In early 2016, I was a healthy 13-year-old—healthy, active, and social. Then, without warning, the “software” in my brain crashed. I developed a condition called Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), which affects how the brain sends and receives signals. Within days, I went from a healthy teenager to being suddenly, severely disabled—paralysed and unable to speak. After months in hospital I was eventually diagnosed with severe FND (Functional Neurological Disorder). For six months my mind switched off and I didn’t know who or what anything was.
Mental Resilience: Trapped in My Own Body
For three long years, I was completely bedridden. I felt like a prisoner in a body that simply stopped listening to me—fully awake, but locked behind a wall of silence and stillness. It was a terrifying, isolating experience. Staying motivated in that darkness meant finding strength in the smallest things. I learned that hope isn’t a distant dream; it’s a tiny spark that survives the darkest days, even when you feel completely disconnected from the world around you.
Trauma & Wellbeing: Navigating the Lost Years
Developing a severe disability at 13 is a unique kind of trauma. While my peers were navigating high school and first dates, I was forced into total dependency, requiring 24-hour care for my most basic needs. My world went silent for a year when I lost my voice entirely. It’s been painful and very isolating.
FND is often misunderstood because it doesn’t show up on standard MRI scans. I even faced people who thought my illness was “psychological” because they couldn’t see a physical break or a disease. This stigma only added to the weight of losing my freedom and identity during what should have been my most formative years.
Practical Tips & Mindset Shifts
Regaining my life required a radical shift in how I viewed “victory.” I had to stop looking at the mountain and start looking at the pebbles.
- Focus on the Goal: My recovery was fueled by my dreams for the future. I kept my sights set on the places I wanted to go—especially London. My team at Great Ormond Street even made me London-themed progress charts. Every point earned for a small movement brought me one step closer to the city I loved.
- Celebrating Micro-Wins: I focused on tiny wins: a whispered word, a single finger moving, or the morning I woke up and found my head was slightly off my knees for the first time in years. Progress isn’t always a sprint; sometimes it’s just being able to sit up or use a wheelchair.
- The Power of Determination: I’ve accepted that I may never fully “go back” to who I was, but I’ve learned I can live a full life with FND. I now see the world differently, often through the lens of a wheelchair user, and I’ve used that perspective to fuel my rehabilitation.
Raising Awareness for FND
FND is a very real, life-changing condition that deserves better recognition. Just because you can’t see it on a scan doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Today, I am reclaiming my voice—the voice that FND stole from me—to make sure no other teenager has to feel as alone as I did.
After five years of being unable to walk, I am now relearning to take those steps. My legs are still heavy and the emotional scars remain, but my spirit is louder than ever. FND took my voice and my body, but it could never take my determination to achieve my dreams.
