My Epilepsy Journey

You ever hear that saying — “No rain, no rainbow”? I used to roll my eyes when people said it. Like, sure, it sounds poetic, but what does it even mean when you’re in the thick of something heavy? When your life feels like it’s been nothing but rain?

Let me tell you a bit about mine.

I live with a disability. It’s not always visible, and that can be both a blessing and a curse. People assume you’re fine, or worse, they think you’re faking it when you need help. I’ve had days where just getting dressed felt like a full-time job. Nights when the pain — physical or emotional — was so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. There’s this constant pressure to keep up, to “overcome,” to prove yourself to a world that’s not designed with you in mind. And let’s be real — that’s exhausting.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned through all of this: if you want to see that rainbow, you’ve got to walk through the storm. You can’t skip the hard parts. You can’t bypass the pain. That rain — the struggle, the grief, the frustration — it’s what makes the rainbow mean something. Without it, you wouldn’t recognize how beautiful the light is when it finally breaks through.

There were times when I wanted to give up. Not in some dramatic way — just quietly. I wanted to stop trying so hard to be okay. To stop fighting for things that came so easily to other people. It felt unfair, and honestly, it still does sometimes. But somewhere along the line, I started to realize that every time I got up — every time I didn’t let the pain win — I was building something inside me. Resilience. Grit. Self-respect.

And those things? They don’t show up all at once like a prize at the end of a game. They grow slowly, like sunlight after weeks of rain. Some days I see them clearly. Other days I need to remind myself they’re even there. But they are. And they’re what carry me forward.

When people ask me what success means, I don’t talk about money or fame or followers. Success, to me, is choosing to keep going when everything inside you wants to stop. It’s showing up in your own life — even when your body or your circumstances are screaming no. It’s finding ways to adapt, to create your own version of thriving, not someone else’s blueprint.

Living with a disability has taught me to look at life differently. I’ve had to learn patience, not just with others, but with myself. I’ve had to redefine what strength looks like. It’s not always about pushing harder — sometimes it’s about resting when you need to, asking for help without shame, and forgiving yourself when you fall short.

So yeah, it rains. A lot. And sometimes it pours. But now, when it does, I don’t panic the way I used to. I’ve walked through storms before. I’ve cried in the dark and felt like I’d never find my way out. But eventually, even if it takes a while, the skies clear. And when they do? That rainbow isn’t just pretty colors. It’s proof that I made it through.

If you’re in the middle of your rain right now, I want you to hear this: you’re not weak for struggling. You’re human. And if all you did today was survive, that’s enough. Just don’t stop walking. Keep moving, even if it’s one shaky step at a time. The rainbow isn’t a fantasy. It’s real. And it’s waiting for you on the other side.