- Lewis Bartelle
- Mar 25
Updated: May 2
Get Out of Your Own Way
Hey friends, Lewis here
I want to say something today that comes from a place of complete love and zero judgment — because I have been on both sides of this conversation and I know exactly how it feels.
Some of us are playing the stroke card. And it is time to talk about it.
Some of us are playing the stroke card. And it is time to talk about it.
Some of us are playing the stroke card. And it is time to talk about it.
Now before I go any further let me be clear about something. I am here for every single survivor on this journey. The ones who are grinding every day and the ones who are struggling to find the motivation to start. I have nothing but love and respect for anyone who is still in this fight — because just surviving a stroke and waking up every morning to face what comes after it takes a kind of courage most people will never be asked to find.
But I would not be doing my job — and I would not be your friend — if I did not say this out loud:
Some of us are using our stroke as a reason to stop trying. And that is the one thing I cannot get behind.
The Stroke Card — What It Actually Looks Like
The stroke card is not always dramatic. It does not always look like someone throwing their hands up and declaring they are done. Most of the time it is quieter than that. It sounds like this:
I can’t do that because of my stroke.
That’s too hard for me so I won’t even try.
Poor me. What’s the point.
It is the slow, gradual surrender to the idea that your limitations are permanent. That the ceiling you can see right now is the ceiling that there is permanently . That trying = falling/failing and that = DONT TRY. And once that thinking takes root and you stop challenging it — it becomes your reality. Not because it is true. Because you told yourself it was true often enough that your brain stopped looking for another way.
Here is a quote I love and carry with me: “Whether you think you can or think you can’t — you are right.” That is not just motivation poster language. That is neuroscience. What you tell yourself shapes your narrative. Your narrative shapes your effort. Your effort shapes your outcome. It starts in the mind every single time.
I See You — And I Want More For You
I want to be honest about something personal here.
It is harder for me to watch a survivor give little to no effort on their recovery than almost anything else on this journey. Not because I am judging them — but because I know what is possible on the other side of deciding to push. I know what the brain is capable of when you give it the consistent, effortful stimulus it needs to rebuild. I know what happens when you get out of your own way.
And I know what gets left on the table when you don’t.
I spent six weeks in a coma. Nine months in inpatient rehab. Three and a half years in a wheelchair. I shuffled ten agonizing feet in a pink gait belt with my daughters waiting at the end of the hall. There were days — plenty of them — when my body was screaming at me to stop and my mind wanted to agree.
But here is what I kept coming back to: how bad do you want this?
Because that question — answered honestly — is where everything begins.
The Warrior Scale — Which Level Are You At?
I believe Warriors operate on a scale of one to ten. And every single survivor reading this is already a Warrior — just by showing up, just by still being in this fight, just by getting out of bed and facing another day of this incredibly hard new normal. That baseline is real and it matters and DO NOT let anyone take it from you.
But there is a difference between surviving the arena and owning it.
Think about what it actually takes just to function on a daily basis with stroke limitations. The energy required to put on a smile and act like everything is fine while you are managing fatigue, double vision, dysarthria, ataxia… and everything else living in the unseen 80%. That is warrior level work and most people around you have no idea it is even happening.
So the question is not whether you are a Warrior. You already are.
The question is — are you going to stay at a level one or two because the stroke card is easier to play? Or are you going to dig into what is actually in you and find out how far up that scale you can go?
That is where Warriors become Gladiators.
A Gladiator does not just endure the arena. They master it. They are defined not by the stroke that brought them there but by the ferocity of the comeback. The blood, sweat, and tears it takes to rise up and — pardon my language — seriously kick that stroke’s ass. To look at the life you have now and refuse to let this be the whole story.
Get Out of Your Own Way
Here is the truth about limitations that took me years to fully understand.
Some limitations are real and they deserve to be honored and accommodated. Owning your disability — naming it, understanding it, working with it — is part of the journey and I talk about that throughout The Word. Pain is just weakness leaving the body, and there is a difference between the productive discomfort of pushing your limits and ignoring genuine signals from your body.
