Why I'm Speaking Out as an 'Anonymous Face' of Dyslexia

Most articles and video clips you see about dyslexia typically mention famous people. Richard Branson followed by Charles Schwab, Orlando Bloom, Keira Knightley, Steven Spielberg and Whoopi Goldberg, not necessarily in that order. I can’t for the life of me think of another condition that ties celebrity into every piece of content. But at the same time, I understand why content creators continue to drop these names.

Dyslexia is a hidden condition. You can’t tell if someone’s dyslexic just by looking or talking to them and even if you work with one, chances are, you still won’t know. Despite its invisibility, there are millions of dyslexics struggling in silence. I’m guessing that by naming successful celebs with dyslexia, the association may help other dyslexics to grasp and reach for a leg of hope. Sharing what famous folks have accomplished while living with dyslexia is a call to arms for the anonymous.

Branson and the circle of “dyslebrities” should be praised for what they’ve achieved in their careers as well as their respective dedication to raising funds and awareness for dyslexia globally. But, they alone cannot reach every dyslexic. While it’s estimated that 5–10% of the world’s population has dyslexia, there are likely many more who don’t even know they’re dyslexic or are too stigmatized to admit it.

Dyslexia: Asset vs. Liability

The upside is that dyslexia and neurodiversity are being brought up in more conversations when it comes to employment and hiring. Some of the largest global enterprises have stepped up by creating contemporary interview methods catered to the neurodiverse mind as well as implementing strategies to ensure there is adequate support once the employee is hired. Companies are realizing that the dyslexic mind is an asset, not a liability. With improvements in technology and automation, there is now a greater emphasis on problem-solving, fostering emotionally intelligent leadership, big picture and actual out of the box thinking — these being proven and documented areas where dyslexics thrive.

Like anything else, it will take a while for reality to catch up to perception. If dyslexics remain reluctant about admitting to their dyslexia on job applications out of fear of repercussion, then we are not moving the needle. People still misunderstand dyslexia’s individualistic manifestations and nuances. For many, dyslexics are a homogenous bunch; “damaged dunces” who can’t read, spell or manage executive functions. Until the tangible and intangible advantages of dyslexics on the job are embraced, changing the conversation will continue to be an uphill battle, but certainly one that’s worth fighting.

Being dyslexic can be lonely. Each of us has a unique dyslexic profile but we struggled similarly in childhood, adolescence and for many, that malaise bled into adulthood. Collectively, we’ve been humiliated, felt ashamed, “dumb,” cursed, hopeless, disposable or angry.

The Zone

I only recently took a dyslexia screening test, though I’ve always known something was off. It was validation at last. In my youth, I accepted that I was destined to fail and nothing could be done about it. Every report card was the same and so were the ensuing conversations. “He just needs to apply himself” which was code for, “he’s not that bright and there’s really not much we can do.”

In 16 years of school, I never once heard dyslexia mentioned. Luckily, teachers are now being trained to identify it in their students starting at a young age. But what about my generation or the ones before and after? The dyslexics that barely made it through school and never cracked the code or identified their zone of genius as adults. They’ve lived in dyslexic isolation with talents, gifts and dispositions dormant and unrequited.

After college, I’d already resigned to the notion that I’d never amount to anything because there were too many things I couldn’t do. At least, that was the case until a college friend offered me a sales position some 12 years after we’d graduated and parted ways. I accepted the challenge trepidatiously. I knew that bartending dead afternoon shifts for peanuts wasn’t a ticket to anywhere worth going and regardless of how terrified I was of the unknown, I felt it in my gut; this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. To my astonishment, by doing exactly what I was told by my extremely patient mentor, I excelled in the role and financial rewards soon followed.

Eureka!

Less than two months ago while listening to Dean Graziose’s “Underdog Advantage,” I had my Eureka moment. When he said you could turn your mess into a message that could help others overcome their similar struggle, I thought to myself — “holy shit, I can do that?” It had never occurred to me that my dyslexic journey could inspire anyone else’s.

There is a weight I carried in the past that still visits occasionally, although now I’m better equipped to deal with its gravity. It’s a feeling of profound hopelessness and disappointment. Being the son of two trailblazing Ivy League professors and a Mensa-level older brother was a constant self-inflicted beat down. This lack of self-esteem, peppered with the daily dread of being “found out” contributed to my substance abuse as I tried smothering insecurity and uncertainty. In retrospect, I have my mother to thank for always supporting my efforts even when they fell flat — which they did, often. Through positive reinforcement, I unknowingly developed resilience while learning to accept failure as a lesson and not a death sentence.

Today, though, is not about me. It’s about diagnosed and undiagnosed dyslexic adults who suffer in silence just as you and I did. As instrumental as “dyslebrities” are to the cause, we need to work harder to capture the attention of the ones who need our help. Those spiraling in hopelessness, swimming in self-doubt or daily doses of dyslexic dread.

They too deserve a hand, just like the one given to me.