Epilepsy is often invisible—until it isn’t.

Last year, I was commissioned to create a series of photographic portraits for CortoCircuito, a non-profit project dedicated to raising awareness about epilepsy. What began as a visual assignment quickly became something much deeper: a human experience shaped by stories and unexpected connections.

I met people who have been living with this condition for years—people who face the uncertainty of not knowing when the next seizure might come, in the middle of an ordinary day. But beyond the medical aspect, what struck me most were the personal stories. I spoke not only with those directly affected, but also with the people who stand beside them—family members, partners, friends.

Each story revealed something I had never fully considered before. I met individuals who found friendship and strength through shared experience, supporting each other to the point of reclaiming their lives. Others spoke about stigma—about being misunderstood, labeled as unstable, spoiled, or even “possessed.” Some choose to face it alone, quietly trying to live a normal life. Others transform their condition into a source of light, helping guide and support those walking a similar path.

What stays with me is not the unpredictability of the condition, but the depth of the lives built around it—the quiet determination, the courage in ordinary moments, the refusal to be reduced to a diagnosis. These encounters challenged my assumptions and forced me to look beyond the surface, to recognize how much strength can exist in forms that are rarely seen or acknowledged.