Learning Disabled Part1

Oh my life has been marked by the words “Learning Disabled.” My experience of them has been more close to the phrase, “Extreme Pain at School.” I could not sit still. I could not focus on that which was not interesting to me. I had no motivation to listen to that which I already knew from having read a lot. Also, the head knowledge seemed to never quite make it to my fingers the right way. It got lost. Words went missing when I went to write them out I would think them. I would know the spelling, but my fingers went all wrong. Homework was a nightmare. I was bullied.

            ADHD was the starting point. I stood under that banner a long time until, by college, I had mastered its quirks. I HAD to have a sameness about my day a routine that told me what was next and prepared me for the day. I learned that I MUST be in a comfortable place to do homework a desk was painful with parts that made my hand go numb. Music HAD to be playing loudly. But still, my fingers faltered. (Now, while I type, I focus really hard to get every word on the screen.) While this feels counterintuitive to you normals, it was what I needed to do. I graduated on the deans list. Please let your children find the way that they are successful.

            When I got married, I had children. My hormonal-chemical balance shifted and I lost my sense of emotional stability. I have always been touchy, but at this point, I became unreasonable. I saw offense everywhere and then exploded at the smallest of triggers. I would then become extremely depressed. It was when I was having suicidal thoughts, I knew something more had gone wrong. A diagnosis of bipolar came down. I fell back on the need for routine and sameness that had gotten me through college, I prayed. I started taking meds.  I received prayer. I meditated. I took up crochet. I was declared by a Medical Professional to be in remission after 7 years of striving and praying through it.

            I started a writing in a blog called Shepherd’s fish. I was misunderstood. I kept making the same errors of childhood writing. Bad grammar. Bad spelling. Missing words I type things out wrongly. Like saying, “I go store.” My mind thinks, “to the,” but fingers miss it. I was lead by a friend to look up Dyspraxia that is on the Autism spectrum and answered other questions. I hate bright lights, loud and intense parties; and jangling, busy patterns on walls. That is Sensory Processing disorder. These things physically hurt me. I kept reading and I found the definition of dysgraphia. My speech is fine, as you can hear, my writing lacks, as you can see. As I read this page , I started to cry full-on, blubbery tears. I was reading about me. The final piece of the puzzle had clicked into place.

            So now, I have found my voice. I stand with joy and feel like I have a way to be heard and understood in this world. You’ll notice that this blog is entitled part 1. Next blog I will speak how my experiences shaped my ability to parent a boy also on the spectrum.