I am an intelligent woman. I will have to leave the “young” out of the description now that I turn 40 soon. The years have made me more patient. The lessons learned have softened my spirit. I have been an English teacher for 12 years and I was a production manager at a sewing factory before that. I finished my education at Lancaster Bible school. My GPA when I finished was a 3.95. I am proud of that.
As I sit here and describe that many ways I have been blessed – a woman – a healthy woman – a healthy educated woman – a healthy educated God-fearing woman. I realize I still can’t spell good. You can’t see it because I hide behind a lie: spell check. Those close to me know it is true. If in some alternate universe I had to spell to save my life, or worse yet the lives of my children, we would be in hot water. Spell check understands me. Every time I right click on those words underlined by a red squiggly line, spell check gets it, offers me a solution, an option, help.
I have never been able to spell good. I have been ridiculed my whole life because of it. In second grade, my teacher, Mrs. Wiederanders, said I wasn’t trying. My mom and sister have giggled at a few misunderstood text messages. My students at Ridgeview used to say, and I quote “an English teacher that can’t spell!” It is funny. Ironic really.
I know I can’t spell good. I recheck and double check and still I make mistakes. My mind does not see the mistakes and even through I reread, the mistakes do not make an appearance in my consciousness.
Why does this matter? Who cares? I do! This little piece of me that does not live up to the standards of others, has molded me. I can’t read fast! I don’t spell good! I get it…
The experiences of people with learning disabilities are hard. I can’t try harder. I can’t study more. I will never improve. I am 38 years old now. I will never be able to spell good. Dyslexia stole that superpower from me.
Did you know dyslexia is genetic? My aunt was dyslexic and so am I. People with dyslexia have to work harder, often extra hours, to overcome daily challenges. Many times, we struggle with anxiety and even depression. As I write this, I think about my aunt. She is up in heaven happy I am sharing this. Maybe one of my sons will be dyslexic too. I know someone will be there to point out his mistakes. Don’t worry, I will be there to tell him that he might never be able to spell well, but he is blessed with something that not everyone gets to understand. A disability. An ever-lasting connection to empathy. An unbreakable bond to humility, and a lifetime relationship with spellcheck.
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