In honor of neurodiversity awareness, I’m reading this student-written narrative about their experience with hidden disabilities.
Growing up, I never really cared about school. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I had always felt out of place. My brother had always been extremely smart, especially when it came to school. I never felt jealous or anything like that; I just felt confused.
Why wasn’t I smart like that? Why was it so hard for me? I would always ask myself these questions for as long as I could remember. This form of self-doubt wasn’t only a result of my brain, but also from what my teachers were telling me.
“Just sit still.”
“Focus.”
“It’s not that hard.”
These were the things I often heard and replayed in my second-grade brain. I thought I was just dumb or didn’t try hard enough.
I remember when the class would be sitting on the rug, reading. I could hear my teacher’s annoying voice, but it would go in and out in waves. I would catch one sentence and then the next thing I knew we were done with the story. She would ask us what we all thought of the book, but I was busy trying to count the tiles on the ceiling or thinking about anything and everything else. I never had an answer for her because I never knew what the book was talking about. I knew I was good at plenty of other things, but so were my classmates, so I never felt special at all.
For a little bit, I thought there was something “wrong” with me. I later convinced myself I was just doing it for attention. Again, though, the thought of me doing it for attention didn’t only come from me.
“You just aren’t trying.”
“You’re attracting the wrong kind of attention to yourself.”
I always heard this. I was always grouped with the kids who had dyslexia or ADHD, but I was never told I did, or might; My parents weren’t told either. Every teacher-parent conference, it was just that I had to focus more or I was distracting the class. This ended with my parents getting frustrated with me because they believed my lack of academic performance was all my fault.
In fourth grade, my teacher mentioned that I showed many signs of dyslexia or ADHD. My parents weren’t convinced, because no other teacher had mentioned that. So I went through all of elementary school and middle school struggling. When I got to sixth grade, my focus became much worse. I was not only doing none of my work but failing a lot of tests because I wasn’t able to pay attention to what we were learning. Math was the hardest for me; it felt like my teacher was out to get me. I was pulled out of the hall by him countless times and scolded for not paying attention.
“Your only focus is boys.”
“You only care about sports.”
I was always so confused by this. Some of my teachers even told me that if I kept acting like this, I would have no friends. I just wished they knew I was trying my best.
My best grade in middle school was gym for all three years. By now, most of the other kids had been diagnosed, so they were already getting extra help or medication; I was alone in class, with everyone else who was able to focus completely fine.
I got in my own head again, telling myself I was fine and must be just doing it for attention. My teachers saw me as lazy, and they gave up on me before the middle of the year. I genuinely thought my brain was broken. It felt like everyone had given up on me. No one saw me as a smart kid; they saw me as a problematic hyper kid.
Since I was always such a problem, I started to talk less, and just sit there quietly in my own head. I would still not be paying attention but I learned how to make it look like I was. I didn’t feel like myself at all. I felt like I had no personality, but the teachers would praise me for focusing. Why don’t they realize? I am just trying to keep myself out of the way.
When I got to Kent, the first thing that happened was getting diagnosed with ADHD, Dyslexia, and a few other things. Suddenly, everything made sense. My grades started improving drastically, I learned how to bring my different thinking to classrooms, and how to force myself to be interested in order to be able to focus more. I taught myself to ask for help, to ask questions even when no one else seems to need to, and take note of the little things I notice.
This then sparked a passion for me. I want to be the one to help the younger kids learn it’s not their fault for thinking this way, and they aren’t “dumb” or “broken”. I want to help school systems realize that the way they are currently set up isn’t made for the 25-30% of the students in their classes who are neurodivergent to succeed. I want to be the voice for parents when they are being told their kid is a distraction and doesn’t care about their schoolwork. I think society has come such a long way in recognizing how everyone’s brain thinks differently, but I hope no kid ever has to go through the struggle of telling themselves they are dumb like I did. No one is. We all just need to understand ourselves a little bit better.
