February 2026 - Vol. 23, Issue 1

I don’t remember the first time I experienced a tic, but my family’s reaction will always be ingrained in my mind.

“Stop doing that.”

“Just a habit.”

“Try harder!”

“One of these days, you’re gonna jerk your head right off those shoulders, plum over to the other side of the room.” The others laughed.

I didn’t know I had Tourette’s at the time, but it was made quite clear early on that these tics were something to be ashamed of and embarrassed by. It was always made known to me that I had complete control over my tics if only I tried hard enough. And when I didn’t, I simply didn’t want it badly enough.

I was around eight years old when my mom had me sit on the old beige sofa in Gray, Kentucky, the very sofa that still sits in my grandma’s basement. My grandparents, whom I called Mamaw and Papaw, sat watching the two of us.

“Stop doing that with your eyes,” she said as I rolled them, starting from as far left as I could get them to go, then rolling them up and over to the farthest right my body would allow.

With every ounce of willpower I had, I forced myself to look straight at Mom.

And then the rolling happened.

“You did it again,” she said. “Try again.”

And so I did.

I failed.

I tried again.

And I failed.

But Mom had another idea. She was always full of ideas.

I closed my eyes, and she placed a hand on each side of my head and gently rubbed my eyes with her thumbs in a circular motion. It actually felt good. Relaxing.

She released her thumbs, and I opened my eyes. I had this tingling feeling.

I lasted longer that time. But unsurprisingly, I eventually succumbed to the urge to tic. But it was the longest I had lasted, so I would go on to perform this on myself many times in my room. And each time I would come up with the strongest motivation to force myself to stop, either with this method or simply through mere force, I would think, knowing deep down, that this was it. I would succeed this time. How could I not if I had the control to stop it somewhere within me? It had to happen eventually.

All my life, I’ve been embarrassed by my Tourette’s. I mean, somebody once thought I was demon-possessed. How can you not be embarrassed?

Am I more comfortable with it now? Absolutely. But I’d be lying if I said all self-consciousness of my condition has disappeared.

Like every kid with Tourette’s, other kids made fun of me throughout school as I’d make a grunting noise to a random rhythm, jerk my head in all directions, or roll and blink my eyes. Although, surprisingly, the kids didn’t make fun of me directly, but behind my back, where they thought I couldn’t see or hear.

My Tourette’s is always the first thing people notice about me. When I reconnected with my dad at my high school graduation, after a decade, his first words to me were, “I always thought you did that with your eyes because you just wanted glasses.”

There are a lot of assumptions people make about Tourette’s, and I do wonder, when a lot of people see me and recognize that I have it, do they assume that I like to randomly shout out “Fuck!” or “Dick!”

To be fair, I have shouted out these words.

Many, many times, actually.

But it was in no way a tic; it was very intentional.

Shouting out swear words with absolutely no control is called coprolalia, and according to tourette.org, it affects 10% of us. Media would have us all believe this is more like 90%.

Tourette’s is a syndrome (TS), and that means that it manifests itself in entirely unique ways in every single person who experiences tics. No two cases are the same.

Some of us only have motor tics. Some only have vocal. Many, like me, have both. Some of those motor tics are painful to others, while some are simple (or not-so-simple) annoyances and embarrassments.

The tics are repetitive, involuntary, and sudden. And those with TS often also have ADHD, OCD, anxiety, and depression. I have all but OCD, although I have suspected OCD on occasion.

People also believe that Tourette’s only happens to children. In fact, when I finally approached Mamaw about seeing a doctor in the 8th grade after a substitute librarian approached me and suggested I try not eating sugar and processed foods to stop the tics, the doctor told me it would go away as I grew older.

“It is unusual that you still have them at this age,” he had said with an accent before promising they’d disappear.

Tics may wane in some as they get older; that is true, and in some cases, they do disappear. But that’s not the primary case. TS does not solely affect children.

The exact cause of TS isn’t known. But here is what we do know in addition to the above:

1. It’s a complex neurodevelopmental disorder. This is important to know because some neurologists today will tell their patients that TS is a psychiatric issue and refer them to a psychiatrist.

2. It can be inherited, running in families, but it’s complex and involves multiple genes. Interestingly, I do not know anybody else in my family who has TS.

3. Environmental factors can cause TS. One example of this I find interesting is maternal smoking, which is something my mom did while she was pregnant with me at the age of 16.

4. Our dopamine levels are imbalanced.

We have abnormal dopamine activity in the basal ganglia. The basal ganglia are a group of deep brain structures that help initiate, stop, and manage voluntary movements. These structures filter signals from the cortex, the brain's outermost layer, while also managing emotions, habits, and decision-making. The basal ganglia are pretty much a fancy filter that chooses intended actions like walking or reaching.