But a lot of what we call limitations are actually just untested assumptions. Things we decided were impossible before we tried. Ceilings we built in our own minds and then stopped looking up at.
The brain does not stop building new pathways because you hit a hard day. It stops building them when you stop giving it the stimulus to work with. Neuroplasticity is always available to you — but only you can activate it.
Consistency is the currency of recovery and you are the one holding the wallet.
So try. And fail. And try again and fail less. And try again and stumble. And try again and own it.
That chain — that persistent refusal to let the stroke have the last word — is what progress is made of. Not the dramatic breakthroughs. The quiet, daily, stubborn decision to try one more time.
I go deep on this in Beyond Shattered — the full mindset framework, the tools, and the honest account of what choosing ownership over victimhood actually looks like across years of recovery. If you need the complete roadmap it is on Amazon and it was built for exactly this moment.
The Choice Is Yours
I want to close with this because I mean every word of it.
I love you. All of you — the ones who are grinding and the ones who are stuck and the ones who are somewhere in between on any given day. This journey is hard in ways most people will never understand and you deserve grace and patience and a community that has your back.
And — you deserve someone who believes in you enough to tell you the truth.
The stroke card is a trap. It feels like protection but it is a ceiling. And you were not built for ceilings.
Get out of your own way. Put your mind to it. Do the work. Show the stroke who is boss.
How bad do you want this?
Because I promise you — the answer to that question, chosen deliberately and acted on consistently — changes everything.
Come find us in the Beyond The Shatter community on Facebook where survivors who are choosing to push show up for each other every single day.
And if you are ready to let your comeback story inspire someone else who is right where you were — the Army of Warriors program at BeyondtheShatter.com is waiting for you. Always free. Always yours.
— Lewis
- Lewis Bartelle
- Mar 22
Updated: Apr 2
Your Complete Guide to Dysarthria Communication
Hey friends, Lewis here.
I want to talk about something that sits at the very core of what makes us human — the simple, profound need to be understood.
When my stroke hit, my mind was initially locked on the big visible challenges. Learning to walk again. Figuring out how to get through a day. Nine months in inpatient rehab, working my way from a pink gait belt and a walker with arm stilts back to something resembling the life I knew. Those were the battles everyone could see.
But as I started to find my footing, something else became impossible to ignore. Something that did not show up on a scan or a progress chart but affected the very core of who I was.
The way I spoke had completely changed.
Words that once came effortlessly — rapid fire, full of jokes and stories — now came out slow, slurred, and sometimes strained. Simple sentences required effort I had never had to think about before. And this new reality had a name I had to learn to say out loud.
Dysarthria.
I know firsthand how isolating this feels. The frustration of having a completely clear thought in your mind and an unclear sound coming out of your mouth is a specific, relentless kind of hard. But I want you to hear this clearly: you are not alone in it. And communication with dysarthria is a two-way street — which means there are real, practical things both speakers and listeners can do to make it work better. That is what this article is about.
My Speech, My Story — Understanding the Challenge
When my doctors first explained dysarthria to me it felt like a heavy clinical term, but the reality underneath it is actually straightforward. Dysarthria is a motor speech disorder. The damage from my stroke affected the part of my nervous system that controls the muscles I use to speak — my tongue, lips, jaw, and breathing. The control panel for producing clear speech got damaged. That is it.
This does not mean I forgot my words or lost the ability to form sentences. The thoughts are there. The intelligence is there. The personality — trust me — is still very much there.
But here is something I want to add that the clinical definition leaves out, because it is important and it is real. For me personally, sometimes thoughts and words get mixed up on the way out. I will mumble out something and then realize it made no sense — and half the time it was hidden behind the slurring anyway so people probably did not even catch it. That disconnect between what I meant to say and what actually came out is its own layer of frustration on top of everything else.
The signs look different for everyone but for me the main ones were:
Slow, slurred words. I often felt like my mouth simply could not move fast enough to keep up with my thoughts. Like a car with a powerful engine and a transmission that would not cooperate.
