{"id":33196,"date":"2016-10-27T08:00:12","date_gmt":"2016-10-27T15:00:12","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.goodtherapy.org\/blog\/?p=33196"},"modified":"2016-10-26T11:21:22","modified_gmt":"2016-10-26T18:21:22","slug":"why-therapists-especially-need-to-be-aware-of-dyslexia","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.goodtherapy.org\/blog\/why-therapists-especially-need-to-be-aware-of-dyslexia-1027167","title":{"rendered":"Why Therapists, Especially, Need to Be Aware of Dyslexia"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"OneAs therapists, we know the importance of addressing invisible issues such as stress<\/a>, depression<\/a>, and anxiety<\/a>. But what about dyslexia<\/a>? Let\u2019s add this one to the list. Did you know that more than 40 million American adults have dyslexia\u2014yet only 2 million know it? It\u2019s likely that 1 in 10 of the people you work with in therapy will have it.<\/p>\n

To illustrate why this matters, I\u2019d like to share my story.<\/p>\n

As I was growing up, my family never talked about my dyslexia. Although I got help in a public elementary school by means of a tutor named Mary, no one (including myself) understood how this was impacting my life and relationships<\/a>.<\/p>\n

While my school had a plan for me, home was a very different story. My parents separated when I was 6 months old and got a divorce<\/a> when I was 6 years old. I lived with my mom and sister, who were very close and talked to each other about everything. I didn\u2019t fit in well in our\u00a0family of three. And unfortunately, no one took the time to try to understand my experience. As a result, I felt quite alone growing up.<\/p>\n

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My mother and sister were fast talkers, so their conversations flew right by me. With my unrecognized dyslexia, their joyful ritual of reading and discussing the newspaper each morning at breakfast felt like a tedious chore to me. I went off to school each morning already feeling disconnected. Family dinner conversations also felt strained and out of sync. I couldn\u2019t remember many of the details of my day, so it was hard for me to participate and share entertaining stories the way my sister did. My mother seemed enraptured by everything my sister said. I sat silently at the table and let her do most of the talking. Each day was repetitive and lonely. Somehow my grades were always passable and I never got in trouble, so my mom seemed to think everything was fine with me. We lived in the house together like two ships passing in the night.<\/p>\n

\"Sarah

Sarah Entine<\/p><\/div>\n

I had no real academic problems<\/a> until I went away to Grinnell College in Iowa, far from where I grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Over time, I began to feel like I was drowning \u2026 barely able to keep afloat under the pressure of my classes and sinking grades. Each semester became an endurance battle, an experience that left me feeling depleted and insecure. My mom would get my grades in the mail and immediately question my work ethic. Her mantra to me became, \u201cPlease just try, Sarah. For one semester, just try.\u201d I was furious, seething with anger<\/a> at her, because little did she know\u2014I really was<\/em> trying. It just wasn\u2019t going very well.<\/p>\n

And we still never talked about my dyslexia.<\/p>\n

Even after those difficult college years were behind us, the tension persisted between my mother and me. We were not close. I felt angry and misunderstood. My mom wanted to feel connected and reassured. She needed reassurance in order to feel like everything was going to turn out all right in the end. I refused to give her any degree of satisfaction. We were stuck in the quagmire of our mutual misunderstanding.<\/p>\n

Eventually, she suggested we see a therapist<\/a>.<\/p>\n

We met several times with an experienced counselor. We talked with him about our fights and frustrations, but we never really delved into the root of the problem. At the time, I still didn\u2019t understand my dyslexia. While I received academic support throughout elementary school, no one ever talked to me about how this processing difference was playing out in my everyday life. In fact, to the best of my recollection the term \u201cdyslexia\u201d was never used. I knew I had a \u201clearning disability\u201d of some kind or other, but this sounded vague, and it wasn\u2019t clear what this actually meant. Adding to that, I didn\u2019t get any support in college, and nobody had ever suggested I needed any. I had this grave misunderstanding that whatever learning difficulty<\/a>\u00a0I had, maybe I had grown out of it.<\/p>\n

So while we talked with this therapist about all sorts of topics that dealt with the stressors in our relationship, we missed the elephant in the room\u2014namely, the legacy of dyslexia and attention-deficit hyperactivity<\/a> (better known as ADHD) in our family. Here was this unique moment in time, where my mom and I chose to work on our relationship, and no one knew to talk about learning differences. What a lost opportunity!<\/p>\n

My hope and intention is to bring more awareness and consciousness to the therapy community. Just as unrecognized addiction issues can make therapy less effective, I strongly believe that unrecognized learning differences can make therapy a superficial experience\u2014or at the very least incomplete. <\/span><\/p>\n

Eventually I ended up at the Simmons College School of Social Work in Boston. While I was getting my master\u2019s degree, I visited one of the people I was helping at her home. It was like walking into my grandmother\u2019s house. I saw total disorganization. Papers were strewn everywhere. She had trouble finding necessary everyday things\u2014her purse, wallet, house keys. For me, that was a light-bulb moment. Whatever was troubling her was the same thing my grandmother had. It was ADHD.<\/p>\n

Shortly thereafter, I ran into my elementary school tutor, Mary, and asked about our time together. I said to her, \u201cI know I didn\u2019t have dyslexia because I didn\u2019t reverse my letters \u2026 so why did we meet?\u201d She looked at me and said, \u201cOh, but Sarah, you do have dyslexia.\u201d This was another watershed moment. I had dyslexia then, and I still have dyslexia now. It doesn\u2019t go away. At 29 years old, I was finally beginning to understand my family and myself with clarity.<\/p>\n

So why am I telling you this story? Realizing that many families must share multigenerational struggles with dyslexia, ADHD, and other learning challenges, I decided to make a film about my efforts to get my family to better understand dyslexia and to look at themselves as well. The result is my award-winning documentary, Read Me Differently<\/a>. In addition to the film, I have put together a comprehensive viewing guide<\/a> that provides detailed suggestions about how therapists can best use the film with the people they work with in therapy.<\/p>\n

Unfortunately, for me, it wasn\u2019t through therapy that I found insight, information, or relief. Instead, I figured it out though my own almost accidental detective work. Understanding dyslexia doesn\u2019t have to be such an anonymous quest.<\/p>\n

My hope and intention is to bring more awareness and consciousness to the therapy community. Just as unrecognized addiction issues<\/a> can make therapy less effective, I strongly believe that unrecognized learning differences can make therapy a superficial experience\u2014or at the very least incomplete. With more tools and information readily available, therapists can become better informed about addressing these invisible learning differences.<\/p>\n

Dyslexia Awareness: Tips for Helping Professionals<\/h2>\n

Become more informed:<\/p>\n