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I didn’t wake up one day thinking I might have a brain tumour.
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There was no dramatic moment, no movie-style collapse.
It crept in quietly.
Fatigue that didn’t make sense. A nervous system that felt permanently on edge. Restless legs that wouldn’t let me sleep. Subtle changes that were easy to dismiss, easy for others to overlook, and easy for me to push through because that’s what women, mothers, and business owners tend to do, we carry on.
Until you can’t.
When I was finally diagnosed with a brain tumour, the shock wasn’t just the diagnosis itself. It was realizing how long my body had been whispering before it started shouting. And how invisible brain tumours can be from the outside.
I look “fine.”
I function.
I run a business.
I show up for my children.
But inside, everything changed.
A brain tumour doesn’t just affect your health, it affects your identity. Your confidence. Your nervous system. Your sense of safety in your own body. You grieve the version of yourself who didn’t think twice about energy, sleep, or fear. You grieve certainty.
What surprised me most was how lonely it can feel.
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Because brain tumours don’t always look like what people expect. There isn’t always hair loss or visible disability. Sometimes it’s exhaustion that never lifts, emotional overwhelm, strange neurological symptoms, or simply feeling like you’re not yourself anymore. And when you can’t explain it neatly, you can start to doubt yourself.
I’ve learned not to do that anymore.
Living with a brain tumour has taught me to listen deeply to my body. To advocate for myself when something doesn’t feel right. To slow down without guilt. To be honest about fear instead of pretending to be “strong” all the time.
And it’s also taught me something unexpectedly powerful: how resilient humans actually are.
I am still here. I am still creating. I am still loving fiercely. I am still building a life, just with more awareness, more compassion, and more courage than before.
If there’s one thing I want people to know about brain tumours, it’s this:
They are not rare enough to ignore.
They are not always obvious.
And the people living with them deserve to be believed, supported, and understood.
Early awareness matters. Research matters. Support networks matter. Organisations like the National Brain Tumor Society matter because no one should have to navigate this quietly or alone.
If you are reading this and something in your body feels “off,” trust that instinct. Ask the extra question. Push for answers. You are not overreacting. The meningioma is behind my right eye. I’ve lost sight, colour vision, and balance. I have daily headaches, restless leg syndrome and so much more.
And if you are walking this path already scared, uncertain, or exhausted know this: you are stronger than you think, even on the days you feel broken. Especially on those days.
This journey has changed me, but it has not taken me.
