Imagine living with a condition that makes you roar like a dinosaur in the most unexpected moments. Sharn Davidson doesn’t just imagine it—she lives it. Diagnosed with Tourette syndrome (TS), a neurological condition characterized by involuntary movements and sounds called tics, Sharn’s experience is uniquely her own. But here’s where it gets fascinating: her tics sound like dinosaur roars—two distinct ones, to be precise. ‘One is high-pitched and screechy, while the other is more like a raptor,’ she explains with a laugh. And this is the part most people miss: instead of letting it hold her back, Sharn has turned her tics into a tool for teaching others about embracing differences.
As a high school teacher and mother of three in Perth, Sharn’s roars—affectionately named Kevin and Terry by her students and children—have become a source of humor and connection. ‘Kevin’s the loud one, always making his presence known,’ she jokes. But behind the laughter is a story of resilience. Sharn’s tics worsened dramatically after witnessing a traumatic incident on a freeway at age 21, skyrocketing from occasional to over 100 a day. ‘It was a profound moment that changed everything,’ she reflects. Yet, it took five years and countless doctors before one finally said, ‘Don’t worry, it’s just Tourette’s.’ Controversial take: Is our healthcare system failing those with lesser-known conditions? Sharn’s journey raises questions about diagnosis delays and the importance of understanding neurological disorders.
Stress, she’s learned, is a major trigger, often causing her tics in the most inconvenient places—classrooms, libraries, even during exams. ‘Inappropriate situations really set me off,’ she admits. But instead of hiding, Sharn owns it. During a road safety workshop, when a roar slipped out, she calmly announced, ‘I have Tourette’s; I make dinosaur noises, sorry,’ and carried on. Here’s the bold part: She refuses medication, choosing instead to embrace her tics as part of her identity. ‘If you make your differences fun and unapologetic, people reflect that,’ she says. But here’s where it gets controversial: Is this approach feasible for everyone, or is Sharn’s mild form of TS an exception? Let’s discuss in the comments.
Sharn’s impact extends beyond her own life. She uses her experiences to educate students about diversity, even those diagnosed with TS themselves. ‘I don’t share the traumatic details with kids—that’s too heavy—but I show them it’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ she explains. Her commitment is so deep that she’s tattooed Kevin and Terry on her arms, a permanent reminder of her unique journey. Thought-provoking question: How can society better support individuals like Sharn, turning their challenges into strengths? Share your thoughts below—let’s keep the conversation going.
