For finals week in high school, my school turned the gym into a giant testing room—rows of desks, assigned seats, teachers pacing the aisles, the whole place unnaturally quiet.
During one exam, a student started making short, guttural sounds that echoed through the space. Teachers immediately began scanning the room, trying to find the source of the “disruption,” and a small group closed in on him before another teacher stepped in to stop them.
I later learned the sounds were involuntary tics caused by Tourette’s syndrome.
That memory came rushing back years later as I watched the public backlash toward a Tourette’s advocate whose involuntary vocal tics disrupted a televised awards show. Even though the condition removes choice from the equation, the condemnation was immediate—as if neurological symptoms were the same thing as intentional speech.
As a parent of a daughter diagnosed with Tourette’s and severe autism, I’ve experienced firsthand how society treats neurological disabilities like misbehavior. We’ve been shushed. We’ve gotten the stares. We’ve seen how quickly people decide someone “shouldn’t be here.”
We’ve done a better job removing physical barriers through laws like the ADA. But stigma is still its own kind of barrier—one that can’t be fixed with a ramp.
Full essay here:
We’ve removed physical barriers, but the stigma surrounding neurological disabilities remains a persistent injustice.
