It started with a surprise package from Alekz, one of the best writers I know (shoutout to Befriending Death) and the person who first dragged me onto Substack. Alekz is a Pisces with scary-good intuition about when something big is coming. The package landed on the full moon, and the second I saw it I thought, this one is going to be big. My friends tease me about how tuned in I am to lunar cycles, but my grandma drilled that into me early. Blame my Pisces moon, blame the full moon, whatever.

Inside was a fiber-art Venus of Willendorf (the goddess I love), a tiny metal train car because they know how much peace trains bring me, and a workbook on grief they wrote. It arrived right around my late father’s birthday, when I was already feeling raw. Alekz just knew I needed some love.

In my very Midwestern, Scandinavian family, talking about feelings (especially grief) wasn’t exactly encouraged. So I’ve always let the arts do the heavy lifting, and my family has always cheered me on. By 2024, honoring grief (actually sitting with it, naming it, feeling it) still felt like a fresh, slightly terrifying concept, even though I’d been circling it since my dad died in 2022.

Hiiiiiii, by the way. For anyone new here: I’m Luma. I sometimes do burlesque in the Twin Cities, but that’s honestly the least interesting thing about me. After my father passed in June 2022, I needed community and a creative outlet to heal when my world was in shambles. As a lifelong theater kid who’s never met a stage I didn’t want to be silly on and shake what my mama gave me (hi, Mom), I threw myself into burlesque tits first. I learned the ropes while grieving and growing painfully alongside some of the most brilliant artists I know. Doing this helped me create the self expression and confidence armor that I needed during that difficult period. (And yes, armor CAN be a tiny leopard-print thong covered in rhinestones!)

When I’m not in pasties, I love to spend my time creating, gardening, cooking, exploring nature, listening to music, meeting new people, visiting new places, listening to music, walking around thrift stores, calling my grandma, and soaking up as many art forms as humanly possible. I love spending time with my friends and laughing until my face hurts.

That night, two of my best friends and I had just finished a little full moon ritual and tarot pull at our apartment. We asked, “What do we need to hear?” and “How do we get closer to our goals?” I pulled The Chariot. The message hit like a train: change is coming, fast. I felt excited and uneasy at the same time. I’ve never fully trusted full moons. My grandma who is the most matter-of-fact Norwegian-American Capricorn you’ll ever meet always warned me: “Crazy things happen on the full moon. Be careful.” So before I drove Rae back to Minneapolis, something in my gut told me to take off every single piece of jewelry. All the rings, all the necklaces. I almost never do that. But I listened to my gut, and I’m so glad I did.

I was almost home on Highway 280 when headlights appeared straight ahead, in my lane. Wrong-way driver on a one-way ramp. My worst nightmare. Another car swerved. “Too Too Too Fast” by Ra Ra Riot was playing on shuffle (yes, the universe has a sense of humor that night). I veered left and slammed into the median. The next thing I remember is my head pounding, no feeling below my stomach, the smell of smoke, and voice on my phone telling me I’d been in a crash. Emergency services were already on the line. I realized I was trapped. A good Samaritan helped me out and assisted me over the median so I could lie in the tall grass and sandburs while I bled from my arms and tried to reach my loved ones before my phone died. I texted my Rae, who I had just dropped off, and they got there faster than half the emergency vehicles. They even drove me to the hospital quicker than all of the ambulances who arrived on scene did and we even went to the wrong place! (Pro tip: do not go to Bandana Square if you need an ER at night.)

TLDR: Dykes really can do anything faster than the police, and I stand by that.

According to Minnesota State crash statistics, in 2024 there were 63,644 Minnesotans involved in motor vehicle accidents, with over 23,745 injured and 466 fatalities. The odds of being one of those 63,644 out of 5.84 million Minnesotans? About a 0.4% chance.

But it happened. And it changed my life forever.

That’s why I’m calling this whole reflection Glitter Crash. In burlesque, a Glitter Crash is the emotional drop that hits after a really good show, the high wears off and you’re suddenly topless, sweaty, uncrumpling* dollar bills off the floor, missing the version of yourself that was just sparkling under the lights.

My TBI feels like the world’s longest, most fucked-up Glitter Crash.

I keep dreaming about life before. I flip through old photos, memories, and videos thinking, Wow, that was me! I did that! Who would I have been if my life was on the same trajectory? Then the Glitter Crash.. except this one came with a near-death experience, a life-altering brain injury, and every kind of change (financial, mental, physical) without my consent. None of it feels glittery. But the world still expects you to bounce back, keep performing, keep smiling, keep going like nothing happened.

I’m learning there’s no other choice but to grieve. To slow the fuck down. To feel the messy, scary, painful parts instead of pretending I can “fake it till I make it.” The world is already horrifying and capitalism makes it hard for us to exist as it is. My brain aka the magical electric jello in my skull CANNOT handle much more abrupt changes, especially when it’s already injured and begging for rest.

The society we live in isn’t built for invisible disabilities like traumatic brain injuries. "You look mostly fine", so people assume you are fine. Meanwhile you’re quietly falling apart trying to do what a “normal” brain handles on an easy day.

I’m still trying to find my life again. I know I need to slow down and honor this injury with the care and rest it needs, otherwise it’ll get worse. II’m sad my writing isn’t what it used to be and that my capacity has changed in every way. I can’t work on the computer like I used to and I’m sensitive in crowded spaces, public spaces, and loud spaces. My migraines, nausea, neck pain, mood swings, and other symptoms have been stacking up. I’m juggling ocular occupational therapy, doctor appointments, treatments, and physical therapy just to keep the daily migraines and nausea from winning. Some days I don’t even know what makes life sparkle anymore.

In November, it’ll be two years since the crash, and I’m still struggling with how I feel like I should “be better by now” but I am doing the good ol’ fashioned “sitting with that” and hoping that I can find more clarity before my 30s. I haven’t felt truly hopeful about time before the night of the crash. I’ve tried pushing through and “making it work” and adapting to the world around me and managing people’s expectations, but that didn’t work either.

It feels silly to be desperately searching for what brings me joy again in a world that’s burning, but everything I do is silly. I’m trying to find what still feels good, what feels great, and what is a “hell no” in this new version of my life. Artistically. Vocationally. In the smallest moments of daily life.

I’m equal parts excited and terrified about what comes next, but there’s only one way to find out.

This Substack is where I’ll be writing openly about rediscovering joy (if I can find it), living with an invisible disability, stumbling through the end of my 20s, chasing the arts that still light me up, and everything that comes with this unexpected chapter.

Because of my injury, my life is shifting in profound ways right now. If you’ve ever enjoyed my performances, my writing, or just my chaotic Aries energy on stage or online, I’d be so grateful if you’d ride along with me as a subscriber as I’m transitioning occupations right now. As a disabilibabe trying to keep creating and connecting while everything in my life changes, it means more than I can say. I’d love to have you here and along for the ride for whatever comes next.

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*uncrumpling may not be a word but in the burlesque universe, I say let it be!!