A teacher who herself is dyslexic offers insight into the challenges

dyslexic students face and the strengths they bring into the
classroom. By Liz Ball
Dyslexics are lifelong learners. We often share an insatiable curiosity and commitment to figuring out the world around us that
is unique in its intensity. We are not only compassionate about learningwe are driven to analyze and critique the world
around usto turn arguments inside out, then right-side back again. This, after all, is what dyslexics do well. We see the world
from a unique perspective, and we are compelled to share our perspective with others.
This is why we make great teachers.
I can still remember the name of every single teacher I ever had starting in nursery
school all the way through 12th grade. This is hard to believe, considering I was
severely dyslexic, and school was a traumatic experience for meoften inexplicable
and unpredictable. It played out before my eyes in ways I couldnt decipher. Letters
and numbers floated and jumped around on the page in front of my eyes, while other
children sat happily at their desks reading and writing and spelling what I assumed
were perfect little sentences. I could see the letters strung together on the page; I
knew they spelled words, because I had memorized many of them to deceive my
teachers into believing I could actually read. The truth was, I had no idea how to read.
Matters were only made worse by the fact that I had a twin sister who was not
dyslexic, who often sat happily by herself reading beautiful little books with colorful
pictures and intricate plots.
Meanwhile, my entire childhood seemed to be spent deciphering this mysterious code
attempting to master the skill called reading that seemed to come so easily and
automatically to my classmates. For hours on end, I sat with my mother, teachers, and
privately paid tutors laboriously sounding out words, attempting to recognize and
pronounce the letters that spelled out the text on the page. I developed insomnia and
migraines by the time I was nine. But I never gave up.
The fact that I remember the name and face of every teacher I ever had is a testament to the incredible school I attendedwhere
every student was treated with respect, and a love of learning was kindled and nurtured with enthusiasm. Thankfully, the
school I attended also believed in a multisensory approach, strict phonics for struggling readers, and hands-on, project-based
instruction with lots of art. Not every dyslexic child is as lucky.

For most dyslexics, school is inherently painfula dreaded environment that serves
to repeatedly embarrass the dyslexic student and squelch her self-esteem. This is
because teachers often teach through reading and writingand nothing about
language is automatic for dyslexics. We are constantly engaged in the process of
pulling apart the linguistic pieces we are presented with in order to make sense of
their whole. We can (and often must) see every perspective or possible method to
solve a problem before we can truly understand it for ourselves.
This prevents us from seeing and understanding things automatically. But it also
provides us with a multilayered map of how one has come to a conclusion, solved an
intricate problem, or written a persuasive paper. Our own downfall actually
becomes an asset in the classroom. This is because dyslexia prevents an
automaticity that can be detrimental to teaching. After all, one must be able to see
the individual steps, the varied perspectives and possibilities in order to explain the
nuances and specific details of the subject at hand. Good teachers and students
know this. Great ones live it.

After years of struggling in grammar school, I finally learned to read. But it never became fully automatic for me. To this day, I
cannot actually understand what I am reading unless I am alone in complete silence with no distractions. This is because
reading and writing and thinking and learning are not passive endeavors for dyslexic people. They require huge amounts of
physical and mental energy. Foreign language and college-level calculus were also extremely difficult for me because they both
involved intricate code breaking at a depth and speed that simply stretched the limits of my dyslexic brain. I did eventually find
success reading and writing the English language, thriving in my college-level literature and philosophy classes. After college, I
pursued graduate degrees in Boston requiring obscene amounts of analytical reading and writing. It was painful, but I loved
nearly every minute of it.
Teachers often dont realize that students who struggle to learn enjoy it the most. Despite the difficulties dyslexics experience
along the way, we often thrive when challenged, becoming even more intrigued and curious when faced with seemingly
unsolvable puzzles. We are especially invigorated when our unique perspective is recognized and valued. After all, without the
tenacious commitment to solving the mysteries and complexities of the written text, we would never have made it past
kindergarten because we would have given up on that first mysterious, inexplicable, and unpredictable code we call language. It
is often the case that dyslexics share an insatiable appetite for learning. And luckily for the rest of the non-dyslexic world, we
savor our time in the classroom both as teachers and as students.