I was twenty when I first kicked my boyfriend.
We lay in bed and my left leg repeatedly swung into his knee. It wouldn’t stop. I felt awful and apologised over and over, but we both knew there was nothing I could do to hold it back. We sat up in the bed and talked until I was physically too tired to kick any longer. It was the most exhausting two hours of my life.
I, like most people, thought Tourette’s was something you were born with, something that caused you to shout out words you shouldn’t say. I didn’t know that there were many forms that it could take, and I certainly didn’t think that I’d be learning about them through myself.
I spent years in school getting slagged for my strange blink and on a couple of occasions, I threw my phone across my bedroom without explanation. I always thought my unprompted, under my breath announcement of the words ‘ladies and gentlemen’ was just my imagination sneaking out of my head for a minute. Everyone has quirks and I never read into mine. Over time, those quirks became more noticeable, and eventually culminated in that night in bed.
The following morning I went to an emergency therapy session to talk about what I thought was a bad panic attack. My therapist told me I needed to head to the hospital right away. I spent my day going through every scan and test that the doctors could think of. Parkinson’s, motor neuron disease, a stroke. These were all possibilities mentioned to me as I was passed from doctor to doctor that day, none of which could confidently tell me what was wrong. Eventually, after over a year of therapy, medical appointments and brain scans, I was diagnosed with Tourette’s. By that stage, it was a sigh of relief to finally have an answer and know that my “two hour funky chicken dance sessions” were nothing more sinister.
Parkinson’s, motor neuron disease, a stroke. These were all possibilities mentioned to me as I was passed from doctor to doctor that day, none of which could confidently tell me what was wrong. Eventually, after over a year of therapy, medical appointments and brain scans, I was diagnosed with Tourette’s.
In 2026, Tourette syndrome is still massively misunderstood. While my experiences are insignificant, this misunderstanding becomes much more evident when it plays out in public. At the BAFTAs in February, the neurological disorder was brought into light under the worst possible circumstances. John Davidson, who was attending the event in support of I Swear, a film based on his life, shouted a racial slur while Michael B Jordan and Delroy Lindo were presenting an award on stage. Davidson, who developed Tourette’s as a child, said he felt a “wave of shame” following the event.
Davidson faced a huge amount of backlash. The world understood that tics are involuntary, but many refused to believe that saying such a thing could be a coincidence while two black presenters were on stage. Davidson said himself that his “tics have absolutely nothing to do with what I think, feel or believe. It’s an involuntary neurological misfire. My tics are not an intention, not a choice and not a reflection on my values.”
Tourette’s is not a disorder that makes you say your thoughts out loud. It’s a disorder that makes your body do things that you have no intention of doing. It’s estimated that only around 10-30% of people with the disorder experience verbal tics as a symptom. For me, my tics only become verbal in times of high stress. I’ve had to apologise for swearing at some of my closest friends in the middle of difficult conversations.
In the wake of The BAFTAs, it's important to acknowledge that Davidson is right, tics don’t represent a person's beliefs. Davidson involuntarily shouted that word in the same way I involuntarily kicked my boyfriend - neither of us wanted to do it, neither of us thought of doing it, it just happened.
I Swear currently sits with a 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. It’s a breathtakingly accurate portrayal of life with Tourette syndrome. The film tells Davidson’s story from getting in trouble for using bad language at school to getting attacked by two men yielding a metal pipe as a result of an involuntary tic in later life. Perhaps even more meaningful than the film’s portrayal of those particular events is its telling of how the social interactions that occur as a result of tics can drain the person’s life more than the tics themselves.
As someone with a mild version of Tourette’s, it's rarely more than an inconvenience. But even to me, it's abundantly clear how little the general population understands this disorder than almost everyone has heard of. I’ve had to leave funerals early to avoid drawing attention to myself. I had to pay €80 to receive a medical cert showing that I’m healthy enough to apply for my driver’s license. I dread interaction with a new colleague at work, not because they’ll see my tics, but because I’ll have to explain them.
I’ve had to leave funerals early to avoid drawing attention to myself. I had to pay €80 to receive a medical cert showing that I’m healthy enough to apply for my driver’s license. I dread interaction with a new colleague at work, not because they’ll see my tics, but because I’ll have to explain them.
The BAFTAs situation had no clear answer. I feel for the presenters, I feel for the organisers and I feel for John Davidson. There was no clear path on how to do the right thing, but perhaps the backlash wouldn’t have been nearly as extreme if we did a better job at educating ourselves on disorders like this. As Davidson says in the movie, “The problem is not Tourette’s, the problem is that people don’t know enough about Tourette’s”.
Before I was diagnosed, I thought Tourette’s caused you to say your thoughts out loud. Now I know that nothing is further from the truth. My Tourette’s causes me to do things I don’t want to do and it's not a reflection on my thoughts. It can be tough to deal with, but it can be tougher to explain it. My tics come at the worst of times and they’ve taught me to not make assumptions about anyone. More importantly, they’ve taught me to never try bluffing at poker.