Caprisha is an educator, advocate, and chronic illness warrior living with epilepsy and chronic migraines. Through her work and life, she’s chosen to use her experiences to raise awareness, push back on misconceptions, and advocate for better disability representation—especially when it comes to invisible conditions. Her story is one of strength, reflection, and reclaiming identity on her own terms.
Keep reading to learn more about Caprisha’s journey with epilepsy, how she navigated the process of identifying as disabled, and the misconceptions she’s working to break every day.
Celebrating My Disability as Part of My Identity
For me, epilepsy is a deeply underrepresented disability—one that is still widely misunderstood. As someone living with epilepsy and chronic migraines, I’ve come to see both as an integral part of who I am. And as an educator, I realized I could use my personal experience to educate others, spark conversations, and create awareness about what epilepsy actually looks like.
Owning that part of my identity hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve come to find strength and even celebration in it. There’s something powerful in embracing every part of yourself—even the parts that challenge you.
When I Started Identifying as Disabled
It was definitely a process. I didn’t wake up one day and decide, “I’m disabled.” That realization came slowly—first when I accepted that my epilepsy and migraines weren’t going anywhere. They weren’t temporary flare-ups or isolated events. They were here to stay.
As time went on and I started needing mobility aids, it hit me more deeply. These conditions were affecting my everyday life, and I needed to start approaching my care with that reality in mind. That shift—from thinking of my health as something to “fix” to something to adapt around—was when I began to identify as chronically ill and disabled.
A Misconception I Wish Didn’t Exist
One of the most frustrating myths I constantly encounter is the belief that someone can “swallow their tongue” during a seizure. It’s not just untrue—it’s dangerous.
People often rush to put something in a person’s mouth during a seizure, thinking it’ll prevent them from choking. But in reality, it’s physically impossible to swallow your tongue. Trying to put something in someone’s mouth while they’re seizing can cause serious harm—broken teeth, choking, or even objects being sucked into their airway.
Education is everything. I wish more people knew that protecting someone during a seizure doesn’t require force—it requires knowledge.
My Experience With Ableism
Unfortunately, I’ve had more than one experience with ableism, both subtle and overt. I’ve been told I’m “too young to be sick” or hit with comments like, “At least you don’t have [insert other condition here].” It’s minimizing and dismissive.
But one of the most glaring moments came from a doctor. I had requested to lie down before having my blood drawn, something I always do because of my seizure history. He asked if I faint, and I calmly explained that I have seizures and lying down is the safest precaution.
After the blood draw, as I was leaving, he looked at me and said, in a condescending tone, “See, you made it without having a seizure. I knew you could do it.” I was 42 years old. That interaction wasn’t just dismissive—it was patronizing and rooted in ableist thinking. It’s a reminder that ableism can come from anyone, even those in positions of care.
What Disability Representation Means to Me
This is such an important question—and one that doesn’t have a simple answer. Disability representation is more than just visibility. It’s about depth, nuance, and showing the full scope of disabled lives.
When it comes to entertainment, I’d love to see more characters with invisible disabilities—people living with epilepsy, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, diabetes, or chronic migraines. Not just as side characters or tragic plot points, but as full, multidimensional individuals whose health is a part of their story—not the only story.
In daily life, I think representation looks like seeing disabled people in all types of roles—whether they’re working limited hours, from home, or leading teams. It’s seeing us in forward-facing roles: in government, on the news, in classrooms, and boardrooms. It’s knowing that disability doesn’t exclude us from being leaders, thinkers, or creators.
True representation reflects the wide range of who we are and how we move through the world. And that kind of visibility? It matters.
Follow Caprisha on Instagram to learn more about her journey.
Leave a comment (all fields required)