out loud.
I met Brooke years ago at UNO’s Pizzeria, back when I was bartending and she was a regular. She and her husband were one of those couples you looked forward to seeing. We talked about life, work, and headaches that just wouldn’t go away. I used to joke—maybe my margaritas were the culprit. But eventually, those headaches had a name: trigeminal neuralgia. A name that carries weight, pain, and fear. It’s often called “the suicide disease.”
And just like that, life changed for Brooke. But the most Brooke thing? Before her brain surgery, she wasn’t focused on herself—she was making gift bags. For the nurses. For the doctors. For anyone who might care for her. That’s the kind of heart she has.
Years later, when I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, I didn’t call Brooke. But I thought about her. Her strength. Her quiet grace. The fact that she made it through. In many ways, her journey was a quiet blueprint for mine.
When Brooke and I finally sat down for this interview, I thought we’d talk about her diagnosis and recovery. But she brought something more—something raw and buried and brave. Before the diagnosis. Before the surgery. Before the gift bags. There was trauma.
In college, Brooke was stalked and raped. She never told anyone. Not her family. Not her friends. She carried that weight in silence, terrified of what might happen if she spoke up. The pain and fear dimmed her light, but she pressed on, thinking silence was the only way to protect those she loved.
That silence ended when she turned 33. She finally told her story to her family. And now, she’s telling it here. Not just for herself—but for anyone else who’s kept their story locked away. For anyone who thinks they’re alone.
And then life handed her another challenge: trigeminal neuralgia—a pain so relentless it defies description. During the worst moments, Brooke turned to her faith. Prayer became her anchor. She knew what the condition was nicknamed. But she also knew she could never choose that path. Because Brooke is Brooke. She thinks of others. She loves hard. And even in pain, she finds the will to keep going.
As we neared the end of our conversation, Brooke shared the little joys: walks on the beach, her dog Austin, her husband of 17 years, and—cold plunges. Because of course she does the bold, uncomfortable, invigorating thing. That’s who she is.
When I asked her for one piece of advice to leave with our listeners, she said:
“Trust your intuition and use your resources.”
Simple. Profound. Lived experience in five words.
Brooke’s story is one of resilience. Of truth-telling. Of healing, even if the scars remain. She shows us that some wounds are invisible, but they still matter. And that strength isn’t always loud—it’s often the quiet, determined voice that whispers, “Keep going.”
To Brooke: Thank you. For your courage. For your honesty. For your trust.
And to you, reading this: If today’s story moved you, made you feel seen, or simply reminded you of the strength that lives in all of us—I’d be so grateful if you’d share it, leave a review, or follow the podcast. Every listen, every share, helps this little podcast grow.
With Love,
Heather
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