Breathy, raspy voice and volume control issues. My voice would come out strained and hard to project. I have had more people than I can count assume I was yelling when I was genuinely just trying to speak loud enough to be heard across a table.
Here is something that helped me when I first got this diagnosis: between 30 and 40 percent of stroke survivors experience ranging dysarthria symptoms at some point. That is a significant number of people navigating this same daily challenge. Knowing that did not make it easier exactly — but it reminded me that what I was going through, while deeply personal, was not something I had to figure out alone.
If the emotional weight of living with an invisible symptom like this is something you are carrying right now, go read my article on The Iceberg of Recovery — The Unseen 80%. It covers everything that lives below the surface that the world does not see, including the daily invisible fights that dysarthria is a part of.
The Social Struggle — Assumptions and the Silent Nod
Here is the honest truth about the hardest part of living with dysarthria. It is called the "silent nod".
You know exactly what I am talking about. That moment when you are speaking and the person across from you smiles and nods along as if they understood every word, when it is completely clear they did not. They do not want to make you feel uncomfortable. They do not want to slow things down. So they nod. And the real meaning of what you were trying to say disappears entirely.
I have been through the drive-through more times than I can count and had them guess my order rather than ask me to repeat it — and gotten it completely wrong. That is a small thing in the grand scheme. But small things add up. And each one is a quiet reminder that the world tends to prioritize speed and comfort over genuine understanding.
Here is what I want the silent nodders of the world to know: asking me to repeat myself is not rude. It is respect. It tells me my words matter enough to actually hear. That is all I am asking for.
The Communication Toolkit — Both Sides of the Conversation
Communication with dysarthria works best when both the speaker and the listener show up with intention. Here is the practical toolkit for both sides:
For Me — The Speaker:
Pace myself deliberately.
This is the most important one. I consciously slow down and give my mouth time to catch up with my brain. A deliberate pause between phrases improves clarity more than almost anything else. It is tough when the conversation is moving fast or someone is waiting on me — but rushing always makes it worse. Slow is smooth and smooth is understood.
Use gestures — play a little charades.
I fully embrace body language. Hands, pointing, facial expressions — all of it adds context that my voice sometimes cannot carry alone. Do not be embarrassed by this. It works. Use it.
Manage breath and signal the pause.
Dysarthria affects breath control, and I constantly sound like I am running out of air mid-sentence. I have learned to make a clear physical signal — a hand gesture or a held finger — that says I am not finished, I am just catching my breath. That one habit alone has saved countless conversations from going sideways when someone jumped in thinking I was done.
Own the repeat.
I have learned to say clearly — let me say that again — when I can tell something did not land. No apology, no embarrassment. Just a calm reset. It is always better than letting an assumption take root and grow into a misunderstanding.
For You — The Listener
Patience is not optional — it is the whole game.
Create a calm environment for the conversation. Remove distractions where you can. Do not rush, do not interrupt, and please — do not finish our sentences for us. Even when you think you know where we are headed. Let us get there.
The 3 to 4 second rule.
This one is specific and it matters enormously. When a dysarthria speaker pauses to breathe, that pause looks like the end of a thought. It is not always. Give us a full three to four second count before you respond. That window — small as it sounds — is often the difference between a complete thought and a cut-off one. Rushing in breaks the focused speech pattern we are working incredibly hard to maintain.
Ask, do not pretend.
I promise — I would far rather you ask me to repeat something than nod along and miss the point entirely. A simple “can you say that again?” is one of the most respectful things you can offer someone with dysarthria. It says: what you are saying matters enough to actually hear.
Make eye contact and read the whole picture.
Eye contact lets you pick up on facial expressions and body language that carry meaning my voice sometimes cannot. I had a boss who used to quietly follow my lip movements during conversations — fully present, fully paying attention. That level of care made an enormous difference and I have never forgotten it. Be that person for someone.
Try other channels when needed.
