By Kiran Uppuluri
(Editor’s note: This essay was originally published on LinkedIn. Kiran Uppuluri is the Founder and CEO of verteXD. In 2021, she served as Chair of TiECON East, the largest entrepreneurial forum in New England.)
Three years ago, my life changed in ways I couldn’t have imagined. The journey back taught me things about resilience, leadership, and human complexity that two decades of guiding organizational transformations never could.
For over 20 years, I’ve helped organizations navigate complex transformations. I’ve guided healthcare systems, led Fortune 500 initiatives, and built a consultancy focused on human-centered design.
But nothing prepared me for the transformation I didn’t choose—a car accident resulting in brain injury and post-concussion syndrome.
As a leader used to solving complex problems for others, this was a problem I couldn’t strategize my way out of. No scars to show. No casts, no crutches. Just a mind that dimmed in ways I couldn’t explain.
I remember the moment I truly realized how much had changed. I was delivering a pitch presentation to a senior executive—the kind of challenge I used to thrive on. But cognitive fatigue began affecting my ability to communicate clearly. The ideas were there, but accessing them became increasingly difficult as my brain reached its limit.
Somehow I powered through and finished the meeting, but I walked out completely spent. It was like someone had pulled the plug on my entire system. My brain simply shut off. I got to my car and realized this wasn’t going away in a few days.
The hardest part wasn’t just the symptoms. It was explaining to others that when someone says they’re struggling with something you can’t see, you need to believe them. Sometimes the most profound changes happen beneath the surface.
But even when the world went quiet, my family never did. They stood by me—in the silence, in the confusion. They believed me. They believed in me.
Sometimes it’s the quiet persistence to keep going when no one else sees what you’re carrying.
Looking back, if a typical person starts their day with $100 of mental energy, I was operating on $10 to $25. By my second anniversary, I had climbed to maybe $35-40, but had plateaued.
When told to accept this as my new normal, something in me refused. Then, at two years and nine months, I found the breakthrough—in specialized medicine designed for brains like mine.
Throughout this entire time, no matter how hard it was, I kept telling myself one thing every morning: “I am healing. I am getting there.”
Three years later, I’ve become someone I couldn’t have imagined before. This journey taught me resilience, adaptability, and self-awareness that serves me well.
The fog has cleared. I understand my strengths better than ever. Today, I operate at full capacity, more focused than ever before.
Me 2.0 isn’t just ready- it’s upgraded. Stronger in purpose, more strategic, equipped with hard-won wisdom.
If you’re carrying an invisible injury, this is for you. You are not alone. Your pain is real. Your pace is enough. Your story matters—even if you’re still finding the words.
