“Why Are You Shaking?”

Doctors often ask, “When did you first notice your symptoms?” It’s a tough question to answer. I usually end up sharing the moment when others first pointed it out to me. Because once someone else notices, it’s impossible not to start obsessing over it, especially with the anxiety it brings. From that point on, it’s constantly on my mind. I started to dread family gatherings, knowing someone would inevitably ask, “Why are you shaking?”

It’s a question no one should really have to answer, but coming from family, I understood that it came from a place of concern, not judgment. The first time it happened I was at our family condo in Cape Cod with my dad. I’d gone for a short run—maybe just one or two miles—and when I returned, I poured myself a glass of water. My dad noticed the tremor in my hands and asked, “Why are you shaking? Have you noticed that you’re shaking?” There was no easy answer, no clear explanation. I wasn’t cold, I wasn’t nervous. It was just… happening. I shrugged it off, but inside, I could already sense the weight of that question settling on me. From that moment, it wasn’t just about whether or not my hands were shaking—it was about everyone else noticing.

There was another time, a few months later, when I arrived at my sister’s house for a family dinner. I was talking to my brother-in-law, laughing about something trivial, when I went to rub my face. He looked at me for a second, then said, “Hey, your hand is shaking. Are you okay?” Again, it was that familiar question that threw me off balance. I didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to confront it, so I just blamed it on the drinks I’d had the night before. “Probably dehydrated,” I said, trying to make light of it. But even as I said it, I knew it didn’t quite make sense.

That was the moment when it started to feel like something I couldn’t hide anymore, something that had slipped into the background of my family’s consciousness. At first, I thought I could just keep it under wraps, pretend it wasn’t a thing, and that maybe I could outlast it. But once it was out there, it felt like I was always on display. And no matter how hard I tried to brush it off, or joke about it, or even blame it on something temporary, I couldn’t stop obsessing over it.