There’s a moment you never forget — the moment you realize you’ve hit rock bottom. For me, it wasn’t just one event; it was a culmination of years of seizures, injuries, fear, and emotional exhaustion. I had fallen in ways both visible and invisible, and at one point, I wondered if I would ever find the strength to stand up again.
Rock bottom for me looked like a cracked cheekbone and bruised face after a seizure. It looked like stitches in my head from falling through a six-foot fence. It looked like endless nights in hospitals, heart monitors, and unanswered questions. But more than the physical pain, it was the emotional weight that felt unbearable. The fear, the frustration, and the sense of helplessness were constant companions. I often found myself asking: “Is this my life now?”
Hitting rock bottom doesn’t come with a signpost. It doesn’t come with a warning. It just happens — suddenly and without mercy. But at some point, you have to make a choice: to stay there, or to begin rebuilding. For me, the decision didn’t come suddenly or dramatically. It started with a quiet thought:
“I don’t want to stay here.”
From that one small, defiant thought, everything began to shift. I started writing. I began speaking about my experiences. I sought out knowledge about my condition. I reached out for help, even when it was uncomfortable or humbling. Piece by piece, I began to rebuild.
Rebuilding isn’t glamorous. It isn’t fast. It isn’t linear. It’s waking up on days you feel weak and choosing to take one step forward anyway. It’s showing up for appointments. It’s leaning on people who support you. It’s setting boundaries and learning to say no without guilt. It’s creating routines that protect your health and your peace of mind. And yes — it’s slipping, sometimes repeatedly, and finding the courage to get back up again.
Through the process of rebuilding, I learned something vital: you are not defined by the fall. You are defined by the decision to stand up, again and again. Every step I took, every small victory I claimed, became a testament to resilience. And slowly, the fear that once consumed me transformed into strength, determination, and purpose.
Today, I run a business. I speak publicly about epilepsy. I share my story openly. I use my experiences — the falls, the injuries, the setbacks — to help others who might be struggling. My journey didn’t end at rock bottom; it began there. And every day, I continue to rebuild, grow, and redefine what is possible.
If you are at rock bottom right now, know this: you are not weak. You are not finished. And this is not the end of your story. Begin with one small action — a phone call, a journal entry, a walk, a moment of self-reflection. From there, one step becomes two, two steps become progress, and progress becomes your comeback.
Rock bottom is not the end. It is the foundation from which you rise. And when you do, the view is extraordinary.
– My Epilepsy Journey
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