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What’s in it for them?

Posted on by RobBaugh

 

What’s In It for Them?

 

 

Today, I was asked a question that stopped me in my tracks—a simple question, yet profoundly revealing:


“What do they get out of it?”

 

If you’ve followed me for any amount of time, you know that my heart beats for one mission: spreading awareness about brain injuries. It’s my purpose, my passion, and the story I carry with me every day. Yet, one of the greatest challenges I face is simply getting the opportunity—convincing people to open the door and let me share that story.

 

When that question was asked—what do they get out of it?—it made me pause. I’ve always focused on the value of the message itself: education, awareness, and the inspiring story of transforming pain into purpose. But I had never really stopped to consider the deeper “why” for my audience.

 

So… what is in it for them?

 

My story isn’t just about surviving a brain injury—it’s a testimony. It’s about how God took brokenness and built something beautiful from it: a podcast that gives voice to the voiceless, a book that brings hope to the hurting, a global network that connects survivors and caregivers who once felt alone.

 

 

It’s not just about awareness. It’s about awakening.
It’s about grace.
It’s about resilience.
It’s about divine purpose.

 

Because this message—though rooted in brain injury—is really about the human experience. Every one of us knows what it’s like to feel unseen, misunderstood, or forgotten. We’ve all faced moments where we needed compassion more than correction, understanding more than answers.

 

My story reminds people that they’re not alone. That community still exists. That even in the darkest places, connection can be the light that leads us forward.

 

At its core, my message is about hope—hope that healing is possible, that purpose can grow out of pain, and that no matter what we’re going through, someone does understand. Someone has been there. Someone is ready to celebrate your victories and stand beside you through your struggles.

 

 

That’s what’s in it for them.
That’s what’s in it for all of us.

Off the Grid: A Lesson in Love, Aging, and Brain Injury

Posted on by RobBaugh

This afternoon, I got a call from my aunt. She was trying to reach my dad, but he wasn’t answering—and that was unusual. My dad always picks up on the first ring. His phone is practically an extension of his hand. After work, my brother and I drove to his house. No car in the

driveway. No sign of him. We checked the usual places—his home, the bowling alley—but he was nowhere to be found. That quiet panic started to build. Was he okay? Had something happened? Was he in a ditch somewhere, hurt and alone?

We searched every alley in the area until finally, sitting in the parking lot of one last bowling alley, I tried calling him one more time.

He answered. Turns out, he’d gone bowling and turned off his phone so he wouldn’t be disturbed. He was fine. But for those few hours, the uncertainty was overwhelming. When someone you love goes off the grid—especially as they get older—it can trigger a flood of emotions. Fear. Confusion. Helplessness.

And then it hit me: I do the same thing.

As a brain injury survivor, I’ve wandered off in stores without realizing how long I’ve been gone. I’ve taken longer than expected grabbing fast food, only to get a call from my wife asking where I am. She’s not checking up on me because she doesn’t trust me. She’s checking in because she loves me. Because she knows how easily I can get confused. Because she wants me safe. It’s easy to forget that our caregivers carry a quiet burden. They’re always watching, always worrying, always hoping we’ll stay within reach. And when we don’t, even for a short time, it can feel like the ground disappears beneath them.

This experience reminded me of something important: we owe it to the people who love us to keep them in the loop. If we change our routine, take a detour, or just need a moment alone, a quick message can go a long way. It’s not about control—it’s about compassion.

So here’s my promise: I’m going to make a conscious effort to stay connected. To let my loved ones know where I am. To remember that love often looks like a phone call, a check-in, a moment of concern. Because being off the grid might feel freeing—but being found is what keeps us safe.

Chapters I Can’t Remember, Lessons I’ll Never Forget

Posted on by RobBaugh

Where does time go?

It’s a question I ask often—especially living in a world where memories slip away faster than I can hold them. I used to beat myself up for forgetting something that happened just two days ago. But I’ve learned to let go of that guilt. I’ve learned to stop measuring my worth by what I can recall.

Some people struggle to accept that they’re no longer the person they once were. I get it. It’s hard to embrace the things you lose. But I’ve come to see my life differently—not as broken, but as a book. And the things I once viewed as lost? They’re just earlier chapters. They mattered. They shaped me. But they don’t define me.

Each new chapter brings a chance to learn new talents, meet new friends, and explore things I never thought possible. I’ve discovered that I don’t fear failure anymore. Why? Because failure means I tried. It means I showed up. And every time I fall short, I learn what didn’t work—and I get to try again, this time with new strategies and deeper wisdom.

Brain injury may have rewritten parts of my story, but it hasn’t taken away my ability to grow. I’m still writing. Still learning. Still turning the page.

And that, to me, is a miracle.