“If I Am Not Dyslexic Then I Am Just Stupid”

My daughter hated writing when she was in primary school.

So much so that she would beg to stay home instead of going on school trips because she would have to do a “Big Write” about it afterwards.

When she was entered for the 11+ Grammar School entrance exam, she wrote four lines in her creative writing paper.

The school we were applying to didn’t know what to make of it. She had passed her maths and her verbal and non-verbal reasoning papers with flying colours, but her creative writing was only four lines, and that would normally mean a rejection from the school.

Except for one thing — her four-line piece of creative writing was apparently the most perfect piece of writing of all the entrants.

After much deliberation and discussions with her primary school teachers, the grammar school finally offered her the place we were hoping for.

It had never occurred to us that she might be dyslexic

She had pretty much taught herself to read before starting school and devoured books as if the opportunity may be gone tomorrow.

She rarely misspelled anything and always came near the top of the class in spelling tests.

When she missed a day of school due to illness and was given a poem-writing task to catch up on, she pumped out the most beautiful piece of poetry without hesitation.

She seemed to have no trouble at all.

But, when sitting to write a descriptive piece of prose, she would freeze, and the entire world would stop for her.

The school recognised unusual signs

Despite her seemingly good ability with words, during her first year in the grammar school, we received a letter from her head-of-year, explaining that they wished to give her a dyslexia screening since she was showing signs of having some form of dyslexia.

This was a huge surprise to us, given that she had no apparent problems with spelling and could get lost for hours in an adventure novel. And had finished the entire Harry Potter series from beginning to end in only four months — which are massive books for kids to wade through.

But the tell-tale signs that skilled teachers lookout for were all there:

• Difficulty reading aloud, pausing to read, re-read, or misreading.
• Being extremely shy to ever raise a hand in class to offer a response or ask a question. And when being called upon, finding herself lost for words.
• Struggling to remember foreign language vocabulary.

I have to confess that I wasn’t at all convinced and I didn’t believe that she would be found to be dyslexic when the screening took place. But, to my utter surprise, I was proven wrong.

The screening indicated moderate to severe dyslexia, to be reassessed annually to make sure that she was given the correct coloured papers for exams, and to ensure that the diagnosis was as indicated, and that she was being given the right amount of extra time in all of her exams.

Her worst fears are now finding out it was a mistake

It is now four years since that original diagnosis. She is sixteen and preparing to sit her GCSE exams next summer.

Over these years, as English Language and Literature classes have become more and more challenging, her grades have slipped from an 8 to a 5–6 (3 being a fail and 9 the top achievable grade). On the other extreme, she has excelled in maths and art and is expected to achieve the highest grades possible in one, or possibly, both of these. In addition, she has been entered for the Further Maths GCSE, because she learns and understands it almost effortlessly.

Meanwhile, English remains an uphill battle.

As they draw closer to the exams, do seemingly endless mock exams, and are challenged on every level, there still hangs over her head the strange uncertainty of whether the ongoing dyslexia tests will reveal her to not be dyslexic after all.

Clearly, the exam boards have very good reason to continue to assess her dyslexic status. However, the constant reminder is starting to play havoc with her mind, manifesting in, what appears to me to be unnecessary pressure.

This uncertainty has been preying on her mind more recently, with the fear looming that they will discover that her diagnosis was a mistake after all.

Her diagnosis has been her safety net, the one that reassures her that she is ‘normal’ in every other way and that it’s okay. But what if that safety net was taken away?

Of all the things that she could be worrying about in the build-up to her final exams next year, this is the most prominent for, in her own words:

“If it turns out I am not dyslexic, then I am just stupid.”

Quite honestly, for a girl currently predicted 7s, 8s and 9s in her other subjects, to be thinking in this way seems crazy, and yet the threat remains that she may just find out that she is, as she terms, “stupid”.

Clearly, it troubles her that she struggles with these subjects. The diagnosis gives her an explanation for these struggles, and a valid reason for choosing vocational courses for her post-16 choices, rather than ‘A’ levels, if she chooses that option.

It gives her an excuse to go into the world of fashion design and film studies, without feeling that she has to answer to the purveyors of academic superiority. But why should she need that excuse?

Why would anyone, no matter their other academic abilities, need any excuse to follow their passions, and a life path that excites them?

Why should the diagnosis apparently define the difference between being ‘clever’ and ‘stupid’?

It’s time we stop judging people by the grades that they achieve, but by the ways in which they choose to apply themselves.

You are neither stupid nor defined by a hidden disability. You are the person that you choose to be regardless of grades and chosen life paths.

This is a message to all those who have ever struggled with this feeling of being less-than, whether or not you have a disability that makes achieving desired results all that much harder:

You are the person that you came here the be, living the purpose you came here to live.

And you are enough.

First published on Medium.