At 39, Elizabeth’s life is defined by resilience, compassion, and a deep desire to help others. As a volunteer yoga instructor in a brain injury unit, she offers support and movement to those on their own rehabilitation journeys. She is also pursuing research opportunities that explore the long-term impacts of brain injury in adolescents. Her passion for this work isn’t just academic—it’s deeply personal. 

As a young child, Elizabeth experienced absence seizures, brief moments of disconnection that had seemingly faded by the time she turned ten. Doctors declared her seizure-free and took her off medication. For two years, Elizabeth lived a typical carefree childhood.  

 

A childhood changed 

When she was 12, Elizabeth remembers waiting to be picked up after dance class, the next thing she remembers is waking up in the ICU.  

“People just wanted to know what happened, because I was completely unconscious. I was waiting to get picked up from a dance class and I fell down a flight of stairs. But what’s tricky is that I don’t remember it, no one was there, and I was completely unconscious by the time someone arrived.” 

“What they think happened was that I had a breakthrough seizure”  

At 12 years old, the weight of her condition was incomprehensible. Her biggest concerns at the time?  “The first thing I asked was, ‘I’m not going to be able to see Titanic with my friends?’” she laughs, remembering the small but significant losses of childhood. “I had just gotten a brand-new Adidas jacket, which was ‘the’ thing, and they had to cut it off me. They said, ‘We had to cut your jacket off.’ I was like, what?! It’s gone.”   

“I was in ICU for a chunk of time, then I moved to a paediatric ward, and I was discharged to go home. I had been at home for two days and I had a massive seizure. I then had to go back to the hospital. We never really will know if I would have developed epilepsy or not, but the fall didn’t help.” 

 

The long road back 

Returning to school felt like stepping into a different world. Once a bright and eager student, Elizabeth suddenly found herself struggling in ways she never had before.   

“I opened my math book, and it was like looking at the font Wingdings. I was like, ‘this is wild.”  

The fatigue was relentless. Concentration felt impossible. While her friends continued forward without hesitation, she felt stuck, trying to keep up in a body and mind that no longer felt like her own.   

“I knew I wasn’t the same person. And that was something that was really difficult.”   

Despite this, she pushed on. With the support of friends, family and patient teachers, she found ways to adapt. But the dream she once had—to become a paediatric neurologist—slipped away.   

“The life I wanted to have for myself… that’s not going to happen. I can’t do math anymore. I get tired super easily.”   

So, she found a new path.   

She became a special education teacher, an educational interpreter, and eventually, a researcher. Each step was shaped by her own experience, a quiet but powerful determination to make a difference.   

 

A hidden truth, revealed years later 

Years later, Elizabeth’s past resurfaced in a way she never expected. After experiencing intense headaches, she went in for an MRI. The scan revealed something shocking—clear evidence of the damage caused by her childhood injury.   

Her doctor asked, “Did you have a concussion at some point?”   

Elizabeth was stunned. She had assumed her brain had healed, that she had moved past it.   

“I got really upset because I thought that part of my life was over. I felt like I’d been betrayed somehow. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me?’”   

That revelation reignited something in her. Instead of seeing it as a setback, she saw it as a reason to learn, to understand, and to advocate.   

“I’ve always accepted that having a traumatic brain injury significantly shaped the course of my life. But I wasn’t always aware of how much it was still there.”   

Finding purpose in advocacy  

Determined to channel her experience into action, Elizabeth pursued a degree in public health. It wasn’t an easy journey—it took her four years, longer than most—but she persisted.   

“This is exactly what I want to be doing. Studying public health, teaching yoga, and being around people who understand what it’s like. When I started to do more research, in public health and learning about it, I got to learn about myself all over again. I was like ohh, that makes sense. That’s why I probably would have felt that way.” 

But she also recognises that no two journeys are the same.   

“I don’t want to go in and try to relate to someone who just had a head injury a month ago. My experience was different. But I do know the kind of empathy it takes to support others in a meaningful way. What I see in the sector, is that people want to engage in activities that are meaningful and preferred. That’s one thing I’ve learned from the yoga program: the importance of people engaging in activities that are meaningful to them, preferred, and connected to keeping people connected to others.” 

That belief extends beyond individual care—it’s about systemic change.   

“Programs that get developed… you need to have people with lived experience at the table. Not just as volunteers. Hire them. Pay them. Because we have insights that matter.”   

A global stage for change 

Elizabeth’s journey has taken her farther than she ever imagined. In the coming months, she will travel to Canada to speak at the World Brain Injury Congress, presenting on person-centred care—a philosophy that recognises and prioritises the unique experiences of individuals.   

“I get to share the work I’m doing on a global stage, which is amazing.”   

Her path has not been easy. It has been filled with loss, change, and adaptation. But through it all, Elizabeth has found her way—not as the neurologist she once dreamed of being, but as an advocate, a researcher, and a voice for those still finding their own way forward.   

“I don’t think I would have imagined any of this for myself when I was 12. I didn’t get to become a doctor, but I get to do other really great things and make changes in a different capacity.”  

The love and joy that Elizabeth shines when she talks about her work at the brain injury unit is contagious. She is proof that healing isn’t about returning to who you were—it’s about embracing who you can become.