Adversity and Resilience

My upbringing was marked by illness on multiple fronts. I suffered from severe epilepsy and was hospitalized up to 11 times a month. A brain scan confirmed that I had brain damage in the left hemisphere – the aftereffects of a stroke I had survived as a child.

But the story also hides another truth. The fact that I was perceived as "mentally behind" was largely due to a systemic failure: the staff in my kindergarten often forgot to give me my epilepsy medication. This meant my parents had to give me a double dose when I got home – a medication that is extremely sedating for the brain. My cognitive sluggishness was thus as much medically induced as it was biological.

In kindergarten, I felt the isolation deeply. Because I had difficulty speaking, I took refuge in my own world. I would go up on a hill in the playground and seek comfort in God and Jesus. When the system failed to show me care, I found love in faith.

Yet, amidst the system's cold judgment, there is a small light I carry with me: a memory of one of the girls in kindergarten who said to the others, "You shouldn't bully Anton." It was a small gesture, but it showed that even in the toughest environments, glimmers of human kindness exist.

Starting school didn't get easier. Teachers assessed that my future lay in a special school for children with behavioral challenges. They had given up on me.

But my parents refused to accept that verdict. When they told my new teacher at the private school what the system had said, the answer came promptly:

For the first time, I felt seen and heard. It was the starting signal to show the world – and the system – who I really was.

In third grade, I approached my last epileptic seizure. I had stopped my medication, but at the same time, a tragedy occurred: a staff member at my after-school club lost his life in the forest after an epileptic seizure because he hadn't taken his medication.

That death struck me with a paralyzing fear for my own life. That same night, my worst seizure yet occurred. My father shook me as tears ran down his cheeks, shouting, "Anton, you mustn't die!" That moment marked the final chapter of my time as a patient.

During middle school, my asthma hit its absolute low point. I was born with severe asthma and have only 72 percent lung capacity. I was hospitalized for several days while my body fought a battle it was dangerously close to losing.

The doctor later said words to my parents that still give me chills: "If he had gone to sleep at home, he would have passed away quietly."

Knowing you've been so close to the edge gives you a unique perspective. It has shaped my humanistic view: we are all of equal value, regardless of cognitive abilities, physics, or background.

Dyslexia became the next obstacle. My dictations were marked by frustration, but my mother set a limit: either I found a way, or she would no longer pay for my schooling.

I developed my own visual method and began to visualize the QWERTY keyboard in my mind when I had to spell. The strategy bore fruit, and I finished primary school with a top grade in spelling.

My first top grade ever was in Religious Studies. That was where the spark was ignited. I realized I had the abilities to reach the top. I became a "hunter".

This hunter mentality culminated in business high school (HHX), where I became the top scorer of the year with an average of 11.9. But it came at a price: at 18, I developed a stomach ulcer from the enormous pressure I put on myself.

Today, in the cand.polit (economics) program, I no longer chase grades for their own sake. Grade-chasing culture is unhealthy, and in a study program with high difficulty, you learn to appreciate the learning process itself.

But when motivation fails, I find my way back to the core: that old voice from the system that said I would never make it. It ignites a fire in me – both in my studies and at the gym.

This is the foundation of my values: you shouldn't talk down to others, regardless of the circumstances. Because I have been at the bottom of the system myself, I know that potential is often found beneath the surface of diagnoses and medication.

My journey has taught me that human value must never be defined by cognitive abilities or physical limitations. I bring this deep empathy and ironclad persistence into everything I do professionally.