The teacher laughed and jeered as he went over each mistake I had made in the reading. Other kids snickered at simple words I had mispronounced or at those I had just skipped over. As my face reddened, I shrank back into my seat mortified. I remember silently scolding myself for being so stupid and sloppy while reading.
Growing up, I was not at the same reading, spelling, or math level as my peers. I remember during reading time in first grade I would just sit with a book that I was unable to decipher. I never received a good grade on spelling, even when I had studied the night before. The worst was always math. Numbers confused me, and I always mixed up their order or forgot number digits all altogether.
When I was seven, I would go home and read Bob Books out loud to my parents. Bob Books are a special program "created to facilitate that ah-ah moment when letters became words." I knew that letters made words, but reading "Cat sat on Matt" over again would not get me to read. My parents enrolled me into math and reading Kumon. I hated it because it made me doubt my abilities to succeed in a classroom like my classmates. At school, I would go to extra help once a week to work on spelling, reading, and phonics. I would ask my parents why I would have to go, and they would always say that they wanted me to be ahead of my class. Even though I never fully believed them, I never questioned their answer because I wished it was true.
My older sisters would make fun of me for my reading and math skills. I remember them telling me I was dyslexic. When I brought it up to my parents they vehemently denied it, telling me I was just learning at a different pace. I never believed them. They did not want me to feel discouraged nor confront the reality of my learning disability. I knew there was a reason why I when I read aloud I skipped over words or read some that were not even there. Or how numbers confused me and why my spelling was atrocious. I concluded I could not be simply dumb. I could understand the reading if I did it silently.
In high school, I convinced my parents to take me to the adolescent psychologist who had earlier diagnosed me with ADD. I questioned their claims that I learned differently. I wanted to know with certainty what was wrong so then I would be able to make the necessary changes in order for me to succeed. I went to the doctor's office for a several-hour test one Saturday afternoon. When we met again, she revealed that I was dyslexic. My parents asked a lot of questions, but to me, the news had come as a relief. Being diagnosed with dyslexia was an opportunity for me to make specific changes and goals that would allow me to reach my full academic potential. I realized that I would just have to spend more time on my studies than others and go in for help more often. I started to be tutored in math every week. At home I read out loud, teaching my self to slow down and looking at each individual word so that if I get called on in class, I would be prepared. When studying for tests, I have to rewrite my already hand-written notes, memorizing from the repetition.
I am now motivated more by the desire to achieve academic success rather than to avoid social ridicule. I am no longer embarrassed to ask for help, even for things that seem simple. I have learned that many people have dyslexia and are still able to be successful. Through this experience, I have learned that instead of avoiding tasks that are difficult, I should evaluate what I can do differentially in order to achieve a successful result. I have been forced to conscientiously think about my learning, which has made me a more curious and diligent student. After being belittled by peers and teachers, I have developed a degree of empathy and understanding and am always willing to help others who are struggling. Before I was diagnosed, I envied other students for their seemingly effortless success. However, through this experience, I have become a better student and leader and have gained invaluable skills that will help me achieve my educational and career goals.
Growing up, I was not at the same reading, spelling, or math level as my peers. I remember during reading time in first grade I would just sit with a book that I was unable to decipher. I never received a good grade on spelling, even when I had studied the night before. The worst was always math. Numbers confused me, and I always mixed up their order or forgot number digits all altogether.
When I was seven, I would go home and read Bob Books out loud to my parents. Bob Books are a special program "created to facilitate that ah-ah moment when letters became words." I knew that letters made words, but reading "Cat sat on Matt" over again would not get me to read. My parents enrolled me into math and reading Kumon. I hated it because it made me doubt my abilities to succeed in a classroom like my classmates. At school, I would go to extra help once a week to work on spelling, reading, and phonics. I would ask my parents why I would have to go, and they would always say that they wanted me to be ahead of my class. Even though I never fully believed them, I never questioned their answer because I wished it was true.
My older sisters would make fun of me for my reading and math skills. I remember them telling me I was dyslexic. When I brought it up to my parents they vehemently denied it, telling me I was just learning at a different pace. I never believed them. They did not want me to feel discouraged nor confront the reality of my learning disability. I knew there was a reason why I when I read aloud I skipped over words or read some that were not even there. Or how numbers confused me and why my spelling was atrocious. I concluded I could not be simply dumb. I could understand the reading if I did it silently.
In high school, I convinced my parents to take me to the adolescent psychologist who had earlier diagnosed me with ADD. I questioned their claims that I learned differently. I wanted to know with certainty what was wrong so then I would be able to make the necessary changes in order for me to succeed. I went to the doctor's office for a several-hour test one Saturday afternoon. When we met again, she revealed that I was dyslexic. My parents asked a lot of questions, but to me, the news had come as a relief. Being diagnosed with dyslexia was an opportunity for me to make specific changes and goals that would allow me to reach my full academic potential. I realized that I would just have to spend more time on my studies than others and go in for help more often. I started to be tutored in math every week. At home I read out loud, teaching my self to slow down and looking at each individual word so that if I get called on in class, I would be prepared. When studying for tests, I have to rewrite my already hand-written notes, memorizing from the repetition.
I am now motivated more by the desire to achieve academic success rather than to avoid social ridicule. I am no longer embarrassed to ask for help, even for things that seem simple. I have learned that many people have dyslexia and are still able to be successful. Through this experience, I have learned that instead of avoiding tasks that are difficult, I should evaluate what I can do differentially in order to achieve a successful result. I have been forced to conscientiously think about my learning, which has made me a more curious and diligent student. After being belittled by peers and teachers, I have developed a degree of empathy and understanding and am always willing to help others who are struggling. Before I was diagnosed, I envied other students for their seemingly effortless success. However, through this experience, I have become a better student and leader and have gained invaluable skills that will help me achieve my educational and career goals.
