“Excuse him, he has Tourette’s Syndrome.”
I used to say that.
Not because he had it. But because I needed something — anything — to explain the chaos, the rudeness, the outbursts. I needed a socially acceptable way to protect myself from the embarrassment he caused.

When he snapped at waiters.
When he made crude jokes at inappropriate times.
When he raised his voice in public like he owned the world and owed no one respect.
When his cruelty seeped out in small, sharp moments that made others shift uncomfortably.

So I’d shrug, roll my eyes, and say it with a forced smile. “Excuse him, he has Tourette’s.”
A line wrapped in humour. But it was never funny. It was a deflection.
It was a bandage over a wound I didn’t yet know I was allowed to tend.

Because the truth was, I was constantly absorbing the impact of someone else’s behaviour.
I wasn’t his partner. I was his translator. His buffer. His damage control.
I did the emotional labour to make him seem more normal so I didn’t have to feel so exposed.

I used to think that was strength — being able to handle him.
Now I know, real strength is walking away from what you should never have had to handle in the first place.

So if you’re reading this and you recognise that feeling — of explaining away the inexcusable, laughing off the unbearable, covering for someone who never covered for you — I see you.

And I want to tell you:
You don’t have to shrink to make their behaviour look bigger.
You don’t have to apologise for someone who never learned how to be kind.
You don’t have to be their excuse anymore.

Now, I don’t make excuses.
Now, I speak the truth.
And the truth is: I deserved better.
So do you.

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