When the “D” word comes up, it usually goes something like this …

Me: “Sorry that my spelling is bad. I am dyslexic.”

Them: “Oh, no, it’s fine don’t worry!”

*Awkward silence*

Them: “So, what’s your thing?”

Me: “My thing?”

Them: “Oh you know, like, what are you really good at? You know because you’re…dyslexic, so like what’s your special talent? Are you really good at art, or music, or sports?”

Me: “Oh, I don’t really have a ‘thing.’”

Them: “Oh no I’m sure you do, like do you know (insert famous dyslexic)? That (person) is totally like you!”

Just for reference, some of the ‘famous dyslexics list’ include; the tax dodger Richard Branson, the man who took chips from your school canteen Jamie Oliver, and Einstein.

But, this type of conversation links to a wider narrative around dyslexia. The stereotype is that by having dyslexia you are ‘naturally’ more creative, and because of your ‘natural’ spark of inventiveness, you should be ‘grateful’ for your dyslexia and treat it as a ‘gift’, or ‘superpower’. Yes, the fact that you can’t spell your own home address or read the bus timetable is all water under the bridge, because you are really good at football or playing the trumpet. Sarcasm intended.

Now, I am in no way saying that the two could not be linked, because some of the most creative people I know are dyslexic. Yet at the same time, the most unimaginative bores I have also had the pleasure of meeting have been dyslexic. We are like any other group of individuals. A cross-section of society who go on and do a whole range of things; from artists, train drivers, or teachers.

However, there are some incredibly talented dyslexics, and this link isn’t always present in these cases. Instead, this talent is developed as a means of survival from growing up with dyslexia.

For example, I used to get my dad to read a picture book to me, then I would get my mum to read the same book and I ‘read’ the book back to them without even looking at the page. That was me using my long-term memory. I’d then walk into class the next day, ‘read’ the same book to the teacher, and success, I moved up a reading level. Could I read the next book I was given? Absolutely not. But did I recite poetry at my primary school talent show? Yes. I only knew I had a good long-term memory because I couldn’t ‘read’ in any other way. I had to develop it over time, as a coping strategy. And now I can still recite long pieces of texts; I can only do this because I’ve had too.

These survival strategies, which every dyslexic has to learn, are sometimes the byproduct of developing extra creativity. On top of this, having most of the curriculum cut out of a dyslexic field of interest – all the difficult bits that involve reading and writing –  anything that’s left is going to be seized on to become your special ‘thing’. So you can’t read, your spelling is atrocious and your handwriting is unreadable so there’s no way your going to win the spelling bee or have your history project stuck on the wall. What about maths? No, you keep getting your twos and fives muddled up. And you’ve spent so long trying to read the word problems that you’ve given up working out how many sweets John needed to give to each of his friends. Pretty much the same for science too. The rest of the class is tidying away the experiment by the time you’ve read the instructions. Tough, that’s what being dyslexic at school is all about.

But hang on, there’s no reading in PE, the art teacher is asking you to draw not write, and in music you are as good as anyone else at singing in tune. For once you are on a level playing field with your classmates. And your teachers, who are happy, instead of  writing “try harder” at the bottom of your work, start praising you instead. Win win. And who doesn’t like to win sometimes? And that’s how your options get narrowed by default. Being a dyslexic can allow you to channel your energies into often more creative subjects – or perhaps we should call them as the non-writing lessons. It’s no coincidence and makes perfect logical sense that dyslexics are simply more common in creative industries.

But what if you’re not one of the lucky ones, as I wasn’t. Someone who can’t console themselves with a special talent or are just happy to work hard at the non-writing subjects and would really like to read the book that everyone else is reading. That’s when you start to see dyslexia as nothing more than a massive pain in the arse.

I am 18 years old and from my very first day at school, the phrase “now get your books out and write the answer to the following question”, has filled me with fear, dread and anxiety; certainly not creativity.

Not having a “thing”, a special talent, as I was, growing up, left me pretty isolated. Surrounded by pictures of musicians and sport stars pinned up in the learning support corner wasn’t any help. This clumsy teenager, who couldn’t kick a ball, got more paint on my hands than on the paper, and had no sense of musicality felt she was a “bad dyslexic” because I only seemed to have any interest in stories and comedy. But you can’t dream of being a writer if you can’t spell your own name and the joke’s on you if your spelling is a joke. My talent was all in my head, a brain full of ideas unnoticed by teachers.

I can tell you, for example, about my geography project. It was all about rainforests. I paid attention in class, I watched the film and I drew the diagrams. But what’s the point when you can’t spell “Tropical”. Well, I did it and handed it in but tropical was spelled differently in every sentence. I guess there’s some creativity in that!

Even if you do have that  ‘special thing’ it doesn’t remove the dyslexia. I have spent at least double the time it takes a non-dyslexic to write this article. And most of that extra time was used up by me shouting at Siri, to turn my speech to text. But think of all those words that sound the same but are spelled differently. You can guess someone else has had to edit this carefully. Now imagine if every sentence you wrote at school was like this. And then think about how many sentences you write in lessons every day. Wouldn’t you rather be out on the football field or in the art room. Even being Einstein can seem easier.

And that is why there are some dyslexics who do have their special “thing” but there are a lot more, in the other position, who don’t have a “thing”. We are the silent majority, in my experience, who don’t go on and do incredible wonders. If I look at all my dyslexic friends, do I see the next Richard Branson or Jamie Oliver? Errr … Probably not, and let’s face it none of us are Einstein. I see normal, (let’s not go that far) everyday people, who send voice messages instead of texts, and who probably won’t read the whole of this article (maybe they should put in more effort!). We are put in a position where we can never win. If you succeed, it’s because you’re dyslexic. If you don’t it’s also because you’re dyslexic. I would be over the moon, if any of us got our picture on the walls of a special-needs classroom. But what I want more than anything is to not feel like a failure, in any sense.