Woman Whose Heart Stopped for 8 Minutes Came Back to Life & Shared That 'Death Is an Illusion' – Her Unbelievable Story

Her heart stopped in a Texas hospital after a sudden chemical collapse triggered by exhaustion and infection. In the minutes that followed, she entered a realm where time unraveled, physical laws bent, and unfamiliar beings revealed scenes she couldn't explain.

By the time she was 25, she had already spent over a decade battling a rare brain disorder that left her in constant pain and extreme exhaustion. Despite ongoing treatments, the progression of symptoms had reached a point where her body could no longer cope.

Then, one day, she experienced a complete physical shutdown, an episode that would later be described as incompatible with life. But during those eight minutes of clinical death, her experience would challenge conventional definitions of dying.

The Relentless Grip of Myoclonus Dystonia

Brianna Lafferty's symptoms began when she was 10 years old — sharp, involuntary muscle jerks that affected her ability to sleep, function, and focus. Over time, they escalated into full-body spasms, constant nerve pain, and a level of exhaustion that left her emotionally and physically depleted.

Alongside the physical symptoms came severe insomnia, anxiety, and depression. Despite extensive testing and consultations, doctors struggled to find a clear cause. It would take years before Lafferty was diagnosed with myoclonus dystonia, a rare neurological movement disorder caused by a genetic mutation on the SGCE gene.

The condition is characterized by sudden, uncontrollable muscle movements (myoclonus) and episodes of dystonia, prolonged muscle contractions that can force the body into abnormal positions. In her case, it affected her entire nervous system.

The disorder, which is believed to affect fewer than 5,000 people in the United States, didn't just disrupt her motor functions. It made daily life increasingly unmanageable. She couldn't sleep for more than brief stretches at a time, and some episodes of wakefulness extended over 90 hours.

Her muscles twisted without warning. Lafferty's mental health deteriorated alongside her physical state. While the disorder itself is not typically fatal, it placed her body under prolonged stress that left her vulnerable to complications uncommon for someone her age.

In 2017, Lafferty's body reached its limit. She had gone four days without sleep when she came down with both the flu and mononucleosis. Weakened by years of neurological strain, her system couldn't recover. Her sodium levels dropped to 115 milliequivalents per liter, dangerously below the normal threshold of 135 to 145.

Sodium imbalance can occur when the organs begin to fail, disrupting the body's ability to regulate fluids. That's what happened. Lafferty's body shut down. Lying in a Texas hospital bed, with her mother by her side, she stopped breathing, and her heart stopped. She was clinically dead for eight minutes.

Clinical death is typically defined as the cessation of blood circulation and breathing, the basic signs of life. In medical settings, this state can sometimes be reversed with intervention.

What She Experienced During Clinical Death

Lafferty remembers hearing a voice as her body was shutting down. It was loud and direct and asked her if she was ready. She didn't know what she was agreeing to, but she said yes. Immediately, she felt three strong pounds on her chest, and then she was no longer in her body.

She described entering a vast black space filled with energy. There was no pain, no panic, and no memory of being human. Her identity — her name, her life, even the idea of Earth — was gone. The only thought that surfaced was, "Am I dead?" After that, she felt entirely detached.

She said the presence she encountered there was the Creator, and she described the space as home. Time did not exist the way it does on Earth. "Everything happens at once," she later recalled, "yet there was perfect order."

She then moved through a bright blue tunnel filled with ones and zeros. She interpreted this later as a representation of the mathematical structure of the universe. That tunnel led to a stark white room, featureless except for more numbers. From there, she entered a sequence of vivid, shifting scenes.

The room gave way to landscapes Lafferty couldn't identify, yet felt instinctively connected to. In one scene, she watched unfamiliar beings slide down snow-covered trees. Though she didn't recognize them, she felt deeply bonded to them.

When she thought about how much she disliked snow, the environment changed instantly, shifting into a lush spring setting. There was no transition. The change responded directly to her thoughts. At another point, she discovered she could fly.

While moving through one of these scenes, she collided with a pole and lost an arm, but that did not frighten her. There was no pain. She observed as her arm regenerated before her eyes, blood and all, with more curiosity than discomfort.

The final setting was a barbed wire fence. On the other side stood a house, a mountain, and a farm. The other beings moved through the fence easily, but she could not.

