My name is Trish Esther Zvikomborero Shumba, and I have lived my entire life with epilepsy. From the day I was born on January 12, 1989, life presented me with challenges—some visible, like my smaller right hand, and others invisible, like the battle raging in my brain. But this story isn’t about the challenges—it’s about what I’ve done with them. It’s about resilience, purpose, and the power of embracing who you are, no matter the obstacles.
Growing up, I always knew I was different. I struggled with movement on my right side—simple things like walking, holding objects, and even seeing clearly were harder for me than for most kids. But that was only part of the picture. From a young age, I also experienced seizures, episodes that would come out of nowhere and take control of my body. At four years old, I had my first seizure while playing at preschool. One minute I was on a swing, the next, everything went black. I woke up confused, surrounded by teachers, with no idea what had just happened.
That was the beginning of my journey with epilepsy, a condition that would follow me through childhood, teenage years, and adulthood. As a child, I didn’t fully understand what epilepsy was, but I quickly realized it made me different from everyone else. And for a long time, that difference felt like a burden.
At school, kids bullied me for the way I walked, the way I talked, and the fact that I sometimes had seizures in front of them. I became an easy target for cruelty. I remember how they would imitate my movements, throw my backpack around, and call me names like “deformed” or “broken.” But even as a child, I found a way to fight back. I developed an inner voice that became my shield. I would say to myself, “You are worth it, Trish. You are.” Those words became my mantra—my reminder that no matter what others said or did, I had value.
Despite the bullying, I found small pockets of joy in school. I excelled in subjects like English, fell in love with tennis, and found a special passion for computers, thanks to my uncle Oliver, who taught me everything I know about technology. He was my hero—someone who believed in me when I often struggled to believe in myself. And through him, I discovered that I had talents and strengths that could take me far, even if my body sometimes betrayed me.
But the most difficult moment of my life came during my teenage years. I had been preparing to recite a poem in front of my entire school, something I was so excited about. That morning, I rushed into the bathroom to get ready, filled with anticipation. But before I could finish, I had a severe seizure. I collapsed in the hot water, and when I woke up, I found myself in the hospital, my legs badly burned.
The doctors told me I might never walk again. I was devastated. I had always been a fighter, but this time, I felt like life had knocked me down for good. Lying in that hospital bed, I asked myself over and over, “Why me? Why did this happen to me?” The pain was unbearable—not just from the burns but from the weight of feeling like my dreams had been taken from me.
But even in that dark place, I found light. The nurses at West End Hospital became my lifeline. They prayed with me, comforted me, and helped me realize that even though I was hurting, I still had purpose. One nurse, in particular, would sit with me at night, listening to my prayers and my tears. She told me that I wasn’t alone, that God had a plan for me, and that I was stronger than I knew.
Slowly, I began to heal—not just physically, but emotionally. I eventually learned to walk again, a miracle that I will never take for granted. The day I stood up from my wheelchair, I knew that this was my second chance. I wasn’t going to let epilepsy or anything else hold me back from living the life I wanted.
As I recovered, I began to think about the future. I knew I wanted to do more than just survive—I wanted to thrive. I started dreaming again—dreams of playing tennis, pursuing a career in IT, and traveling the world. But more than anything, I wanted to help others like me, people living with epilepsy who felt isolated, misunderstood, or ashamed. That’s when the idea for JoinHandsForEpilepsy was born.
JoinHandsForEpilepsy is a foundation I started to support people living with epilepsy and other neurological conditions. My goal is to create a community where we can come together, share our stories, and find strength in one another. I want to let others know that they are not alone, that their lives have value, and that epilepsy doesn’t have to define them. We are more than our conditions—we are capable, resilient, and worthy of living full, beautiful lives.
My journey hasn’t been easy, but I’ve learned that with faith, determination, and the support of others, we can overcome even the toughest challenges.
So, to anyone out there struggling with epilepsy or any other condition, I want you to know this: You are not alone, and you are not defined by your diagnosis. I may have epilepsy, but epilepsy does not have me. And if I can overcome, so can you.
