I used to want so much more for my life; I used to want so much more out of life. After my stroke, I craved the chance to dream again, but I didn't know what those dreams would look like without functioning arms, legs, or voice. I had no idea where my recovery would take me, so I didn't know what dreams were even appropriate or realistic. I had to search in my heart, through layers of frustration and failure, to find a new purpose and a trace of self-worth. I had to redefine the words "success," "love," and "happiness," and find them somewhere within the ashes of my broken life.Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived, this is to have succeeded.” After six long years of recovery, I began to realize and accept that success is not white lab coats or shiny stethoscopes. Success is not name-brand schools or fancy letters following your name. Success is not photos of your beautiful children on Facebook or 300 Likes for your latest Instagram. Success is giving of your strengths, your passions, and yourself to help better the world.During my long recovery process, I met countless people who suffered from the same unjust fate. And in their faces and experiences, I found my inspiration. In 2014, I co-founded a nonprofit called We Win that supports young stroke and brain/spinal-cord-injury survivors who struggle to afford critical rehabilitation. It started off as a small project, but in just a few years, the foundation has grown, and I’ve been able to connect with dozens of people, help them heal, and (to my surprise) even catch a glimpse of my original dream. While my cousin handles the business aspect of the foundation, I get to do what I love: I meet young survivors and their families, learn about their dreams and goals, talk to their physical therapists, and help them financially access the therapies necessary for their fight.A few months ago, I received a thank-you gift in the mail from an adorable 7-year-old girl who was fighting for her life after a paralyzing brain tumor and subsequent brain injury. It was a delicate notebook she had made with her very own fully-rehabilitated hands during a therapy session We Win was helping her receive. I burst into tears. In that moment, I felt something — something that had evaded me for years, something I never thought I would feel again: pride in myself.