As I entered my daughter Mia’s third-grade classroom, her teacher gently placed her hand on my arm. “I need to discuss Mia with you.” Those words can send any parent into a tailspin of anxiety, with a torrent of worst-case scenarios flooding the mind. Given our history with school, I mentally braced myself for bad news.
I sensed something was off during Mia’s kindergarten year. Call it a mother’s instinct. It all began with sight words; she would cry each night over her homework. I felt a wave of frustration when she mixed up “we” for “me” or “in” for “it.” Didn’t she see the difference? “Sound it out,” I encouraged her. “What sound does an ‘m’ make?” She could recite letter sounds perfectly when quizzed verbally, but connecting them to the written letters was an uphill battle.
When she brought home her first reader, I was filled with excitement. I had long envisioned the moment she’d dive into the world of books, a passion I cherished. However, as we sat together, she stumbled over the words, claiming they danced on the page. My frustration mounted, and what should have been a joyous bonding moment turned into a painful ordeal, often concluding with tears.
Her teacher reassured me it was just a developmental phase, but the challenges persisted into first grade. As the year unfolded, her reading grades dipped into the Bs, and homework became increasingly daunting. She continued to complain about the words “dancing,” and her handwriting was nearly illegible. Spelling? A complete nightmare.
It felt like a horror show, and I was the one playing the monster. “Just write the words five times, and you’ll memorize them,” I insisted. Her tears flowed as she struggled with her reading assignments. “Are you really trying?” I would ask, now cringing at my past words and actions. Deep down, I knew something was wrong. I approached her teacher again. “Could she have dyslexia?” I inquired. “Just wait,” she replied. So I waited, watching Mia’s struggles escalate.
Finally, at the end-of-year conference, I was advised that Mia needed to be tested for dyslexia as soon as school resumed. Her teacher believed it had progressed beyond a mere developmental issue. We decided to wait through the summer months.
After a challenging second-grade year with an unsupportive teacher, Mia’s grades fell to Cs, and her confidence plummeted. She felt “stupid” and believed she couldn’t succeed. By March of her second-grade year, she was finally tested, receiving a diagnosis of dyslexia and Irlen syndrome, which caused the words to “dance” on the page.
Her dyslexia intervention teacher expressed disbelief at how well Mia had maintained her grades despite her struggles. I knew the strength my daughter possessed; after all, I was her mother.
Fast forward to that day in Mia’s third-grade classroom, and my heart raced with hope. I thought back to how well she was doing. Once the students settled, her teacher approached me with a smile. “Mia is doing incredibly well. We love having her in class, and her progress this year is astounding. We are so proud of her.” In that moment, I experienced a rush of pride that is hard to put into words.
A year and a half after her diagnosis, I found myself in her bedroom at bedtime, sitting on her bed. We snuggled under the covers, propped against pillows. “Read me a story,” I said with a grin. “Okay, but be quiet and listen,” she replied, laughing. For the next twenty minutes, she read to me from a book of her choice. Yes, there were hard words, and she stumbled occasionally, asking for my help. Sometimes she mixed up words, like “throw” for “though.” But she was reading to me.
My little girl was finally learning to read.
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Summary
Mia’s journey with dyslexia was fraught with challenges, from her early struggles with reading to ultimately receiving a diagnosis that changed everything. With the right support, she has made remarkable progress, and the bond between mother and daughter has only deepened through this journey.
Keyphrase: dyslexia journey
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