Words That Hurt, Words That Help: My Experience With Dyslexia

When I read, I get tired. Sometimes I can only make it through five pages before my brain needs a break. I like reading in the car when I’m a passenger, but it often ends with me falling asleep. Then I feel disappointed, like I should have been able to read more.

This is what dyslexia looks like for me as an adult. Not an inability to read, but the mental fatigue that comes with it.

Growing Up With Dyslexia (Before I Had the Word for It)

When I was growing up, I loved reading. I still remember my favorite books: More Spaghetti, I Say!, Swim or Sink, My Father’s Dragon. My school used a computer program called Accelerated Reader that tracked our progress, and it was exhilarating to level up.

But in fourth grade, when standardized testing really began, that feeling started to change.

I was still learning how to read while others were beginning to read to learn. Spelling became harder. Writing became harder. At the same time, we were learning to type on computers, which added another layer of challenge.

I was placed in an after-school program to try to boost my comprehension skills before the next state test. I liked being in a small group, but it didn’t make a meaningful difference in my score.

I didn’t know it then, but dyslexia was quietly shaping my school experience.

Hurtful Things People Have Said to Me

These are comments that may have seemed small or casual to others, but they stayed with me.

1. “Is that a dyslexic thing?”

This was said when I mixed up my words while speaking. It made me feel reduced to a label instead of understood as a person.

2. “Now is not the time to get confused with left and right.”

Directional confusion is common with dyslexia, but comments like this made it feel like a personal failure.

3. “This is Erica… She's dyslexic.”

Being introduced this way, without my consent, felt humiliating. Dyslexia is part of me, but it is not my definition.

4. “If you don’t read this out loud in front of the whole class, you’ll get a zero.”

I took the zero. In 10th grade, the fear of reading aloud was stronger than the fear of failing.

5. “Just read more over the summer.”

This advice, given by a guidance counselor, ignored the reality of dyslexia. Reading more without proper instruction doesn’t make dyslexia disappear. It often increases frustration.

Other anecdotes stayed with me too:

“Lead exposure causes dyslexia.”

Hearing my mistakes pointed out publicly.

Feeling rushed to write emails and catching myself typing “thank for you” instead of “thank you for…”

These moments quietly reinforced shame.

What Dyslexia Still Looks Like for Me

I often misspeak and my words get jumbled. Pronouncing multi‑syllabic words can be hard. Compound words are difficult for me to spell. I use the word "like" too much. My vocabulary isn’t as strong as some others. When I rush, especially in emails, errors slip through. I often use my finger to track words when reading. 

Dyslexia didn’t go away when I grew up. I simply learned ways to manage it.

What Has Actually Helped Me

Not everything that helped me came in the form of something someone said. Much of it came from learning, unlearning, and finally giving myself permission to stop struggling in silence.

1. Being told, and truly believing, that “dyslexia is real.”

I am trained through the Dyslexia Training Institute to use Orton-Gillingham in order to teach reading. Their motto is simple: “Dyslexia is real.” Those three words made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t before. They validated experiences I had spent years questioning or minimizing. Dyslexia wasn’t something I imagined, exaggerated, or failed my way into. It was real, neurological, and understood.

2. Realizing I don’t have to struggle to prove myself.

Once I understood that I was dyslexic, something shifted. I realized I didn’t need to read the hard way just because everyone else did. I didn’t need to exhaust myself to earn legitimacy. I could use tools. Text-to-speech technology allows me to listen to emails read back to me. I can catch errors, process language more efficiently, and feel more confident in my communication. Using accommodations isn’t cheating. It levels the playing field.

3. Learning that support changes outcomes.

Dyslexia isn’t about trying harder; it’s about receiving the right instruction and support. Explicitly using an approach like Orton-Gillingham to teach structured literacy works.  

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m sharing this because language matters. The things we say to children and adults with dyslexia can either deepen shame or open doors. 

Dyslexia is not laziness. It’s not a lack of intelligence. And it’s not something people outgrow. But with the right understanding, instruction, and support, people with dyslexia can thrive.

If you’re a parent, educator, or someone wondering if dyslexia might be part of your story or your child’s—know this: help exists, and words matter more than you may realize.