The World Wasn’t Built For People Like Me

I’ve lived with dyspraxia my whole life, but the real struggle has been a system that refuses to change.

The author as a child climbing a tree. It was around this time I received my dyspraxia diagnosis. Photo taken by the author’s family and used with permission.

The first time a piece of paper made me feel stupid, I was nine. It was a worksheet for a class project. Everyone else picked up their pencils and got to work. Scribbling answers. Racing ahead. Like it was nothing.

I just stared at the boxes. The ones too small for my handwriting. The ones that felt like they were written in another language by adults who’d never met a child with a learning disability.

My wrist ached and I hadn’t even written my name. Eventually, I raised my hand and asked if I could take it home. The teacher looked puzzled. Said it would only take five minutes. But it didn’t. Not for me, at least.

I don’t know if you’ve ever had to explain to an adult why a worksheet makes your chest tighten and your fingers cramp. I don’t know if you’ve ever watched a teacher’s face shift from patient to pitying in ten seconds flat. But I have. Many times.

I have dyspraxia. It’s a condition that affects my motor coordination. The way I hold a pen. The way I walk. The way I move through a world not built with me in mind. And the truth is, it’s not the dyspraxia that makes things hard. It’s…