Dyslexia, My Gift

I wrote this column to encourage others with dyslexia. The layout is simple. The paragraphs without parenthesis are my original words. The paragraphs with parenthesis are my editor’s corrections. Please share with others who struggle with dyslexia!

Growing up I didn’t know I had dyslexia. I couldn’t read until I was in the third grade. I’ve struggled my entire life to comprehend what I’m reading, to spell words properly, to understand the meanings of words and enunciate them. Having to go back and read something three, four, five or more times is frustrating. Especially when I still don’t understand it. Now, if I hear something I don’t have the same struggles.

(For some kids, school always came easy. Reading, and even writing, seemed to be second nature to them. But in my case, school was a constant struggle. I couldn’t read until I was in third grade. I struggled to comprehend what I read, to properly spell words, to understand the meanings of words, and to enunciate them. Reading something three, four, five or more times was frustrating—especially when I still didn’t understand it. I dreaded tests. In fact, I hated them. My palms would sweat and my stomach hurt. To this day, I still hate the thought of taking a test.)

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