If a conversation is genuinely not getting through, suggest a different mode without making it awkward. Notes app on the phone, pen and paper, a quick text follow-up — these are tools, not failures. They make it a practical challenge to solve together rather than an uncomfortable standoff.
Your Voice Is Still Yours
My journey with dysarthria has taught me something I want to leave you with today.
My voice is a gift. It sounds different than it used to. It requires more effort from me and more patience from the people around me. Some days it cooperates and some days it absolutely does not — and on those days I lean on every tool in this toolkit and remind myself that the thought behind the words is still completely intact.
What I went through with speech is one of the reasons I built "The Word" and the Army of Warriors program at BeyondtheShatter.com. Because dysarthria is one of the most isolating parts of stroke recovery, and survivors living with it deserve a dedicated space to be heard — literally and figuratively.
If you have a story worth telling, we will help you tell it. The program is completely free and your voice — however it sounds — belongs in it. Come find us.
And if you are carrying the full weight of stroke recovery and need the complete roadmap — from the emotional journey through the practical tools — Beyond Shattered is on Amazon and it was written for exactly where you are right now.
The silent nod stops here. You deserve to be understood.
— Lewis
- Lewis Bartelle
- Mar 22
Updated: May 2
SMART Goals: Turning the Overwhelming Into the Achievable
Hey friends, Lewis here.
When I first started my stroke recovery journey, I felt completely lost. Not just physically — although that was its own mountain — but mentally. The whole process felt like staring at a giant, complex map with no destination programmed in. No route. No starting point. Just an overwhelming expanse of everything that needed to happen with no clear idea of where to even begin.
I knew I wanted to get better. But here is the thing nobody tells you: “get better” is not a goal. It is a wish. And wishes do not have action plans.
If you are sitting in that same fog right now — that heavy, directionless feeling where recovery looks like one enormous impossible thing — I want you to know something first. That feeling is completely normal. It does not mean you are weak or behind or doing this wrong. It means you are human, and something enormous just happened to you.
But I also want to hand you the tool that changed everything for me. The simple framework that took the overwhelming and turned it into a sequence of daily, winnable steps.
It is called the SMART method. And it became one of the most important pieces of my entire recovery puzzle. Determination)
Why “Get Better” Is Not a Goal
Before we get into the framework itself, let me explain why vague goals do not work — because understanding this is half the battle.
Saying “I want to walk better” is like saying “I want to drive somewhere nice.” It sounds good. It feels motivating in the moment. But how do you know when you have succeeded? How do you track progress? How do you know what to actually do today?
You don’t. And that uncertainty is exhausting.
Recovery is fueled by progress. Progress requires clear targets. And clear targets require a plan specific enough that you know exactly what you are doing, when you are doing it, and how you will know when it is done.
That is where SMART comes in. Think of it as programming the GPS. You still have to drive — but now you know where you are going.
I lay out the full goal setting framework in Beyond Shattered, including how I used it to work back from nine months in inpatient rehab toward getting behind the wheel again. If you want the complete roadmap, grab your copy on Amazon. But right now let me walk you through each piece of the framework and show you exactly how to apply it to your recovery today.
S — Specific: What Exactly Will I Do?
Your goal needs to be precise. Not a direction — a destination.
Instead of: “I want to improve my arm.”
Try: “I will practice lifting a coffee mug to my mouth three times during my morning routine.”
See the difference? The second version tells your brain exactly what pathway to rebuild. It eliminates the daily question of what am I supposed to be working on right now. You wake up and you know.
That clarity alone removes a layer of mental load that stroke survivors simply cannot afford to waste.
Specific goals move the needle. Vague goals move nothing.
M — Measurable: How Will I Track It?
If you cannot measure it, you cannot manage it. And more importantly — you cannot celebrate it.
Instead of: “I want to read more.”
Try: “I will read one paragraph without losing my place, three days this week.”
That second version gives you something concrete to mark done. And marking things done matters enormously in stroke recovery — because the Victory Journal principle I talk about throughout The Word is built on exactly this. Daily, specific, irrefutable proof that the work is paying off. Numbers you can point to on the days when everything feels like it is standing still.
