I created my neuroligical disorder

the way, I want to clarify that in this blog I will talk about MBTI, my personal journey, and other topics related to life, psychology, and transformation in different articles. But today, I’ll start with this.

The day everything changed

A year ago, my life was turned upside down when I developed a rare neurological disorder: Visual Snow Syndrome.

Thousands of black and bright dots appear in my field of vision, like static snow that is always present, impossible to ignore. On top of that, I have migraines with aura, light flashes, hypersensitivity to light, fatigue, and chronic pain.

When it happened, I cried. I cried, cried, and cried some more.

But to understand how I got here, we need to go back a little further.

A brain that never knew how to rest

In October 2023, I lost my mother to lung cancer. Watching her disappear was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. Her body was changing, her hair was falling out, her face was becoming disfigured, and I could hear her screaming in pain. The feeling of helplessness in the face of the suffering of someone you love leaves a deep mark.

My nervous system was already saturated long before that.

I grew up in a difficult family environment with hits, insults, and a permanent climate of instability. At school, it was bullying from middle school through high school.

As an ENTP woman, I was hunted. I had a rational intelligence and an energy that is mainly attributed to boys. Girls didn’t like me because I was too frank. Boys didn’t like me either, because I took up too much space, I was too exuberant and my energy seemed “unfeminine.” I loved debating, I had dark humor, I was very logical. ENTP women in society have a hard time being accepted.

To survive, I ended up accepting to play a role – that of a calm and shy girl. But in private, with my close ones, I could be myself: a ball of creative, funny, and very intelligent energy. It was the only way to navigate between social pressure and my true self.

My brain, this unstoppable engine

I have often compared my brain to a computer that never turns off.

I over-analyzed everything. Looks, words, people’s reactions. I anticipated behaviors, I decoded emotions. I observed to understand personalities and predict people’s behavior, because my mind works a lot with extraverted intuition (Ne) — I’ll talk about MBTI in another article. I can pick up clues, connect information, and imagine several possible scenarios in just a few seconds.

On top of that, my introverted sensing (Si) records every past experience, especially the negative ones, and feeds my internal memory to anticipate behaviors. When stress sets in, I can enter a Si + Ni loop, projecting future scenarios that are often catastrophic based on the past – like a tunnel with only one fatalistic ending possible.

In short, I capture, I connect, I anticipate. But living like this has a price.

The paradox of hyper-analysis

When a situation became tense, two reactions were possible: I would explode violently, because my nervous system interpreted the situation as a threat. Or I would completely shrink, so the other person would feel positive emotions and the situation would stay under control.

In both cases, I carried an enormous weight. The responsibility for other people’s emotions. I had to soothe, understand, anticipate.

And somewhere, I didn’t feel legitimate just being myself.

A meeting that changed my environment

At the end of 2023, I meet my partner. I’ll come back to this meeting in another article, because it deserves its own story.

Very quickly, I go to live with him in the middle of France. I had an urgent need to get away from my family environment.

For the first time in my life, I discover something strange: calm.

I learn to live in a house where there are no screams. No violence. No permanent fear.

But after 25 years in a constant state of stress, the body doesn’t relax overnight.

When the body starts to speak

At the beginning of 2024, my body begins to send signals. I have morning diarrhea, acid reflux, dizziness, blurred vision. I was crying constantly. I was deeply unhappy. My days were reduced to eating, watching series, and crying over my mother’s death. I wasn’t able to work.

My partner taught me how to live. He gave me a framework, direction, unconditional love, and above all, respect. But I knew a deep transformation had to take place. 25 years of stress don’t disappear in one year.

The appearance of hypochondria

In 2025, I try to take my life back in hand. I land a job as a traveling saleswoman and a master’s degree.

It’s also during this period that my hypochondria appears. After accompanying my mother through her illness, the fear of experiencing the same thing settles in my mind. My brain constantly monitors my body. Every pain becomes suspicious. Every sensation is analyzed. I consult doctors three to four times a week, convinced I have cancer almost every month.

And the more I stressed, the more my body produced physical symptoms. The more symptoms appeared, the more I thought I was seriously ill. I had entered a mental loop, constantly projecting a catastrophic future.

The day my vision changed – The Visual Snow

Then one morning, I wake up. I look at the wall. Billions of dots appear in my field of vision. Violent headache.

After many examinations, a neurologist finally puts a name to what I’m experiencing: Visual Snow Syndrome.

A neurological disorder that is still very poorly understood today. My brain has become hyperexcitable. It no longer filters certain information it used to filter. In other words, it no longer knows how to calm down.

For years, my brain had never left survival mode. I was in hypervigilance, over-analysis, constant anticipation. My nervous system had never learned to regulate itself.

And at some point, something inevitably breaks down.

So I asked myself the question: what if I had a part of responsibility in what is happening to me?

Not guilt. Guilt locks you in. Responsibility opens a door to power.

If I continue to believe that everything that happens to me is solely the fault of life, chance, destiny, or others, then I am condemned to remain an eternal victim. A victim of my past, of my experiences, of my emotions, stuck in the same cycle over and over again.

But if I accept that my mental patterns, my accumulated emotions, and a nervous system constantly in a state of alert contributed to this dysregulation, then I also hold an immense power to transform my life.

Staying attached to the victim story is tempting. It’s comfortable. But it’s a trap. I choose power. I choose to rewrite the rules of my brain, my body, and my nervous system.

An unexpected opening

One day, while scrolling on Instagram, I come across a video of Joe Dispenza.

My partner, who is very spiritual, had already tried to introduce me to this kind of approach. I was skeptical. Anything outside the rational framework scared me. But something intrigued me. I started meditating, observing my thoughts, analyzing my emotional patterns.

And I understood one essential thing. Our ego loves to identify with the past. It loves to tell the victim story. But that narrative traps us. It leaves no room for change.

Growing up in a dysfunctional family, losing your mother to cancer, developing a rare neurological disorder, the heroine who goes through hell and endures – that’s the story society loves to hear. But by staying stuck in that victim identity, we have no possibility of regaining control over our life.

Today: taking back control

I continue my journey. I work on regulating my nervous system, deconstructing my mental patterns, and taming this brain that never stops. Every day is a learning experience, a test, a small victory.

Even if I don’t exactly know where it will lead me, one thing is certain: I am no longer a victim. I am taking back control, rewriting my story, and transforming every bright dot of my Visual Snow into a spark of power and awareness.