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Epilepsy is a chronic neurological disorder characterized by recurrent, unprovoked seizures. These seizures are brief episodes of involuntary movement that may involve a part of the body (partial) or the entire body (generalized), and are sometimes accompanied by loss of consciousness or control of bowel or bladder function. According to the World Health Organization (WHO, 2023), around 50 million people worldwide live with epilepsy, making it one of the most common neurological conditions globally.
The National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke (NINDS) explains that a person is considered to have epilepsy if they have two or more unprovoked seizures occurring more than 24 hours apart (NINDS, 2022). The condition can begin at any age but is most commonly diagnosed in childhood or in people over 60.
The origins of epilepsy can vary greatly, depending on the individual’s age, genetics, and environment. Common causes include:
Genetic factors: Some types of epilepsy are linked to specific genetic mutations.
Brain injury: Trauma from accidents, strokes, or surgery can trigger seizure activity.
Infections: Inflammatory conditions like meningitis or encephalitis may lead to epilepsy.
Prenatal factors: Brain malformations or lack of oxygen during birth can increase risk.
In many cases, however, no clear cause is found—this is called idiopathic epilepsy (Mayo Clinic, 2023).
Seizures are the hallmark of epilepsy, but their presentation varies:
Convulsions: Sudden, uncontrolled shaking of the body.
Staring spells: Brief loss of awareness or "blanking out."
Loss of consciousness: Often accompanied by falling or muscle rigidity.
Sensory disturbances: Unusual smells, sounds, or tingling before a seizure (called auras).
Seizure frequency and type differ by individual, and not all seizures involve violent convulsions. Some people may experience non-motor seizures, such as sudden confusion or speech disruption (CDC, 2023).
Epilepsy is surrounded by centuries of stigma and misunderstanding. In many cultures, seizures have been misinterpreted as possession by spirits or punishment for sin. A 2021 study published in Epilepsy & Behavior found that societal beliefs continue to influence how people with epilepsy are treated, especially in rural and religious communities. In some regions, people with epilepsy may be denied education, employment, or marriage opportunities.
Religious interpretations have historically framed epilepsy as a spiritual disturbance, especially when symptoms included loss of consciousness or speaking in altered voices. Such beliefs can delay medical treatment and increase isolation. Misconceptions also contribute to inequities in healthcare, especially in lower-income countries, where over 75% of people with epilepsy do not receive appropriate treatment (WHO, 2023).
At the Home of Abrahamic Quiver (HAQ), we understand that epilepsy is not just a neurological disorder—it is a deeply human experience shaped by personal faith, societal treatment, and spiritual trials. While medical science focuses on symptoms and causes, HAQ reaches those left behind by the clinical world. For those who feel their seizures reflect more than just biology—perhaps spiritual imbalance, divine test, or ancestral burdens—our doors remain open.
We do not define you by your diagnosis. You are not a collection of seizures or test results. You are a soul in need of compassion, not stigma. At HAQ, we offer spiritual comfort and faith-based intervention without labels, shame, or medical gatekeeping. Where science ends, our faith begins.
References
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2023). What is epilepsy? Retrieved from https://www.cdc.gov/epilepsy/index.html
Mayo Clinic. (2023). Epilepsy - Symptoms and causes. Retrieved from https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/epilepsy/symptoms-causes/syc-20350093
National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke. (2022). Epilepsy Information Page. Retrieved from https://www.ninds.nih.gov/health-information/disorders/epilepsy
World Health Organization. (2023). Epilepsy. Retrieved from https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/epilepsy
Baskind, R., & Birbeck, G. L. (2021). Epilepsy care in the developing world: A review of the literature. Epilepsy & Behavior, 102, 106717.
“Sometimes the Static Comes First”
A fictional narrative from the mind of a 46-year-old woman living with epilepsy
It started with small absences.
A pause in the middle of a sentence. A moment lost while brushing my teeth. I'd find the water still running, the toothbrush dry, and no memory of how long I'd been standing there. I thought it was stressful. I thought maybe I needed more sleep.
Then came the flickers.
My vision would skip like a scratched DVD. Sounds warped, like someone slowing down a record. Once, I dropped a plate and didn’t hear it shatter until seconds later. And then, I started waking up on the floor.
The first real seizure hit in the kitchen. One moment I was opening the fridge. The next, I was on the ground, my shoulder aching, my tongue bitten through. My husband looked at me like I’d turned into something else. Maybe I had.
The diagnosis was epilepsy. Adult-onset. No clear cause. Just my brain misfiring — sometimes silently, sometimes violently. The neurologist tried to make it sound manageable. “Plenty of people live full lives with this.” But I didn’t feel full. I felt fractured.
The meds helped, but not always. Some days they made me nauseous, some days I forgot whether I’d taken them and was afraid to take them again. I set alarms. I left sticky notes on the mirror. I kept an emergency contact in my coat pocket in case I dropped in the street.
The seizures weren’t always convulsions. Sometimes they were quiet: a sudden blank, a pause in reality. But the fear after was always loud.
I’ve had seizures in parking lots, in stairwells, in grocery stores. I’ve bitten my tongue more times than I can count. I’ve woken up to strangers staring. One person made the sign of the cross. Another asked if I was on drugs.
People don’t understand. They think seizures always look like what they saw on TV — dramatic, obvious. They don’t see the subtle ones. The memory gaps. The shame.
Sometimes I feel haunted by my own body.
Sometimes I feel like I’m not safe with myself.
Sometimes I’m just tired.
But I’m still here. Still counting the hours between episodes. Still hoping for longer stretches of silence.
At the Home of Abrahamic Quiver, we know there are pains that don’t always have names people understand.
We don’t need a medical chart to believe you.
We don’t need a definition to offer care.
Whether your struggle is visible or quiet, loud or confusing — we welcome it with reverence.
You won’t be asked to explain yourself. You won’t be treated like a problem to solve.
Here, your story is enough.
Here, your presence is honored.
At HAQ, we walk beside those the world overlooks.
Not with judgment. Not with fixes.
With faith. With patience. With open arms.