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I Was Diagnosed as Dyslexic Because I Was Bored at Work
If you’re struggling to earn a crust, maybe it’s the wrong crust
The woman wasn’t even a doctor or a nurse but she sat me down and told me straight out: “You’re dyslexic”.
I was in the Staff Development department of the university where I worked as an IT analyst when she broke the news. Actually, the department might have been called something much more nebulous than that, like the Educational Staff Development Centre for Greater Learning, or whatever; it changed names and hats several times in the eight years I was there.
Still, none of those hats were medical. So why was this middle-aged woman was telling me I was dyslexic?
“Most people are pleased when they find out because suddenly their struggles make sense,” she told me, as if she’d handed over some sort of key to life by revealing a learning disability and was annoyed I was being ungrateful.
How did fuck did this happen? I had been referred to the department for time management training, not medical quackery.
My organisation skills had never been strong so my manager (a decent and friendly man) had grown exasperated with my whirlwind approach to work, and was trying to get me organised.
