On World Mental Health Day, 20-year-old Shannon Graham shares her experience of struggling with fear, isolation and depression following her brain tumour diagnosis.
I was diagnosed with a brain tumour when I was just 17 years old. Everything started in December 2023, when I had my first seizure. I returned home from college, fell asleep and woke up with no idea what was happening to me. I remember the fear and confusion, and then suddenly there were paramedics outside my house. I had bitten my tongue, my legs felt heavy afterwards and I was exhausted. A couple of weeks later, I had another seizure in my sleep and, once again, my family were there and an ambulance was called. At the time, I was told that I had experienced tonic-clonic seizures, possibly due to dehydration.
A month later, I had a scan and was told that I had a dysembryoplastic neuroepithelial tumour (DNET), a rare type of low-grade brain tumour.
I didn't fully understand what a brain tumour was and felt completely lost and frightened. One minute I was worrying about college, friends and my future, and the next I was being given a life-changing diagnosis.
I found it extremely difficult to process. I became scared of my own body because I didn't know when another seizure might happen and struggled to sleep because I was afraid it might happen during the night.
The next two years were incredibly difficult for my mental health. Even though my seizures were happening in my sleep, they continued to have a huge impact on my everyday life. I still had to go to college, attend lessons and sit my exams while dealing with something that completely changed how I saw myself.
I became very quiet and withdrawn. I wasn't myself anymore; I stopped wanting to socialise and found myself pulling away from people.
There were times when I didn't want to eat, couldn’t sleep and didn't have the motivation to do the things I normally enjoyed. I felt like I had lost the person I was before the diagnosis.
I became depressed and needed therapy to help me cope. The emotional side of having a brain tumour was sometimes harder to explain than the physical side.
People could see that I was having seizures, but they couldn't see the fear, anxiety and uncertainty that I was carrying around every day.
I was worried about my future, education, independence and whether I would ever feel like myself again. I was supposed to be growing in confidence and experiencing teenage life, but instead I was dealing with hospital appointments, scans, seizures and the possibility of brain surgery.
Shannon after her surgery
It also affected my relationships. I am incredibly lucky because I have an amazing support system around me, especially my family and close friends. My family were there through the seizures, the ambulance callouts, appointments, scans, difficult days and eventually my surgery. My friends also supported me, although I did find it difficult to maintain relationships when I was struggling mentally. Sometimes I didn't want to talk to anyone or go anywhere, and I think that was difficult for people around me to understand. It wasn't because I didn't care about them. I was simply struggling with my diagnosis and didn't always have the energy to be the person I used to be.
I had to wait almost two years for my surgery, which was another huge part of my mental health battle. Knowing there was a tumour in my brain and having to carry on with everyday life while waiting for an operation was extremely difficult.
There was always that thought in the back of my mind that I had a tumour which hadn't yet been removed. I tried to keep going with my education and my life, but mentally I was struggling much more than people probably realised.
On 8th September 2025, everything changed. I underwent an eight-hour craniotomy to remove the tumour. It was a huge procedure and something I had been waiting and preparing for emotionally for a very long time. I was lucky to have such an amazing medical team looking after me. The surgery was successful and the tumour was completely removed.
Recovery was challenging, but it also gave me something I hadn't had for a long time: hope.
I started to feel like I could finally have my life back. I was able to return to university just three weeks after my surgery, and I began doing things that reminded me that I was more than my diagnosis. I even completed the 200k in May challenge to raise awareness and funds for Brain Tumour Research. It showed me how far I had come physically and mentally. What once felt impossible suddenly became something I could achieve.
Shannon’s newspaper feature about cycling 200k in May
Two months after my surgery, I got a tattoo which represents the journey I had been through. The design connects the brain and the heart with flowers. To me, it represents the connection between my mental and physical journey – my brain, which had been at the centre of everything I had experienced, and my heart, representing the emotional side of my recovery, the people I love and the strength it took to keep going. The flowers represent growth, new beginnings and coming through something incredibly difficult. Getting a tattoo only two months after surgery felt like taking ownership of my story.
I didn't want the tumour to define me; I wanted to turn what happened into something that represented how far I had come.
Now, one year after my surgery, I am tumour and seizure free. It feels incredible to be able to say that I was diagnosed at 17, had surgery at 19, and I have reached 20 with a completely different outlook on life. I am back at university, continuing with my Forensic Science studies and thinking about my future again. I still have difficult days, and recovery isn't something that simply ends when you leave hospital, but mentally I feel like I have found myself again.
Shannon's tattoo
Now I feel much more confident talking about what happened because I want people to understand that brain tumours don't just affect someone's physical health. They can affect your confidence, relationships, education, independence and mental health too.
My diagnosis will always be part of my story, but it doesn't define who I am.
brainstrust supports patients and their loved ones at the point of diagnosis, or at any time during their tumour experience, providing personalised support and practical advice. To access this support, visit brainstrust.
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