When My World Flipped Upside Down (pt.1)

First Seizure

They say the fifth time is the charm… or something like that. But in my case, it was more like a collision course with destiny.

After two years of COVID cancellations, broken planes, and a literal government collapse, Simon and I finally touched down in Liberia, Costa Rica. We had mapped this trip out for twenty-four months—every turn, every vista, every sunset. We were there. But as we pulled into the neon-soaked party town of Jaco for night one, the air in the car was heavier than the tropical humidity.

You know that feeling when every word your partner says feels like a sandpaper rub against an open wound? That was us. After years of trying to fix the unfixable, it took one night in paradise to realize the truth. I sat there, listening to the muffled bass of the town, and thought: Yup. That’s it. It’s over. I’d started over before; I could do it again. Little did I know, across the console of our rental car, Simon was reaching the exact same conclusion. We spent the next two days in a silent truce, traveling toward Uvita. I wasn't there to talk anyway. I was there for the whales.

The Chip Bag Incident

The highlight and purpose of the trip was the Festival of the Whales at Marino Ballena National Park—a place where the ocean recedes to reveal a perfect, naturally formed "whale tail" sandbar. It’s a sacred spot where humpback mothers teach their calves how to breathe.

I woke up feeling... off. But hey, when you’ve decided to dismantle your entire life the moment you get home, "off" feels like a pretty standard baseline.

The universe, however, has a wicked sense of humor. We got stuck in a two-hour traffic jam just to enter the park. This damn rental car, right?! Now, for those who don’t know me: I have a historically tiny bladder. Add a dash of "my marriage is ending" anxiety, and I’m basically a leaking faucet.

Desperation is a powerful thing. In a stationary car, surrounded by the lush beauty of a National Park, and tons of people walking all around, I did the unthinkable. I peed in a chip bag. It was humiliating, ridiculous, and—in hindsight—absolutely hilarious. If you’re looking for a "Sweet Soul Wellness" tip, save your chip bags while traveling. You’re Welcome.

More Than Just “Off”

Once we finally made it inside, we walked toward the Whale Tail. The sun was blinding, but my world was narrowing.

Suddenly, my peripheral vision evaporated. I was looking through a straw. Everything in front of me was blurry, moving in a thick, syrupy slow motion. I felt clammy, dizzy, and hollow. Simon stood a few paces ahead, "patiently impatient," waiting for me to catch up. I kept pushing. I had to see them.

In the distance, beyond the shimmering heat waves, we saw them: humpbacks leaping, breaching, and playing in the deep blue. They were magnificent. But as much as I wanted to reach the tip of the peninsula, my body was staging a coup. We turned back for our boat tour, my legs trembling like a leaf in a storm.

The Bursting Point

We ended up at the very front of the boat—the bow. As we hit the open water, the waves were relentless. We were getting popped out of our seats like popcorn, the boat crashing down hard against the swell. I clung to Simon, the man I was leaving, out of pure survival instinct. What if a wave takes us? I can't swim this.

Then, the water calmed.

Several boats gathered in a silent, respectful circle. Bobbing like bobbers. A collective gasp rippled through the air. A mama humpback surfaced, gently nosing her baby up to the air, teaching it that first, vital breath.

Everything else faded. The noise of the crowd, the salt spray, the ache in my heart—it all vanished. I felt a surge of love so intense it felt like my chest might actually crack open. My eyes flooded.

"Are you crying?" Simon asked softly.

"This was worth the wait," I sobbed. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of a mother teaching her child to survive in a vast, unpredictable ocean.

The Blackout

I’m not sure what happened next.

The world didn't just go blurry; it went away. I remember the sound of voices—distant, muffled, like they were underwater. I couldn't understand the words. I couldn't think. There was no "me" left in my head, just a void.

When the light flickered back on, I was in the back of the boat, cradled in Simon’s arms. Someone was pressing cold juice to my lips.

"Has she ever had seizures before?" a voice asked, sharp with concern.

"The water is rough, she probably just fainted," someone else countered.

"We’re going back to shore," a voice directed at me. "Hang in there."

I looked up at the sky, but the blackness pulled me back under. My life was flipping upside down, just like I thought it would—but not in any way I thought.

This was the moment my "wellness" journey actually began—not with a green juice or a yoga mat, but with a seizure on a boat in the middle of the Pacific.

Explained by Neurologist, Dr. Carolyn Taylor

Author - Samantha Mandell, RTT Practitioner