For patients with TS, this filter dysfunctions, leading to our dreaded involuntary movements. It’s believed that when the basal ganglia dysfunction, it disrupts the function of suppressing unwanted actions.

So basically, parts of my brain aren’t communicating like normal.

There’s also no treatment.

But that’s not to say there aren’t things out there that help suppress the tics.

When it comes to medications, doctors often prescribe antipsychotics that block dopamine. Risperdone is a popular choice.

There are also medications like guanfacine, which help control nerve impulses and can be used for those with ADHD. I have tried this one myself.

Comprehensive Behavioral Intervention for Tics (CBIT) is another route. This is a type of behavioral therapy that helps us become more aware of our tics and the urge to tic, choose a new behavior instead of the tic, and identify situations and environments that make tics worse.

These treatments rarely stop tics completely. But they can help many.

And so, for us all, we continue living with our tics. They become this unwanted companion that never leaves our side, always peaking its head out at the absolute worst or unexpected times.

Even the most mundane activities can be ruined by tics. I mean, my heart drops when I realize the customer service number wants me to “tell me how they can help me” by speaking into the phone. “Don’t worry,” some will say. “I can talk to me like I’m a real person.”

“I bet you I can’t,” I want to tell the robot.

As soon as I start to explain why the hell I’m calling, almost every time, a vocal tic interrupts, and the phone repeats back to me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, can you repeat that again?”

Dating is the worst. I mean, when you’re dating, you want to put on your best self to impress the girl. You want to look your best, you want to say all of the right things. And unless somebody sets me up on a date or I ask the girl in person, they don’t know that I have Tourette’s. And so we’ll sit at the table, and to no surprise, I’ll tic.

Interestingly, in a dating scenario, my tics are almost always motor. The vocal tics rarely come out on dates. Until I get inside the car.

I’ve only had one girl ask me about it.  She was nice and a doctor.

“Do you have Tourette’s,” she asked.

I nodded, my face likely growing red.

We discussed it for a few minutes.

I’m not saying my tics are the reason many of the girls responded to my messages afterwards to say they didn’t feel a romantic connection, but I do wonder how many of them chose not to move forward because of my tics.

But I’ve discovered one of the best cures for caring what others think about your Tourette’s and being embarrassed by them.

Age.

I’m only 34, and I still care what others think about me. And I do get embarrassed still on dates or during periods when my tics are unusually bad around my friends or coworkers. But compared to ten years ago, even five years ago, I care a lot less.

And that has made me more confident in who I am.

It’s helped me realize that I’m much more than my condition. And when it comes to dating, if somebody isn’t willing to see that, then they are clearly not the right person for me.

There will always be people out there who see me as a ‘weirdo.” Many will not understand. There will be people who don’t tolerate it. I once lost my job due to a symptom of my Tourette’s flare-up caused by anxiety and depression.

But all we can do is wait until treatments get better and better.

The UK has developed a wristband called Neupulse. It’s very new and unavailable in the United States. It stimulates nerves to reduce, not eliminate, tics. I will always try treatments that reduce tics, and so I and many other like me wait patiently for the wearable to come to the U.S.

I walk down the aisle, looking to see if they have any new season IPAs out yet. I’m just looking for something new.

“Bless you,” a man next to me says. I glance over at him, and he smiles. “That was an odd sneeze. Seems like a cold is going around again. I had it just last week.”

“Thank you,” I simply say. It’s much more acceptable to say this than to tell him I did not in fact, sneeze but had a weird vocal tic that apparently sounds much like I’m sick.

This very scenario happens weekly.

Sometimes, people think it’s a hiccup.

I used to be mortified when this happened.

But now, if I’m honest, I sort of chuckle on the inside.

What if I told him it wasn’t a sneeze but my Tourette’s? I think to myself.

His face would be the one turning red this time.

But of course I’m not going to do this.

I smile at these strangers and thank them.

I am many things, but I’m not Tourette’s. Tourette’s is a part of me. But I’m much more than that.

I’m a dog dad.

I’m a first-grade teacher.

I’m a golfer.

I’m a writer and reader.

I’m an entrepreneur and aerial videographer.

I’m active.

I’m a beach bum, at least when it’s warm.

I’m a brother, grandson, and cousin.

I’m a friend.

And I’m a Christian, saved by faith and faith alone.

Tourette’s once defined me, and I let it control how I viewed myself. And while this may be the first thing people notice about me, it’s not who I am. We are all much more than what appears on the surface.

So, why can’t I stop moving?

I don’t know.

Nobody knows.

And I have to accept that until somebody much smarter than me does figure it out.