In the last room she entered, there were seven figures, powerful in presence, who presented her with a scroll. Before she could open it, something shifted. Her awareness returned to her physical body.

Return to the Body and Sensory Overload

When Lafferty regained consciousness, she felt disoriented and detached. Though only eight minutes had passed, it felt to her like months. The return was not gentle. She described it as being forced back into a body that no longer fit — like being crammed into a sausage casing.

Everything around her felt unfamiliar, and her physical form felt restrictive. Voices sounded different. Environments were overstimulating. But the most overwhelming change was sensory: she could feel other people's pain.

If she passed a car accident, she said, she could physically sense the pain of the people involved, down to the specific areas of injury. This new sensitivity extended beyond physical spaces; she could feel emotions that weren't hers. The effect was constant, and she had no way to turn it off.

For nearly a year, she struggled to cope with the intensity of being back in her body. She didn't feel relieved or grateful at first. Instead, she felt overwhelmed and unsettled, unable to explain what had happened or why everything around her now seemed altered.

After her near-death experience, Lafferty had to relearn how to walk and talk. Her motor function had been disrupted, and her body needed time to rebuild strength. The process was slow and exhausting, but the more difficult work was internal.

Understanding what had happened took years. For a long time, she couldn't make sense of the experience or its purpose. She questioned everything — politics, material concerns, relationships — and often found herself asking, "What's the point?"

Her worldview had shifted dramatically, but she didn't have the language or framework to explain it. At times, the disconnection left her feeling isolated and frustrated. It wasn't until she found others who had also gone through near-death experiences that she began to feel less alone.

It took nearly five years before she began to make sense of it. Only then did she start to see the experience not as something to recover from but as something to carry forward. The question was no longer why it happened but what she was meant to do with it.

Becoming a Death and Spiritual Guide

In the years after her experience, Lafferty began working with people facing chronic illness, grief, and spiritual disconnection. What she had gone through had changed her understanding of pain and purpose. She no longer saw suffering as something to avoid but as something that could be navigated.

Over time, this led her to formal training in end-of-life and spiritual care. She became a certified death and spiritual doula, as well as a healing coach. In this role, she supports people navigating chronic illness, major life changes, and the emotional weight that often comes with them.

Her work focuses on helping others reconnect with themselves and identify what she calls their "spiritual purpose." She describes her mission as one of helping people move through loss, not just physical death, but all forms of transformation.

Rather than center her own story, she uses it as a foundation to meet others where they are. The physical and emotional territory she moved through gave her a practical understanding of what others were experiencing.

Deep Brain Stimulation and Physical Breakthrough

Even as Lafferty helped others, she continued managing her own physical challenges. Her condition had not disappeared. After years of trial and error, she decided to undergo deep brain stimulation, an experimental procedure that offered a chance at meaningful relief.

The surgery took place in 2022. A battery-powered stimulator was implanted in her chest, with wires threaded into targeted areas of the brain to interrupt the abnormal signals causing her symptoms. She remained awake during the operation, aware of every step.

It was the most invasive treatment she had pursued. Going through the process during the COVID-19 pandemic, largely without support, added to the emotional weight. But she moved forward, believing it was her best option.

The results were immediate and lasting. Her symptoms lessened, and her motor control improved. She later called the procedure a "quantum leap," not just medically, but personally. After years of survival mode, her body had stabilized, and with it came a deeper clarity about how she wanted to live.

Lafferty's Life Now

Today, Lafferty describes her life as guided by purpose rather than fear. She lives with an awareness of what she calls a broader spiritual reality but also with a renewed commitment to the daily work of living.

She doesn't claim to have all the answers, but she no longer doubts what she saw or what it taught her. "Death is an illusion," she has said, and that belief shapes how she approaches illness, change, and grief — not as endpoints but as transitions.

Though she admits to feeling uneasy at the thought of another near-death experience, she states, "I live with a heart full of gratitude instead of anger now." Looking back, she doesn't try to erase the years of pain.

She sees them as part of the same story that gave her a second chance. "All the suffering I went through — it's crystal clear now why it happened," she said. "I don't resist life anymore. Even the hard parts. Especially the hard parts."

In a recent post, she wrote, "This journey—my second chance—is for something bigger. And I'm here to walk it with open hands and an awakened heart."