When the numbers go up — even slightly — that is neuroplasticity doing its job. And seeing it happen is one of the most powerful motivators on this entire journey.
A — Achievable: Is This Realistic Right Now?
Here is where a lot of survivors accidentally set themselves up for frustration rather than momentum. We all want to run before we can walk — sometimes literally. But a goal that is out of reach today does not inspire you. It defeats you.
Your goal needs to be challenging enough to matter and realistic enough to actually happen today.
If lifting the coffee mug is too much right now, your goal becomes: “I will move my hand two inches closer to the mug during my practice session.”
That is not settling. That is smart. That is the car guy in me talking — you do not rebuild an engine by trying to install the transmission before the block is ready. You work the process. You honor where you are right now and build from there.
Small wins create mental momentum. Mental momentum creates the confidence that carries you to the bigger wins. Every single piece matters.
R — Relevant: Does This Goal Actually Matter to Your Life?
Your goals need to be connected to something that genuinely matters to you — your real life, your real people, your real Why.
If being able to talk to your grandkids on the phone is your biggest motivation, your speech goal should reflect that.
Try: “I will practice my articulation exercises for ten minutes before I call my grandkids on Saturday.”
Now that goal has a face on it. It has a reason. And on the days when the exercises feel pointless and frustrating and endless — that face, that Saturday phone call — is what keeps you at the table.
Relevance is the bridge between effort and commitment. Build your goals on things that genuinely matter to you and they will hold up under pressure. Build them on things that do not and they will collapse the first time recovery gets hard. Which it will.
T — Time-Bound: When Will You Do This and By When?
A goal without a deadline is just a wish with better vocabulary.
Instead of: “I’ll try to walk more this week.”
Try: “I will walk twenty feet using my cane by Friday.”
The deadline creates urgency. Urgency creates focus. Focus creates action. And at the end of Friday you know exactly where you stand — you either hit it, or you learn something useful about what needs to adjust. Either outcome moves you forward. That is the point.
I practiced this principle in one of my favorite recovery wins — I had a goal of getting back behind the wheel. Specific, measurable, achievable in stages, deeply relevant to my independence, and time-bound by the milestones I set with my care team. I even used a PlayStation with a steering wheel controller and racing games as a driving simulator to practice coordination and reaction time between sessions. Unconventional? Maybe. Effective? I drove myself to an appointment and traded in my wheelchair for four wheels. So yes.
The Power of Small Goals Adding Up
Here is what happens when you start building your recovery around SMART goals: the whole thing transforms.
Suddenly you are not failing to “get better” — a target so vague it is impossible to hit. You are succeeding three times a day by lifting that mug. You are winning on Tuesday by reading that paragraph. You are making measurable, trackable, moments to celebrate progress every single day — progress your brain can feel and your confidence can build on.
That is neuroplasticity at work. Every small, specific, repeated effort is laying down new pathways. Every win — however modest it looks from the outside — is a piece of the puzzle clicking into place. And pieces add up. I know because I counted mine, one by one, over thirteen-plus years.
Be patient with yourself. Be kind to yourself. Give yourself the grace of starting smaller than feels significant — because consistency beats intensity every single time in stroke recovery.
And when you are ready to go deeper — when you want the full framework, the self care strategy, the visualization practice, and every other tool that helped me go from a six week coma and nine months in inpatient rehab to walking, driving, and building a life beyond the stroke — Beyond Shattered is waiting for you on Amazon.
Every chapter was written for the person who needed a roadmap and could not find one.
You are not lost anymore. You have a map. Now let’s program the GPS and get moving.
If you want to share your recovery journey with a community that truly gets it, come find us in Beyond The Shatter on Facebook. And if you are ready to let your story inspire someone else who is right where you were — the Army of Warriors program at BeyondtheShatter.com will give it a home. Always free. Always yours.
I am right here with you.
— Lewis
