My Epilepsy Journey

Most people learn about epilepsy from textbooks or a brief mention in a health class. You read the clinical definitions: seizures, triggers, medications, brain activity. But what’s harder to teach is what it feels like to live with epilepsy—the real world version, the kind that doesn’t come with neat answers or easy fixes. That’s why I speak at colleges and universities. Because I’ve lived it. And I want people—especially students heading into healthcare, psychology, teaching, or any field that touches lives—to understand what those books often leave out.

For me, epilepsy isn’t just about having seizures. It’s about what happens between them. It’s the anxiety of never knowing when one might strike, the fear of being alone in public, the judgment that comes from people who don’t understand. It’s losing jobs or missing school or canceling plans because I had a bad day—or I’m afraid tomorrow might be one. And sometimes, it’s the silence from friends or coworkers who don’t know what to say.

I remember one time, I had a seizure in a public place. When I came to, I was disoriented, surrounded by strangers, and completely vulnerable. No one teaches you how to bounce back from that. No one tells you about the shame or the exhaustion that follows. And sure, I take medication, but it’s not always a guarantee. People think epilepsy is under control if you’re on pills, but managing epilepsy is like walking a tightrope—every day, every hour.

That’s what I want students to hear. Not just the science, but the human story. Because one day, they’ll be in positions to make decisions, to offer support, to change systems—and real understanding makes a difference. I don’t want pity. I want awareness. I want the next nurse, professor, HR manager, or even friend to know that behind the diagnosis, there’s a life. A complicated, messy, resilient life.

Speaking gives me purpose. It turns pain into something powerful. And every time I share my story, I watch minds open—and that’s why I keep doing it. Not because it’s easy, but because it matters.