Jacqui Vittles - Dyslexia: An Amazing Discovery

My husband Paul and I would often wander into town on a Saturday and have a browse through the bookshops. Paul would always head for the management and motivation sections while I would usually have a look through the sales tables or the display stands with the new releases and books on special promotion, then wed go for a coffee before making our way back home again.

This particular Saturday was no different. Paul made his way to his favourite section while I ambled towards a table piled high with books on special offer. On one corner of the table was a stack of books about how to train your recalcitrant dog not to chew your furniture, and next to that was a large tome extolling the delights of Chinese cooking for people with no time to cook. I was being invited to brush-up my French in five easy stages and advice on making the best of my somewhat middle-aged looks was jockeying for position with guidance on successfully completing a new, quick and easy ten-point detox plan. Sitting proudly in the centre was a huge pile of autobiographies by someone with an unpronounceable name whom, clearly, no-one wanted to read about. Then, tucked away, partially obscured by our erstwhile luminary, I spotted a medium-sized paperback book sporting a black, white and red cover which announced The Gift of Dyslexia.

I was intrigued as to how dyslexia could be described as a gift and picked up the book, almost as a reflex action. I knew there had been studies linking dyslexia with young people with behavioural problems, and I also knew there was anecdotal evidence to suggest that dyslexia is present in a significant proportion of the prison population. I had always believed dyslexia to be a learning disability found particularly amongst people with low IQ and had never really given it a lot of thought beyond these scant few details.

On impulse, I began to read the book. This was most unusual because of my discomfort in reading in a public place, albeit to myself. It was as if the book was willing me to read it. The pages were drawing me to them, beginning with a simple list of the abilities that dyslexics share. I saw highly intuitive and perceptive and I thought, yes, I can identify with that. Being able to think using all the senses. Thinking in pictures doesnt everyone? Vivid imagination. All these things, the book told me, add up to non-verbal thought. The opposite is linear thought, which is the way language is structured and the way we learn, using sequences and lists. Some pages whispered to me, some shouted at me. They all said something that struck a chord for me.

I stopped reading and looked up. All around me, people were going about their business oblivious of the miracle that was unfolding there, before them, in the middle of that bookshop. Slowly, I raised the book and resumed my reading. My mind flashed a picture of an Alice in Wonderland room with doors lining the walls. The doors opened as I looked at them and bright lights shone from the rooms behind. I relaxed my shoulders as a wave of euphoria washed over me. With a huge sense of relief and a beaming smile, I realised Im not lazy, Im not dim or stupid Im dyslexic!

I was 46 and I felt the weight of the world lifting from my shoulders. The final piece of lifes jigsaw puzzle had gently fallen into place. I no longer had to search for excuses because I had an explanation. Id had no idea that my little problem had a name. Not only was I not stupid, I was a genius for getting this far, unknowingly developing complex and effective coping strategies that had allowed me to function in a world that people without dyslexia take in their stride. I had positively thrived, against all the odds. As I stood in the middle of the bookshop with all the world going about its business, I realised theres nothing wrong with my brain; its just wired differently so that information is processed in a different way. All these years Ive had to