Living With Dyslexia

The cat sat mat. No – The cat sat on the bat. The cat sat on the mat. Dyslexia. I have it. 

I'm writing this article as a reaction to something that happened to me recently. Something, that brought me back to how I used to feel as a child, the assumption that I was not working hard. This has never/ or shall it ever be the case with me.

The hardest thing about being a writer with dyslexia is feeling inadequate. Not many people know about my dyslexia because I've chosen not to disclose it. It's kind of like a part of me which brings up bad memories. But I feel I need to share it. 

Growing up I wasn't much of a studious child. I very much lived in my imagination and loved to play with my barbies – giving them adventures to go on and other exciting things. Nothing out of the ordinary for a child. However, I was very behind on my reading and writing, and I found anything to do with my education joyless and boring. It took me eight years to start to read novels – side note I thank Jacqueline Wilson for that. 

I realised that my imagination could evolve into another form, and I wasn't limited to my own realm. Though, as much as I enjoyed reading: I would stumble over words, mix letters up for example my m's and my b's and I would sometimes omit words completely from sentences. 

What usually happens to children that reads a lot, is their comprehension and writing improves; but with my dyslexia, it was like a long treacherous tunnel in between that. I was always well-spoken, but when it came to conceptualising my words to paper, it was a battle of brain and pen. 

My dyslexia made me feel stupid and ashamed of myself. One event which was particularly memorable, happened when I was feeling mostly crappy about myself. I was about 8 years old, and my teacher called a meeting with my parents to tell them I was dumb. 

She told them she didn't know how I'd get through life being the way I was. Imagine hearing that as a child.

It annoys me and irks when people assume that I'm not putting in hard work. Believe me, I am an all or nothing girl. But often when I put in my maximum effort, people never notice. But is this my fault, because I don't disclose my dyslexia? 

In the past, I've found little sympathy or any understanding for people with dyslexia in the bourgeoises we call the art world (not that I need any). For many, they see it as an excuse to be lazy. I've had someone in the past tell me dyslexia wasn't real, so I've found no benefit in telling anyone. 

For a long time, I thought my dyslexia defined me. It was as if I had this massive label on my head that said I was 'stupid'. Getting through Uni was a conquest, but I've just never seen my dyslexia as a disadvantage. I've seen it as being a bit slower and having to work harder to learn things because my memory works in very odd ways. But I'm not held back by it. And I'm not afraid of it. 

As a writer now, I'm jumping hurdles with dyslexia. Sometimes I jump high, and sometimes I fall flat. My brain works faster than I can write the words down so I miss them out. 

Being a somewhat of a "freelance" writer, it's scary because most of the time my work is littered with mistakes: the first draft, and by the second draft, third, fourth. And by my fifth, I kindly ask for the Holy Ghost to possess me. Lol

What I've found helpful with the battle, is continuing to write, even when I think it's shit.  Writing is my trade; so I have to keep good at it, I have to reach that next level. I won't let my dyslexia hold me back. 

Another thing I found really helpful, is a 'read out loud' option on your computer or any smart device.  It will save your life when you're writing essays, articles–– heck this article is gonna be read out loud when I'm done! A major discovery all dyslexics must learn is the ability to be patient. You are not dumb,  although you may think it. I'm still learning this. To whoever thinks I'm not a hard worker or I slack off work, I honestly think your opinion about me means zilch. 

I work hard to play hard. Thanks.