Epilepsy and dating

My friends and I are in agreement: online dating sucks.

First up, writing the dreaded bio. If anyone could tell us the formula that’ll make ours sound less ChatGPT-generated, that would be great. And does anyone actually know what INTJ is? Because Google Translate informed us that it’s not, in fact, some lost Gaelic dialect but apparently a type of personality. News to us. And are we being judgmental if we immediately swipe left on seeing ‘live hard, play hard’ or pictures of someone holding a fish? Seems a bit hypocritical if we spent an entire weekend binge-watching Emily in Paris. Oh, and newsflash: Geminis should be approached with caution, if at all. Can’t find any evidence supporting this, but sure, let’s roll with it.

And that’s before we even get to the match and the interview-esque conversation that follows. After weeks of swerving, diving, and jumping through all these dating hoops like some Super Mario game, you might have a date scheduled by the end of it.

It’s during this limbo—the time before the date—when I’ll have to worry about things that aren’t a concern for my friends. Namely, my epilepsy.

Telling someone I have epilepsy isn’t the best icebreaker, but it’s one that, I feel, is necessary. After all, certain dates will be off the table for me.

A movie and then a trip to a games arcade? Pass. Hitting one of the clubs for a night out? That’s a definite no. A cute little bar but with some triggering lights? Not for all the G&Ts in the world. Somewhere that I can only reach by car? Only doable if you want to chauffeur me there.

Even when a trigger-free venue is decided on, I’m still not out of the woods. It only reduces the risk; it doesn’t eradicate it.

Triggers will vary for everyone. People are different, so it stands to reason that the condition is too.

Mine doesn’t start and finish with aggressive lighting. Anxiety and stress are my biggest triggers. Unlucky for me, because dating is about as stress-free as trying to understand the London Underground for the first time.

The days before the date, you can bet that my nerves will be building up. The morning of the date, I’m just about ready to bring up my breakfast from the previous morning.

I regularly have absences, also known as petit-mals. What this means is that I zone out. My eyelids will flicker like moth wings, and my eyes will roll to the back of my head. It’s not the best look if you’re meeting someone for the first time, date or otherwise.

Simply put, while most of us get stressed or anxious before a date, for me it’s all the more important that I keep this in check as it could lead to something more serious. In other words, a seizure.

Lots of people with epilepsy have a disclosure dilemma. Like I said, I bring this up in the earlier stages, but it’s not easily done. Let’s not forget, there’s only so much you can glean about a person from a few conversations exchanged on a dating app. I’m often baffled by the kind of language I overhear, whether it’s on the train to work or in my local supermarket. Language that I thought was exclusive to the bigoted or misinformed, I hear coming out of the mouths of people similar in age to me. People who, I assumed, have grown up at a time when there’s far more awareness about what language is appropriate, and when information has never been more readily available. I thought we’d moved past a time when words like “r****d” and “s*****c” were mindlessly dropped without consideration for their meaning. Personal experience tells me I was wrong on that front.

I worry about this before a date. I don’t know how they’re going to react when they hear about my condition. I’ve spoken to them a little, but they’re still a stranger at the end of the day.

Epilepsy or not, lots of us have had dates where the person is far from what we expected, and you’re left contemplating having a friend call you about an ‘emergency’ that you scripted out together beforehand.

When I’m not worrying about where to go for a date or how the person will react, I’m thinking about how someone could date me for the long term. My epilepsy will impact my partner. There’ll be the second-hand emotional worry because of the unexpectedness and unpredictability of the condition. Certain lifestyle adjustments may need to be made, social plans ruled out. During my rough patches, I may need some support and help. For some people, this is, sadly, a ‘dealbreaker.’

It’s little wonder why dating feels as bleak as the Yorkshire moors. I understand why someone with epilepsy may shy away from it entirely. It can be stressful and anxiety-inducing which, ironically, only makes our condition worse. Vicious circle!

Luckily for me, my personal story ended on a happy note. It started with coffee in a cute little café. What was supposed to be a one-hour date stretched into eight. And that was a miracle, considering we played Monopoly Deal, and anyone who’s played the game knows it can test even the most solid relationships.

We talked about my epilepsy. Specifically, my triggers, how my condition manifests, the medication I’m on, and how epilepsy impacts me on an emotional level. I rarely have these kinds of conversations with people I’m still getting to know. The reason why it happened on this occasion was because a safe space was created for me; one where I was carefully listened to. I felt like I could be my unapologetic self without self-consciousness. That was a first for me, as I’ve often felt obligated to apologise for my condition even though it isn’t owed.

It’s been over a year now. Since the first date, that safe space has not changed, and the same goes for my Monopoly Deal defeats.

To anyone with epilepsy trying their hand at dating: you’re not defined by your condition, and it’s not your entire identity. Don’t settle for anyone who doesn’t understand that. To someone who’s just matched with someone who has epilepsy, or is in the early stages of dating: every relationship comes with some level of understanding and compromise. Epilepsy is not so very different.