I have loved books as long as I can remember, but I can remember when reading felt like impossible My parents would read to me before bed when I was wee, mostly Bible stories, and some from the A Little Golden Book Classic collection published in the 1970’s.

Kindergarten was exciting, despite crippling social anxiety, and I loved my first teacher (Miss Hoffman). By first grade I was not reading on level and eventually diagnosed with both hypoglycemia and dyslexia. In the 80’s that was a big deal and my teacher, did not know what to do with me, so I failed first grade. I fell asleep in class consistently (the hypoglycemia) and couldn’t keep up when I was awake (dyslexia). But, oh, how I loved to learn and to listen to my teacher read to the class.

I thought it was normal for letters to jump around on the page, especially: b, d, q, g, p. If they don’t stop moving, it is very difficult to attempt to read a sentence let alone a word, and it was frustrating. It did not help that my teacher told me I was stupid—something I internalized for many years.

And yet.

Once I got some intensive help over the summer, the letters stopped moving, and I have a voracious appetite for reading. I would say that I have not stopped reading since—often I am reading 3-5 books at a time, all different topics, and totally dependent on my mood.

But I look at this experience as a starting point for the work I came to love as an adult: to help people. I engaged with my weakness, peeled back the layers of feeling stupid and the why, and then found ways to help others learn. I got my first master’s in reading education and I have worked with a variety of struggling readers: folks who want to pass the GED, who want to learn English as a second language, to comprehend a book, to write a college essay, to compose their thoughts so they can write exactly what it is they want to say.

And now I am a therapist. I’ve learned a great deal about how my greatest weakness or fear is actually the source for my greatest strengths: compassion and empathy. You see, I know what it feels like to be called a name by an adult, someone in authority, and I have gone back to that first grade room and I have re-written my story. The sadness carved me out and provided a faulty identity that I have since re-framed and restructured. I have knelt down next to that struggling first grader, put my hand on her arm, and whispered to her that she is made for greatness and she will be a reader some day.

I am both weak and strong, and I am also quite proud that my first grade teacher did not keep me from my path. I found my power by going back to the dark.

Writing prompt ideas:

Where in your life do you wish to find your power?

Where do you need fresh eyes to see?

What color is the darkness?