Finding Strength in Connection

I had my first seizure at 14. The school bell had just rung, and suddenly a strange fog came over me. I remember walking in circles, lost and confused. When my mum picked me up, I burst into tears. I thought I was losing my mind or that I had early-onset dementia. That moment led to an epilepsy diagnosis and the start of a long, complicated journey.

At first, I didn’t think my condition was as serious as other people's, but then things escalated quickly. At 15, I had my first tonic-clonic seizure on a camping trip, and more followed, especially when I was sleep-deprived or stressed. By the time I reached university, alcohol and drugs had become clear triggers.

At Leeds, like at many universities, the drinking culture was intense. Freshers’ Week - a week-long period of introductory events, social activities, and administrative tasks for new university students before term officially begins - expected daily drinking, and I wanted to fit in. That pressure to be “normal” made me downplay my condition. I rarely told people I had epilepsy. I was also grappling with my bisexuality and felt unsure of where I belonged. Alcohol became my coping mechanism, both to escape and as a tool for social acceptance.

Eventually, small amounts of alcohol started triggering seizures. It always happened in the morning after, not during the night out. Stimulant drugs were guaranteed to cause seizures, too. But by then, I felt stuck. Warnings from family and doctors only pushed me deeper into defiance. I was caught in a cycle: the more shame I felt, the more I wanted to drink to numb it. Looking back, it was like gambling with my health every time.

That pattern lasted for seven years. Despite it all, I graduated with a First (undergraduate degree) in philosophy, but the real turning point came just after university. One night, I had only three pints, but the next morning, I had a full tonic-clonic seizure in front of my friends. My best friend Dom cried and said, “Have you really thought about quitting drinking?” That moment hit home. A month later, I had my final pint and then stopped drinking altogether. That was over three years ago. I haven’t had a seizure since.

Recovery wasn’t just about cutting out alcohol. It was also about rebuilding trust in myself. I started therapy to understand why I’d clung so tightly to drinking. I wanted better tools to manage stress and connect with myself again. It was difficult but transformative.

At the same time, I began to build a new life. I started working as a ski instructor, something I’d always loved. I’ve now taught snowsports in Canada, Switzerland, and Japan. Being out in nature and helping people grow in confidence has been deeply healing. I also began meditating, journaling, and exploring psychology, particularly the mind-body connection and how emotions impact our health.

Today, I’m learning to drive (something I once thought would never be possible), and I’m considering a master’s in psychology. I’ve also begun sharing my story on TikTok, where I talk about epilepsy, addiction, and mental health. It’s scary to be vulnerable, but I’ve found strength in connecting with others who get it. That sense of “me too” can be incredibly powerful.

I experienced so much shame and loneliness around my epilepsy when I was younger, and I know that knowing or hearing about other people dealing with similar issues could have really helped me. If I could give one message to anyone facing epilepsy, it’s this: you are not alone, and it’s never too late to turn things around. Whether it’s reaching out for therapy, finding your creative outlet, or simply talking to others with the same condition, those small steps matter. They changed my life.