Purple Day 2026: If I Can, You Can – A Journey Through Epilepsy, Motherhood, and Finding My Strength.
- Lucy
- 2 hours ago
- 4 min read
Every year, Purple Day invites the epilepsy community to pause, reflect and reconnect. It is a chance to remind ourselves—and the world—that while epilepsy may shape parts of our lives, it does not define our potential.
This year’s theme, “If I can, you can,” resonates deeply with me. Over the last year, as we’ve learned more about Penny’s epilepsy, her medication, and its impact on her daily life, I’ve found myself reflecting—really reflecting—on my own journey.
A Childhood of Seizures and Silence.
I was diagnosed with epilepsy as a child, after experiencing several grand mal seizures. Some memories from that time remain unusually vivid. Sitting at the piano, playing, then… nothing. Waking on the D&T classroom floor with my classmates staring—not out of malice, but confusion. My teacher pulling me close in a hug as I tried to understand what had happened.
My parents had recently separated, and I was taken privately to a consultant. After an MRI and an EEG, I was diagnosed and prescribed lamotrigine. There were theories—stress from the divorce, or a head injury where I’d knocked myself out—but there was no real investigation and no real explanation.
And that is where my understanding of my epilepsy ended.
No one talked about side effects. No one mentioned SUDEP. No one explained how medication might affect concentration, mood, or cognitive processing.
I took the tablets and carried on.
The Quiet Impact of Medication
Watching Penny now, I can’t help noticing similarities—despite her being on entirely different medication. The fog. The fatigue. The invisible effort behind everyday tasks.
And for the first time, I’ve started to ask: how much did the medication impact me too?
I was a strong student—consistent, hardworking. Yet exams? I never performed as predicted. Not at college, not at university. I left college with three Bs rather than the straight A's I had worked for.
A male lecturer told me outright that I wasn’t clever enough to be a lawyer.
Not “maybe there’s a reason.”
Not “let’s explore why your exams don’t match your potential.”
Just: "you’re not clever enough."
And yet, I continued.
At university, the pattern repeated. My dissertation achieved a first. My written work excelled. My exams—the timed, pressured, cognitive‑load‑heavy part—did not. I graduated with a 2:2.
For years, I assumed I “just didn’t do well under pressure.” But now, with the perspective of being Penny’s mum?
I wonder.
Was it epilepsy? Medication? Cognitive fog I didn’t know I had?
There are other explanations too—life certainly played its part. My husband (then boyfriend) was seriously ill in hospital during my final exams. Stress undoubtedly influenced things. Maybe I did crumble more under pressure. Maybe I wasn’t as bright as predicted.
But then I look at my life now, the responsibilities I hold, the career I’ve built.
And I no longer believe that.
Coming Off Medication – and Waking Up
I didn’t come off lamotrigine until I was studying the LPC part‑time, commuting almost two hours to a full‑time paralegal role in Solihull, and taking night classes.
By all logic, it should have been an incredibly stressful chapter.
And yet—off the medication—I achieved a distinction.
No dramatic lightbulb moment. No big realisation at the time. I assumed the exams were simply “more practical.” But looking back now, the difference is striking.
What changed? Did the fog lift? Did I finally see myself clearly?
I’ll never know for certain .But the shift was real.
Building a Career on Determination, Not Perfection
Despite the challenges, the doubts, and the quiet cognitive battles, I kept moving. Step by step.
I qualified as a solicitor with Lyons Davidson in 2014—the firm that believed in me.
I trained across Bristol and Eastbourne—sometimes grumbling, always grateful.
I moved to Gowling (then Wragge Lawrence Graham & Co), a top‑tier firm.
After Daisy was born, I moved to Shakespeare Martineau for a better family balance.
Within six years, I became Partner—one of the youngest at the firm.
Not the straight‑A academic I expected to be. Not the perfect exam performer.
But a lawyer. A partner. A mum. An advocate. And now a parent navigating epilepsy once again, through Penny.
Why I’m Sharing This Ahead of Purple Day
Because someone needs to hear it.
Someone who thinks medication side effects make them “less than.” Someone who believes exam results determine their future.Someone who heard “you’re not clever enough” and internalised it.Someone raising a child with epilepsy, wondering what life might look like.Someone quietly trying their hardest in a world that doesn’t see the hidden effort.
This Purple Day, I’m standing with you.
If I can, you can. Not because our paths are the same, but because the strength it takes to keep showing up is something we all share.
Penny has taught me to look back with compassion. Epilepsy is part of our story—but it is not our limit.
To Anyone Living With Epilepsy, or Raising a Child Who Is
You are stronger than you realise. You are doing better than you think. And you are absolutely capable of building a life you’re proud of.
If I can do it—fog, seizures, setbacks and all—you can too.
Young Epilepsy
Young Epilepsy Supports children and young people living with epilepsy, offering guidance on diagnosis, education, safety and family support.
Epilepsy Action
Epilepsy Action Provides practical advice, emotional support and clear information for people affected by epilepsy, including parents at the very beginning of their journey.
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