I have recently embarked on a Master’s in Creative Writing at Birkbeck University. It has been a whirlwind of discovery, but the most fascinating thing hasn’t been around story structures or characters — it’s about rediscovering my voice, which has been muffled for a long time, because it turns out I am still dyslexic.
Growing up in the 1960s, if you struggled with words, you didn’t get a diagnosis; you got a secret. I learned early on to hide the condition, to mask the difficulty and to simply carry on as if everything was fine.
I’ve lived most of my life that way — performing a version of ‘fine’ that required an immense, invisible amount of pressure, and it was a weight on my back. That’s until I took the first Module at Birkbeck: Writing the Self. I decided to focus on my life as a dyslexic, how it affected my childhood and how I confronted it in my thirties with three years of therapy.
Writing about this spurred me to take a new assessment in February. And the surprise was that after all these years, I have the same problems that I had as a child. Receiving this formal diagnosis after so many years has been a revelation, recasting my past in a new light and instead of seeing a ‘disability’ to be hidden, I’m seeing a unique neurological blueprint. This process has given me permission to finally get to know myself — honestly.
Right now, I am exploring writing that delves directly into this experience. I’m examining how dyslexia has shaped my perspective, my resilience, and my prose. This journey of self-discovery is rewarding, even when it’s difficult. I’m no longer writing around my secrets; I’m writing through them, and I’m looking forward to sharing more of what I’m learning as I continue this degree.
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