Finding Growth and Strength Through Service: Living a Meaningful, Fun, and Full Life with Epilepsy
By Chris Logan
When I was first diagnosed with epilepsy, I didn’t know what my future would look like. I was six years old, and my rural neurologist told us I would grow out of it when I was 18. So, I waited for my 18th birthday. That came and went, and my life continued with epilepsy. I finally realized I needed to accept it and learn how to live the rest of my life to its fullest. Like many others, I was hit with a wave of uncertainty, fear, and the nagging question: How do I keep doing the work I love and live the life I’ve built?
As someone who has spent their life working in public service, workforce development, and inclusion, I’ve always believed in creating spaces where people feel seen, respected, and supported. But living with epilepsy taught me something even deeper; it’s not just about how we show up for others, but how we show up for ourselves.
I have drug resistant epilepsy. This means I have tried many medications, and they don’t always work. I also have a vagus nerve stimulator (VNS) implant that I am still navigating. My wife is supportive of my journey, and I realize it is not just me on this journey. We get sad together, we struggle together, we try together, and we prevail together. Hope keeps our family strong. And it gets better through time.
Seizures don’t announce themselves. They arrive unexpectedly, throwing plans off course, demanding rest, resetting boundaries. At first, I tried to hide it, worried that disclosing would invite judgment or limit opportunities. But over time, I realized that hiding my condition was slowly stealing my energy and authenticity.
So, I started doing what I had helped so many others do; I accepted it and I advocated for myself. I talked with colleagues about accessibility, requested accommodations when needed, and built relationships that honored mutual respect. It wasn’t always easy, but every honest conversation chipped away at the stigma. And something powerful happened: people leaned in. They didn’t back away. Living with epilepsy has deepened my empathy, my listening, and my drive to create systems that don’t just tolerate differences but value them. I am also learning how to empower my family to advocate for themselves through life.
There are days when epilepsy still interrupts my rhythm. But I’ve learned to see those moments not as setbacks, but as signals; reminders to pause, care for myself, and regroup. I’ve learned how important it is to build a community. Whether it’s through mentors, coworkers, healthcare providers, or organizations like JoshProvides, the truth is this: we are never alone unless we choose to be.
Hope, to me, isn’t about pretending everything is fine. Hope is about making the decision to move forward anyway. To show up on the hard days, to speak up for yourself and others, and to trust that even with epilepsy, you can live a life of purpose, joy, and connection. And everyone can make a difference with hope and kindness!
If you’re reading this and you’re navigating your own epilepsy journey, I want you to know: your story matters. Your presence matters. You can still climb the career ladder, explore the outdoors, volunteer in your community, and live fully. I’m doing it and so can you.
Epilepsy may be part of my story, but it doesn’t define it. Service, resilience, and hope: that is what defines it now.
