Mari-Liis Vaher

At twelve, I was diagnosed with severe scoliosis. My spine needed extensive surgery and a metal support frame along its full length. The operation lasted eight hours. It was the early 1990s, and I was among the first patients to undergo this kind of extensive spinal surgery in post-Soviet Estonia.

I still carry that frame. I am exactly as tall as I was after the surgery. But the physical consequences were only part of what happened.

For a long time, I could not move. Hospital visits were limited, and there were no mobile phones or internet to connect me with friends. I remember the lights being switched off at night, the fear of the darkness, and the uncertainty of whether I would ever walk again.

Doctors told me a normal life would be impossible. With enough work, I might walk, but running and jumping were out of reach. One doctor told me I would never have children because my back could not support pregnancy. I was a child who had always dreamed of having a family. Suddenly, that future seemed closed to me.

Recovery meant learning to sit and walk again, wearing a supportive corset, and missing an entire school year. When I returned, I had to join a younger class. I felt embarrassed, was bullied, and was left out of sports. I became angry and withdrawn, and fell in with people whose lives were taking a direction I did not want for myself.

There were periods when I felt anxious, helpless, and unable to see a reason to keep going. I survived a suicide attempt. My mother offered me a way to start again: a boarding school in another city, where children with disabilities studied together.

I spent three years at Haapsalu sanatory boarding school. There, I met young people living with significant disabilities who still laughed, formed friendships, and enjoyed their lives. Being around them changed my perspective. Those became the happiest years of my childhood. I had a chance to be a teenager again.

It also showed me how much the people around us matter. They influence how we speak, what we believe is possible, how we work, and how we feel about ourselves.

At fifteen, I lost a close friend to suicide. The following year, a schoolmate died after an unsuccessful operation. Those losses were devastating. They also left me with a strong desire to live fully and not look back regretting that I had never tried.

I began with what I could do: learn. I continued from one school to the next, eventually earning a master’s degree in social science. I started working in sales and marketing and found work that suited me. I could help people move towards their goals.

In my twenties, my mother was diagnosed with cancer and died a year later. Around that time, a close friend lost her three-year-old son. I struggled with grief and remember searching online for how to cope with it.

Again, I turned to learning. I studied psychology and looked for ways to understand change, loss, and the demands of being human. Learning had given me a way forward before. It continued to do so.

I met my husband when I was twenty-one. He has been there for me ever since. My older sister became an especially important source of support after our mother died. Teachers, colleagues, and friends have also helped me through the years.

And I have two children. The family I was told I could never have became part of my life.

I am deeply grateful for the people who helped me reach this point. My story has taught me to ask for help, to keep learning, and to take the next step even when I cannot see the whole path.

Today, my work draws on more than twenty years of international marketing leadership, fifteen years of entrepreneurship, and building and exiting a seven-figure business. I work with leaders to connect business priorities, marketing, sales, and daily execution.

I wrote The Greatest Marketer to make that experience practical and accessible. The same commitment runs through my keynotes and executive workshops: help people understand where they are, what matters, and what they can do next.

The lesson I return to is simple. Change comes throughout life. We can seek support, learn, and respond with action, step by step. Progress takes time, and the people beside us make a difference.

“Have some faith, compassion and trust yourself!”

Mari-Liis