Life With Tardive Dyskinesia

Medically Reviewed by Brunilda Nazario, MD on November 21, 2025
7 min read

By Sherland Peterson, as told to Hallie Levine

Sherland Peterson, 65, was diagnosed with tardive dyskinesia (TD) in 2018. Here, she details what life is like when you live with this condition.

When I was diagnosed with TD in 2018, I was stunned. I'd been prescribed medication two years earlier to treat major depression and bipolar disorder, and I was finally starting to feel better. I thought I'd moved on to a new chapter in my life. Now, I had another condition to adjust to.

Thankfully, my doctor and I were able to come up with a treatment plan to help me manage my TD. While there are still some challenges, I've learned how to not just survive, but thrive.

I lived with TD for several months before I learned I had it. The first signs were slurred speech, and the sides of my mouth began to sag. I didn't notice it, but family and friends were worried and asked if I'd had a stroke. But when I scheduled an appointment with my primary care provider, all the tests came back normal.

My symptoms worsened over the next few months. The left side of my mouth just hung down. Ever seen someone who had too much to drink and slurs their words? That's what I sounded like, except I was stone cold sober. I was terrified a police officer would stop me and place me under arrest because they were convinced I was drunk. 

I'm normally the woman who chats up anyone and everyone in the grocery store, but I stopped striking up conversations with strangers. It got to the point that anytime I had to go out to run an errand, I'd refuse to smile or even look people in the eye.

Before TD, I was the woman who thrived on going to parties, seeing family and friends to have fun. But it was like I'd had a personality transplant. I became a total hermit. If I had a basement, I probably would've blockaded myself in there with just my TV for company.

When I did go out, I'd cope by trying to hide my symptoms. If I went to church, I'd fold my legs and twist them around each other to prevent them from moving. Since my lips trembled even when I didn't talk, I'd bite the inside of my jaw until I drew blood to try to make them stop. It just felt like my body had turned against me.

 

 

I had basically given up all hope when I had a routine appointment with my mental health provider. He noticed my symptoms right away and said, "I think I know what you have."

It was amazing to know that there was a name for what I'd been suffering through. It gave me hope because I figured that if my symptoms had a name, that probably meant treatment was available.

My doctor explained that my TD was most likely due to the drugs I took to manage my depression and bipolar disorder. They impact certain brain chemicals, like dopamine, which in turn were the cause of the involuntary movements in the muscles of my face, tongue, and legs.

 

 

At first, I was worried I'd have to stop taking my mental health medications. But my doctor reassured me I could continue, although he did lower my dose in the hope that it would improve some of my symptoms. He also suggested I start other medications to help manage the condition.

Today, I take a medication known as a VMAT inhibitor, which reverses some of the dopamine-blocking effects of my antipsychotic medications. It's made a huge difference. I still have some mouth droop and slurred speech, but it's not nearly as dramatic as it was. I feel much more confident when I go out, and over the last couple of years I've become very social again. 

 

 

 

My adult children have been my biggest cheerleaders when it comes to my condition. They were the ones who encouraged me to get help and to keep bringing up symptoms to my medical providers until I got answers.

When I first started the VMAT inhibitor, I got discouraged quickly. I was so impatient that I wanted it to work after the first day. My children were the ones who supported me and encouraged me to continue to take it. I began to notice changes within about two or three weeks, and within about three months I saw a dramatic difference. But I'm not sure I would have taken the medicine as religiously if they hadn't been there to push me.

 

 

In hindsight, I wish I'd forced myself to interact with other people in those first few weeks after diagnosis. I was still so self-conscious about my symptoms. But it becomes a vicious cycle. When you isolate, you get more depressed, and as your mood worsens, you become more focused on your symptoms. When I began to go out again, I naturally became less conscious of my TD.

The diagnosis itself helped. If someone did ask me if I'd had a stroke or why I slurred my words, I found it easier to explain it was because of a medical condition. I'd tell them what TD is and what I was doing to manage it. I found it opened up a whole new conversation and increased awareness.

 

 

 

A diagnosis of TD can feel overwhelming at first, but I've learned to thrive. Here's some advice I'd like to share:

Watch for key symptoms. Certain medications that treat mental health issues may raise your risk of developing the condition. But many primary care providers don't know that. Mine didn't. If you're prescribed these medications, talk to your provider about signs to look out for. I could've been diagnosed months earlier if I'd realized that's what my symptoms pointed to.

Educate others. I make it a point to tell all my health care providers that I have TD. I even let my dentist know. The condition caused so many involuntary jaw and mouth movements that my teeth all shifted from left to right. I've probably spent more on my teeth than I've spent on my car.

 

 

I recently went to a student dental clinic for dental work. I spent 10 minutes talking to the student about how it has impacted my teeth. Now she'll be more aware and more likely to spot it in her patients. Knowledge is power. The more medical providers know, the more they'll be able to help others.

I talk about it to people I meet socially, too. Sometimes I can tell that they wonder why my mouth still droops slightly or I occasionally slur words. I explain that I have TD and how it impacts my everyday life. I'm not ashamed of symptoms anymore. The more awareness there is about the condition, the more likely people are to get diagnosed and receive proper treatment. 

Be grateful for your body. I recently came back from a trip to Las Vegas with my friends. I had a great time, but I also think I appreciate it more because of my diagnosis. I realize now how quickly your body can suddenly go south. It's important to celebrate its accomplishments when you can. I'm finally at the point where I feel good both mentally and physically. It's a cause for celebration. I've also found that I'm naturally more mindful of what my body is saying. If something hurts or I feel tired, I listen to it and slow down.

One last bit of advice for anyone who lives with TD: Have hope. For a long time, I was stuck in the mind frame that I would not get better. When you tell yourself negative thoughts over and over, you begin to believe them. But with the right treatment plan, I felt like I'd had a rebirth. A diagnosis doesn't mean you have to stop taking much-needed mental health medication, sacrificing your emotional health for your physical well-being. There are ways to balance both.