When Becca had a seizure at the age of 20, it tore a hole through her packed schedule of working during the week while pursuing a passion for theatre at the weekends. In this account, she reflects on the years of being misunderstood, her diagnosis, and how learning to live with epilepsy means holding on to the things that make her feel most alive.
Creativity came first
Becca has always loved being creative. Alongside her full-time job as a nursery practitioner, she also taught stage skills to aspiring performers.
I was working seven days a week. Monday to Friday in the nursery, Saturday as an acting teacher, and Sunday teaching musical theatre.
The trigger
It was a packed schedule, but it brought her joy - until her body forced her to stop.
I had my first tonic-clonic seizure at work. They called an ambulance and sent me to hospital. That’s how I got diagnosed - I was kind of forced to. I never would have gone of my own accord.
She was 20 years old, but looking back, she realises the signs had been there for years.
All my school reports said I was zoning out or daydreaming. My neurology team looked at them and said they were probably absence seizures. I’ve also always been a fainter - I thought it was dehydration or anaemia. But it turns out it was epilepsy all along.
Misunderstood for years
Those school reports had always felt unfair.
I’ve always been a hard worker. I wanted to do well, to please my teachers. So to be told I wasn’t concentrating - it really upset me. I was trying.
When the diagnosis came, it brought clarity.
It was a surprise, but also it made sense. Loads of people said I took the news really well. I think it’s because I’d always suspected something was going on.
Medication has helped, though it took time to get the balance right.
I’m on two types now, and they really help. Things got worse before they got better, but I’ve learned to recognise my triggers - stress, but especially sleep deprivation.
Living with uncertainty
Despite the progress, epilepsy brings ongoing challenges.
The aftermath of a seizure is draining. It makes you feel really low.
There’s always the anxiety - when’s the next one? Where will it happen? Will I be with someone I trust? And you never get used to people's reaction when you tell them that you have epilepsy.
Becca has found support in her workplace.
After the diagnosis, they realised it wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there - it was a medical condition. They put things in place to help me, and that made a big difference.
Her friends have also been understanding.
One of them said, ‘If you’ve always had it, the only thing that’s changed is that it’s written down on a piece of paper now.’ That really stuck with me.
But not everyone has been so supportive.
I’ve felt discrimination - especially applying for drama school. Before my diagnosis, I got offers. This year, I didn’t get past the application stage. One reason given was ‘not deemed fit for training’. That was hard to hear.
Adjusting to a new rhythm
Becca’s had to rethink her independence, and has made changes to protect her health.
I’ve cut back on alcohol. I haven’t been to a nightclub since the diagnosis - I’m still a bit scared. But I still go out, just more mindfully.
It’s hard to think I might have to rely on lifts for the rest of my life. I want to be able to drive, to get where I need to go. But for now, it’s public transport and Ubers.
Still, she’s determined not to let epilepsy hold her back.
I want to travel. I’ve got a list of dream destinations. I want to see the Seven Wonders of the World. I want to live.
Poetry as therapy
Poetry has become a vital outlet.
I turned down counselling - not because I didn’t need support, but because writing poems has been my therapy. It’s how I get my feelings out. I’ve shared them with my family and colleagues, and they’ve said, ‘We had no idea.’
Her message to others - and to her younger self - is one of self-compassion.
Don’t feel bad. Be patient with yourself. You don’t have to match anyone else’s pace. You’re not behind. You’re just you.
Organisations like Young Epilepsy can help - because community is key.
It can be lonely. No one in my family has epilepsy. Unless you’ve gone through it, you don’t really get it. That’s why connecting with others is so important.
And she’s clear about what she wants people to understand.
Yes, epilepsy is serious. But you can still be happy. You can still live your life. There is medication. There is support. You can live with this.
