Entering the Next Chapter

Exposing the Secret       Growing up I lived a life filled with fear and shame. For eight years I hid my deep dark secret from my parents, siblings, friends, and teachers. My secret came with self-hate. The self-hate began to fester and infect other areas of my life, leading me to fall into a deep depression. I sought relief from pain through drinking, promiscuity, and self-mutilation. What was my secret? I could not read.       Dyslexia is a disability that impacts a large portion of young students. Robin Boda, the Director of Education at Hope Education, describes dyslexia by saying that “it is a brain difference, neurological brain difference. Often going hand in hand with that, are gifts and strengths” (Boda). Yale’s MDAI, Multicultural Dyslexia Awareness Initiative, posted “20% of the population is struggling with this hidden disability” ( MDAI). Goldish, author of Everything You Need to Know About Dyslexia , wrote “It is further estimated that 10 to 15 percent of scho

I remember the days that my daughter would return from school with little notes to all of the parents. The reminder was that we should be spending at least 15 minutes a night reading to our child. While many mothers saw this as a kind honorable reminder I saw it as a personal attack for a few reasons. The first reason was that I already knew the importance of reading to my child. I see the signs, hear the PSAs, and am even reminded by doctors and teachers. This was not a new concept to me. The second reason was because the note made it seem like they were saying, "it's only fifteen minutes of your day, isn't your child worth it?" It wasn't only  fifteen minutes a day, to me it was FIFTEEN MINUTES a day. The final reason was because the picture of a mother happily and lovingly looking over her child's shoulder as he sat quietly and peacefully in her lap was in no way my reality. So today I thought I would put a new spin on things and tell you why I hate to

So often we label ourselves as certain things and with certain thing. These labels can be good and they can be bad, it all depends what we do with the label once we stamp ourselves with it.  Flash back to eight years ago: "I have Bipolar." The words stung. I had been fearing saying the words out loud with the fear that once I put them out into the air they would become real. Once they I said it I felt the immediate need to try and grab them and pull them back. Take back what was beginning to unravel me. I felt my confidence in my identity begin to be stripped away. I was exposed and no longer was able to hide behind the my walls of humor, false happiness, and confidence. I had been hearing my doctors and my parents saying it for days but I hadn't been able to mutter the very same words. They seemed to be an object that I could not understand or grasp, a hologram in my midst. I would now have to go through the process of finding out what it truly meant to me, to soci