p o s t // 3
T h e T h i n g i u s e d t o h i d e.
We sabotage ourselves every single day, especially if we’re not paying attention. That doesn’t mean our lives are in ruin or that we’re messing everything up. It might just mean we’re not accessing our full potential or any of it, honestly.
Since launching this blog (which has barely been a week!), I’ve been flooded with thoughts like: No one wants to hear what I have to say. I’ll sound dumb. I’ll be misunderstood. There are a million other people sharing their art — why would mine matter?
And let me tell you, that mindset? It will absolutely take me down if I let it.
When I was a kid around the time reading out loud became a regular classroom activity — I started getting migraines. Real ones. The kind that were just strong enough to get me sent home from school. And looking back, I think I subconsciously preferred the physical discomfort over the fear of sounding stupid while reading in front of my peers or failing a spelling test.
At the time, I didn’t know what was really going on. I just knew I felt different. Learning certain things took more effort. I couldn’t have told you this was temporary, because at eight years old, I didn’t have that kind of self-awareness.
It wasn’t until middle school that I was diagnosed with dyslexia — about four or five years after the migraines began. But even then, I didn’t fully understand what it meant. I was told I had reading comprehension issues and that I’d need more time on tests or assignments I hadn’t seen before.
To me, it felt like a scarlet letter. So I never told anyone.
I kept that part of myself hidden all through high school, college, and even into adulthood. I couldn’t wrap my head around it — How could someone who loved reading have trouble reading? It made no sense until I got older, started listening to podcasts, and learned that many successful people had grown up struggling with dyslexia, too.
Did you know that 35% of entrepreneurs and business owners in the U.S. are dyslexic? That’s wild. Even more wild? There are more dyslexic business owners than dyslexic managers. Let that sink in. What’s often seen as a limitation can actually be a superpower - if it’s understood and appreciated.
Most people think dyslexia means writing or reading things backwards, and sure, sometimes it’s that. I still catch myself writing a word in reverse when I’m deep in thought, especially when handwriting. I’ve also skipped over entire words or phrases while reading, yet somehow still absorb the meaning. I can’t explain that. It’s not exactly a superpower either, because I often have to read things twice —especially if they’re dense or unfamiliar.
I think there’s this projection (maybe just mine, but probably not) that dyslexia equals a lower IQ. That you’re less intelligent than the people who crushed every test and homework assignment. And sometimes, I still catch myself thinking that way, especially when I’m building something like this blog or my breathwork business. I start wondering: Am I smart enough? Business-savvy enough? And after a few days of spiraling, I usually land back on: Fuck yes, I am.
Then something unlocks. I get a little more motivation. I dig deeper. The dots connect. That’s always been my process, and it probably always will be my process.
I don’t think like most people and I like that. I see patterns others don’t. I connect dots most people don’t even see. I’ve spent my entire adult life doing this - often for other business owners. I watch how people work, how they move, what lights them up. I take in data in real time and analyze it using my own mental VLOOKUP function (Excel nerds, you get it).
Recently, I was with a close friend and casually mentioned my dyslexia. She stopped in her tracks: “Wait, what? You have dyslexia? Have you always known?”
We met when we were 15. So yeah, I’ve always known. I just never said anything. I was ashamed.
But now? I love that I have it. I love what it brings to my creativity. I wouldn’t be who I am without it. I wouldn’t be writing this without it. Dyslexia hasn’t been the thing that crippled my life, but people’s perception of it did. My perception of it did. The lack of information did.
This page isn’t going to be a deep dive into dyslexia, but I want you to know it’s here and we’re not ashamed.
So here I am, no longer hiding. Not from my story, not from my voice, not from the ways my mind weaves and wanders. I’m showing up as I am, with what I’ve got because there is power in the truth we used to be ashamed of.
The way I think, the way I feel, the way I connect dots no one else sees - that’s not a flaw. That’s my fingerprint. That’s my magic.
Maybe that’s the whole point, not to be the loudest in the room, or the smoothest, or the most polished, but to be the most real. To echo our own story loud enough that someone else whispers, me too.
And that’s where we begin again.
xxoo
C
For context, I am in first grade in this photo - the age we started reading in class.