Imagine waking up one day and suddenly losing the ability to walk or speak. That has been my reality since I was 13 years old, living with functional neurological disorder, often known as FND.
FND is a condition where the brain struggles to send and receive signals to the rest of the body. I often describe it as a computer software crash. The hardware, the nerves and muscles, can be perfectly intact, but the code fails. In my case, that failure meant sudden paralysis and the loss of speech, leaving me unable to communicate with the world around me.
My symptoms began when I was 12. At first, it was subtle. I struggled with coordination and cognitive tasks, things that once felt effortless. Then everything changed. In 2016, at the age of 13, I went from being a healthy, happy teenager to someone who could not move or speak at all. I was rushed to hospital and underwent months of testing. Four months later, I left with a diagnosis of FND. Because the condition does not appear on traditional scans such as MRI scans, my experience was often marked by confusion and misunderstanding within the medical system.
My FND was severe. I was unable to walk for five years. I spent three of those years completely bedridden. For an entire year, I lost my ability to communicate. I was conscious, aware, and thinking, yet unable to express myself. It felt like being trapped inside my own body, watching life continue while I remained still.
Recovery has never been a straight line. Progress came slowly, unevenly, and often when I least expected it. During the years I was confined to bed, I found comfort in small but powerful sources of hope. One of them was London. I developed a deep connection to the city and dreamed of visiting it one day. For a long time, that dream felt impossible. My body simply could not cope.
After three long years, my physical health began to improve. Step by step, I regained some strength. Eventually, I achieved what once felt unreachable. I visited London for the first time, and since then I have returned many times. It has become my favourite place, a symbol of how far I have come and a reminder that dreams do not disappear just because the journey takes longer than expected.
As of 2026, I am still reclaiming my life. I am relearning how to walk and finding my voice again after years of silence. FND is now part of my daily reality. It is my new normal. There is still uncertainty about whether I will ever fully recover, but I refuse to let that uncertainty define me. I am determined to build a life that is bigger than my diagnosis.
FND has affected more than just my physical health. It has shaped my mental health, my identity, and how I see the world. At 13, I lost my voice, my mobility, and my freedom to this condition. Ten years later, I have gained something else. A deep resilience. A fierce determination. And an unshakable belief that my illness will not decide what I can or cannot become.
Liam Virgo lives with functional neurological disorder (FND), a condition that has affected his ability to walk and speak since his early teens. He shares his lived experience to raise awareness of the physical and psychological impact of the condition.