Dyslexia. A word that used to be so far removed and distant, but has now been folded into our story permanently and irreversibly. Words like that change your course, they change your routines, upending and altering your life without any apologies. It’s not the only one either. Specific learning disability, neurodiverse, IEP, accommodations, Special Education, CSE meetings, inclusion. Dyslexia is in good company.
This is where I start because it was the first word that gave me strength. I mean, shit, I panicked too but in those beginning days it was the only anchor I had. And no matter how you get this anchor dropped on you, the more important thing is how are you going to keep it moving? It’s a big bitch.
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The disturbing truth about this learning disorder is that it disconnects right at the root of where proficient reading originates from. Without the proper intervention this disorder will never improve, and no I’m not talking about the “read to your kids everyday” bullshit that they feed you.
How can you read a sentence when you are still having to sound out each word in it? How can you remember the word you just read when manipulating sounds within the words does not come easy to you? How the hell can you answer those comprehension questions when it took you five minutes to decipher that sentence, and now it’s more like a list of seven words than one complete idea? The struggle. They walk it every day.
It’s 2019 and my little man is in the last months of first grade. He is reading a book meant for preschool kids, and has to sound out the word cat. On every single page. Cat. Each flip of the page, even though he just read that simple word not two minutes ago it was like he never saw it before. We didn’t know that he was dyslexic at this point, but damn- it seems so fucking obvious now. His written work was nonexistent. A string of letters, yes some mirror written, with no discernible beginning or end and definitely no punctuation was what he brought home. It was completely illegible. Again, so obvious.
First grade, the year where we got knocked off track HARD.
2019, the year where we discovered that our son was speaking an entirely different educational language. It was the year where we researched so many other words and formed scaffolding around them. It was the year where we found the strength to move that anchor ever so slightly forward. And now here we are, still keeping it moving. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m excited.
Before you take a deep dive into this world hit me up, either through email or insta, because you need your girlfriends to walk by your side. And now I want you to take down these notes because you got work to do! I would recommend first that you look up your local International Dyslexia Association branch, and explore their pages. If you have yet to receive a diagnosis, then get to it! Our son received a neuropsychological evaluation with a neuropsychologist, and we cannot speak highly of that experience. Lastly, and the shit that allows hope back into your days- intervention. Look up Orton-Gillingham, and more importantly tutors in your area who specialize with this multi-sensory approach. I ventured with Barton, and will never turn back. My son, who was illiterate in every sense of the word two years ago now loves The Magic Treehouse series and writing. His spelling is not perfect at all times, because Dyslexia is a forever thing but how sweet it is to finally read his words and thoughts.
Above all else, I want you to know that you got this. Little by little, but in the end you fucking got this.




