A Different Kind of Perfect
The letter R was my introduction to shame. At five years old, standing on my kindergarten classroom rug and practicing the alphabet, I realized I was different. My /r/ sound didn’t match that of my classmates’. I began speech therapy a few months later, turning red every time I had to step out of class. Although I graduated from speech therapy in fourth grade, I would later realize this experience was only my first lesson in perseverance– and the beginning of my journey toward understanding my neurodivergence.
As I grew older, the feeling of being different never disappeared, but I rejected it. I hated it. When I was eight, my younger brother was diagnosed with Tourette Syndrome. I watched him get in trouble with adults and have his behaviors mocked by other kids. While I felt bad for him, an idea took hold in my mind: I was the easy child, well-behaved with no problems. But that mask didn’t last.
I got older, and troubling symptoms increased. My compulsive skin-picking was driven by the overwhelming need to make areas feel “just right” until they bled. My extreme pickiness around food was no longer something I would grow out of. I needed every single piece of lettuce removed from a taco, and panicked if one was missed. Then I developed shoulder shrugs and vocal noises I couldn’t stop, no matter how hard I tried. I was ashamed and terrified. While my household was accepting of Tourette’s, my brother had grown out of many tics, and I wasn’t ready for what I believed Tourette’s meant: being the bad kid.
At fifteen, I received a diagnosis of Tourette Syndrome, forcing me to confront what I’d long tried to suppress: my differences were not going away. Over time, I realized how many parts of my life connected back to it– my anxiety, sensory processing difficulties, and OCD-like behaviors. My strengths are linked as well. My strong memory, attention to detail, and creativity all stem from neurodivergence.
Now a senior in high school, my symptoms vary daily. Some days, the bright fluorescent lights at school can feel overwhelming and trigger tic attacks. I continue to excel academically, not despite my disorder, but with it. I can ace AP Calculus while jolting my neck and rolling my eyes at the same time– proof that intelligence and disability are not mutually exclusive.
Most importantly, navigating a complex and stigmatized neurological disorder has brought me closer to my dream of becoming a nurse. Tourette Syndrome has shaped me into a deeply empathetic person who understands how powerful it can be to simply listen. As a nurse, I aim to provide compassionate, nonjudgmental care where every patient feels seen. I also hope to demonstrate that people with Tourette Syndrome exist in all professions, including healthcare. In the end, in embracing my neurodivergence, I have discovered who I am and who I hope to be: a nurse who advocates fiercely and always leads with empathy.