I still remember when I was in Primary 1 (around 5 years old) and my teacher used to make me stand up in front of the class and try to spell very basic words — dog, cat, Mum, Dad knowing I couldn’t do it. She made me stand there, while encouraging others to laugh at me. I would just have to stand, knowing I couldn’t visualise the word in my head and just cry and cry until eventually she seemed satisfied with the humiliation and let me sit down.

This is not about that teacher, and in her defence (which she does not deserve) the subtext to this was I was a very difficult child. A combination of being way too articulate and capable of answering back at a young age (I blame my parents) meant that she clearly could not stand me. But, what she and everyone else did not know was there was a reason I was so disruptive in class and so angry. I am dyslexic and at the time was completely unable to read, write or spell.

I’ve wanted to write about this for years — the irony of this statement is not lost on me I promise. The long road from being that tiny humiliated five year old, who would have given anything to just be able to say the letters D-O-G, to someone who regularly uses writing and content creation in her paid professional roles is littered with humiliation and rage.

The shock — my parents

My dad, for a long period of his life was an English teacher. He loved books and writing was one of his many gifts. I have a clear memory from when I was young, of my Dad becoming frustrated with what he perceived to be laziness, or just a child not wanting to read. Sitting me down he brought out the second Harry Potter book, and asked me to read out loud the first line. He knew I loved these books (my Mum read them, doing all of the voices long before my love affair with Stephen Fry’s audio versions) I think he thought it would prompt me to prove his point, that I could read but I just wouldn’t. Pointing at the words and telling me to mouth them out, willing me with everything he had for me to say it. And all I could do was just stare at the words — I broke down and begged him to stop. He immediately did and realised I was not being lazy and that I absolutely could not do it. I can visualise now the look of shock and pride on my mum’s face years later when I told her I was going to read on a chapter of Harry Potter, this was the first time I had wanted to know what happened next in a book so much that I forced myself to mouth out the words.

The singing teacher

When I was in secondary school I loved singing and desperately wanted to do singing lessons, I begged my parents (not knowing how much it would cost and that we really didn’t have the money). Finally they worked out a way I could do it and I was SO excited. I told the teacher early on that I did not want to focus on reading music, and at first she seemed fine with that, then she became more and more adamant that I was being lazy and pushed me to learn the notes. I’d wanted these lessons so much but I was so nervous the nights before them I would get acid reflux. I started to miss school on the days I would have the classes which naturally — since my parents were paying so much — made them furious because they knew I was lying. Finally, I told them about the way the teacher had berated me. Furious, my Mother confronted her and asked her to explain what on earth she was doing, to which the teacher plainly said:

“Lucy is not stupid”

My Mother replied:

“I know she isn’t that’s not what I said, I she is dyslexic!”

And the teacher replied:

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

This attitude that poor spelling and grammar is just laziness or even stupidity has followed me around all my life. I understand why people feel this way. If I look at an article online or a post someone has made and I can see a spelling mistake — I know it must be a major one if even I can see it.

So the next time you get a cover letter or see content with a spelling mistake, take at least a second to think that the person you are about to rip to shreds could very well be dealing with a lot more than just being lazy.

The interview that broke the camel’s back

What finally forced me to write this was a humiliating event a month ago. I had my first interview for a job in Australia — I am running out of money. Sydney is an expensive city and there was a lot of pressure on me from myself to get this high paying role. At the end of the call one of the interviewers finally just said (this was over the phone):

“I guess my main concern is your spelling, you clearly did not proof-read this cover letter and frankly, it’s clear you can’t spell.”

I was, to put it bluntly, absolutely furious. But, I needed this job — it’s all well and good having morals and standing up for yourself when you are financially stable. So, I didn’t stand up for the little five year old in me and just politely explained that I must have rushed due to the quickening deadline — billowing silence .

“Is that really your excuse?”

- longer billowing silence -

Forcing me to say it, knowing it would lose me the job, I had to say it.

