When Shame Follows a Seizure

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There are moments after a seizure that hurt more than the seizure itself.

It's the moment I wake up to concerned faces. The apologies that spill out of my mouth before I even know what happened. The embarrassment of knowing someone's plans were interrupted because of me. Again.

I carry guilt.

And if I'm honest, I carry shame too.

Someone once told me, "Guilt says, 'I did something bad.' Shame says, 'I am something bad.'" That distinction has stayed with me for years.

Guilt whispers, "You ruined everyone's day."

Shame takes it further.

"You're a burden."

"People are tired of dealing with you."

"Your life is too much."

The enemy loves shame because shame attacks our identity.

But God never does.

God doesn't look at me lying on the ground after a seizure and see an inconvenience. He doesn't sigh because my body failed me again. He doesn't roll His eyes when someone has to stop what they're doing to help.

Instead, He says:

"You are My beloved."

"My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)

"There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." (Romans 8:1)

The world may measure people by productivity, independence, and strength. But the Kingdom of God measures differently.

My seizures do not define my worth.

My limitations do not lessen my value.

Needing help does not make me a burden.

If you live with seizures, chronic illness, disability, or anything else that makes you feel like you're "too much," I want you to hear this today:

You are not your diagnosis.

You are not your hardest day.

You are not the inconvenience your shame tells you that you are.

You are deeply loved by a God who doesn't flinch at your weakness. In fact, He draws near to it.

So today, I'm choosing to lay down the shame.

Not because life is easy.

Not because the seizures are gone.

But because my identity has never been found in my brokenness.

It has always been found in Christ.