When I was growing up, I didn’t realize I had dyslexia. I just knew I wasn’t keeping up with other kids. I’d struggle with reading and math, but didn’t think much of it until my mom told me I’d be switching schools to get extra help.
At the time, I was just a kindergartener, confused about why I had to leave my friends behind and go to a place called the Julie Billiard School in Lyndhurst, Ohio.
At Julie Billiard, I began to realize that my brain simply processed things differently. I could learn, but it took me longer to master things than everyone around me. What took my classmates two weeks might take me six. I remember my pulse increasing and my muscles growing tense, frustration storming throughout my body.
But over time, I recognized a pattern emerging; I was slower to start, but once I grasped something, I …