“Well I am dyslexic so that will have affected it, but I have worked on international campaigns and I know I could do this role”

Embarrassed comments trying to back track ensue.

“Oh …. well …. We will ….We’ll call you.”

They did not call.

So to that organisation, and others who are willing to speak to people like this. Don’t. You have no idea how much those comments hurt.

The creative side and the anxiety

Dyslexia has in many ways an upside to it. It actively opens up a different side of your brain, in reality I see a lot of things differently to most people.

One of the ways that I think my dyslexia has helped me — ironically — is with my writing. I write the way I speak (and some people hate it). People have said it’s very conversational; I see it as just that I don’t want to add too much flare because of years of fearing that what I was saying just would not make sense. This can be a major advantage for me. When I have written campaign content, some of the most common feedback is that it is so clear to understand. I think I write this way, because I want others to understand what I’m saying: making someone feel small and belittling them does nothing but foster hate — trust me on this.

At the same time I cannot pretend that it doesn’t still fill me with fear whenever I have to reply to a send all email, write a Cover Letter or post on Twitter because I so often cannot see the errors I have made.

This holds me back a lot at work and rapidly feeds into my imposter syndrome that I should not be allowed in these roles.

Some of the comments I have received in the last year by colleagues or other people working in the same space as me:

“Who wrote this? There are so many spelling mistakes, is this a joke?”

“I guess my main take away from your cover letter is that you clearly can’t spell”

“Can’t you just take the time to read over it and not have so many spelling mistakes this just seems lazy”

The wins — it can’t be all doom and gloom!?

I think it was Senior 2 (around 13 years old) that I received my first A in an English class. I could not believe what I was seeing. Was the teacher just being kind? (knowing that particular teacher — NO). I would not allow myself to get excited by what was clearly a mistake. I waited until the end of the class and explained she must have marked my essay incorrectly because I had so many spelling mistakes there I knew I did not deserve an A. I still remember the look on her face, when she saw I was crying while I was saying this. She explained that she had thought the story was written so well that the spelling mistakes had not impacted it. I was stunned. However, as was her nature she did point out that

“It was only just an A and there was still room for a lot of improvement”. But, I HAD DONE IT.

University was a challenge within a rich tapestry of other challenges for me. When I arrived I had -and I am not exaggerating here- no idea how to write a University level essay. That, coupled with my father almost dying two weeks into the course, and then slowly being diagnosed with incurable cancer did not make for the most ideal work environment. My brain works in a different way than others, and sometimes I forget this, but I was always reminded of this when I would (years on from my humiliating first attempts) write essays. As my grades finally started to pick up I realised I would have to ask for help, every single time I wrote, to have my work proof-read before I handed it in. This is not something I was, or continue to be comfortable with. One — asking for help, two — showing people my rough work. Remember I have spent years trying not to be that little five year old. In short I was scared.

“Do one thing everyday that scares you”. I have a lot of problems with this quote, but in reality once I took the huge leap of faith and started asking for help my grades picked up and I did it. I crawled across the finish line with a 2:1 in Politics. A lot of the time when I think about how impressive it was that I managed this, I think about the death of my father during the course. When really, it was my dyslexia impacting my academic grades that had almost stopped me from graduating.

It’s easy for me to forget just how far I’ve come, so I understand what people are trying to say when they casually point out “Oh I totally forgot you were dyslexic”.

Well trust me I didn’t forget — I’m reminded everyday.

I’ve lost out on jobs I’ve truly wanted — most recently yesterday.

I’ve been passed over for projects.

I’ve been humiliated by managers in meetings and in emails.

I’ve had close family members and life long friends actively diminish my writing achievements and belittle my work.

I write for myself. Because I can now. Because little Lucy would want me to. Dyslexia has made me adaptable, creative and resilient — qualities I would hope employers would want in their staff? It’s part of me so I have to learn to love it.