I remember learning to read.

I remember whizzing through the first Peter and Jane books and reading about Pat the dog. I remember the frustration when I started to find it more tricky and it became a struggle.

I remember not being able to decode words. I would make them up to fit the text. For many years I thought the words ‘long vehicle’ on the back of a lorry were ‘long voyager’. My 6 year old logic was that  the lorry travelled a long way, ‘on a long voyage’.

I remember group reading, when I couldn’t keep up and when other children had to fill in the gaps for me. I remember one boy laughing at me because I couldn’t say binoculars and another because I couldn’t spell conversation.

I remember not being able to pronounce words and not being able to spell any of the words I was given to learn. I was given six spellings a week, when I was in year three on a Monday and tested on a Friday, I could never learn them all.

I remember I really wanted a fountain pen, and my Dad said I could have one if I got all my spellings correct for 5 weeks. It look me all year to achieve this, but only because the groups I got correct were regular patterns such as ‘ee’.

A year later, my brother with the same challenge did it in five weeks and didn’t really want a pen (can’t remember what he had – I’ll have to ask him)

Over the years I had avoided things such as modern foreign languages, reciting the alphabet and listening to any directions which involved hand gestures signalling left and right. I know if I cant’t spell a word or someone’s name I have to ask them to write it for me and I always have to ask for telephone numbers to be repeated in chunks.

I didn’t know I was dyslexic until I was 27.

By this time I had mastered reading and spelling and was embarking on a Masters in SEN and Educational Psychology and the first module was specific learning difficulties (dyslexia).

Mostly having a specific learning is an advantage, I know what I can and cannot do. I know I’m a big picture thinker and have some good ideas. I know I can find solutions and problem solve. I know I can drive things forward. I know not everyone can always see or understand my vision, but it usually makes sense and works out.

I have had to teach myself to be organised and love an excel spreadsheet for some of the work I do, but I would rather be drawing mind maps on large sheets of paper with a range of chunky felt tip pens. My notebooks are a mystery to most people (as some of my colleagues will testify) with arrows, lines and stars drawn everywhere, but they work for me.

Although in times of stress it may be more apparent that I have dyslexia and I make mistakes such as  texting the wrong person (I have done this twice to the same person, over the last couple of months – so apologies to them) or not expressing myself clearly enough, this is usually because lots is going on, and I do have to verbalise things many times. I think in pictures and I forget not everyone is visual or can see the same pictures as me. But I can remember conversations, even if others can’t and what people are wearing when I meet them (so beware!).

I recently worked with a school to produce a play which celebrated dyslexia and I was humbled by one of the pupils who as a teenager was proud to call himself dyslexic and recognise his strengths and weaknesses. For me I didn’t have this confidence or knowledge, when I was a teenager, nor did I know why everything was so difficult, but as an adult I have the empathy and understanding to support early diagnosis so other pupils can stand up and be proud.

Dyslexia is a gift and one I’m proud to say I have.