Lets face it, if you’ve read any of my blog posts, you would have quickly come to terms with the fact that I can often come across illiterate with how I attempt to write.
Starting a blog when your dyslexic can be…interesting and bemusing to say the least, but most of the time, as much as I try with the copious grammar checks and proof-reading, it’s guaranteed to be incorrectly worded, phrased and spelt.
I have always worried that I’m dumb and incapable of being able to speak half the English language, let alone writing it. In school, teachers used to actually draw a red circle around the words I’d somehow made up or mashed together to make a brand new word… now, some people may call that stupid, for my pride I’m going to go along with the fact it made me a visionary and gave me my creativity today, ha.
My mum always said I should have been someone who was up on stage with the way I wanted to make people laugh. That or she wanted me to be a florist as I used to sing to the birds and roses in the garden… practicing to be a real life Disney princess much?
Off at a tangent there just a little…it resulted in me over the years learning that it is so much easier to be able to laugh at yourself, than it is to take yourself too serious.
The first time I started out with the blog was like the scene from friends where Joey makes the speech for Monica and Chandler’s adoption.
Every other word was an alternative option given to me by synonymous, ( which only a few days ago I found out I’ve been pronouncing synopsis … and no one corrected me sooner, thanks guys.)
Glasses always make you look more intelligent right?
I was so scared of releasing something which didn’t make me sound intelligent or worthwhile, but it got to the point that I didn’t even understand the majority of my sentences and I felt like I was setting this up to become a joke.
We all have our hang ups about what we can and can’t do, what we feel adequate enough for and what we allow to slip through the net to becoming a “I once wanted to do/be” scenario.
I wanted to shock everyone with my competence to suddenly knowing all these flamboyant words, however, I had a really good friend of mine look over all my work as she too was releasing a blog, and it was very clear that my desperation for trying to please other people was shining through prominently.
“You just need to be you”, she said, and there they appeared, the small voices in my head “see, she can tell you didn’t do that well in English, people will be able to read into that straight away”, “you need to up the game to prove yourself now, use the big fancy words you can’t explain the meaning of.”
What happened to that little kid in us who always had our back and believed we were capable of trying anything and doing everything new?
The one that scrambled up to the biggest of hills, leaping off without fear or doubt, simply living for the fun and never anticipating the negatives of life?
Very quickly through the years of adjusting into an adult we learn that society is a negative cloud of can’t do’s and we have to fit into boxes of ticked off criteria that make us acceptable to succeed.
Only in the past few years did I really, really crave the ability to free write about everything I felt and what I did.
I have put it off for so long because I had thoughts of “who would ever read what I had to say?” and the main thought was “I never focused on succeeding in English during school, surely that makes it pointless investing in a sudden interest now?’.
Magically somehow, through the person I now am, I had a moment recently were I just thought if I want to do it why not?
If nothing comes from making the blog, at-least I can say I tried and I did it instead of spending days feeling like I let myself down by never putting myself out there.
Besides, everyone has a story and regardless of how similar some people’s lives’ or situations are, you have your own personal print on yours and that is a truly remarkable gift to be able to offer others. So, I made the executive decision, instead of wishing I wrote a blog, I would create one and spread my words further than butter to the corners of my toast, even if I didn’t have a flying clue what I was getting myself into.
During all my days at school I was never perceived as a smart kid and I was never guided to think any differently.
From primary school, my mum would usually get called in when collecting me to be told I was getting 0 out of 10, in comparison to all the other children that meant I was falling drastically behind with my learning, which set her off into a panic most weeks.
My attention spam was a huge complication, so much so that I even had my own area to retrieve to called “Graces Corner.”
I would be guided into “Grace’s corner” when information was becoming too fuzzy and I couldn’t allow my mind to sit still. I would have to go out into the rectangular cloak room in primary school and have five minutes to be left alone and listen to my own thoughts, then an assistant teacher would come out and help explain everything I had missed in a more simplistic, broken format than the lesson had explained.
I used to look at this as a positive “I have my own corner and no one else does, that must mean i’m special”, yes, I was… but not in positive retrospect.
School proceeded to get more and more difficult, especially the older I got, as I grew more attitude with the things I couldn’t get the grip of as quickly as I wished I could.
I put my blame on the teachers and isolated myself from the idea that I could ever be a high -grade, succeeding student, because I felt I didn’t deserve the help needed to get me there.
But, I truly believe my stunted growth in self-development and confidence all stems from the teacher that bullied me in primary school.
I realised through my previous counselling sessions that actually, that teacher was an awful excuse of a woman and should have never been able to be a lead of authority to young, budding children.
I left these memories behind for a long time, but the psychological affects it’s had on me from supressing them for so long bubbled out recently.
I never saw this as bullying or even anything negative until recently trying to create this blog, something so personal to me and so raw that I burst out crying just before releasing it in a complete panic that it wasn’t enough and that I wasn’t enough.
It was not only the dreadful antics I had to endure during school with people forcing their opinion of me being incapable onto me, but there was a huge lack of self-belief and self-love that I developed along the way.
Only a few years ago in my early 20’s, I was talking to my mum about her life in school and found out we weren’t too dissimilar. She never thought she was clever enough to get good grades so she became the epiphany of “cool”.
She bunked off and smoked outside the school gates, dated the hot guys in the years above and was the socialite party goer with charismatic charm.
My mum was made redundant in the early 2015, from a company she had worked for, for over 13 years.
She was 58, out of a job, and in her own mind completely incompetent with where to start and how to get another one.
The more time I spent with her the more I realised just how much she didn’t believe in herself.
“I’m almost 60, I’m too old to be hired” “I don’t know how to do that job, what if I do it wrong?” or “it’s not as easy as 40 years ago when you just walked into a business in London and got the job the next day”.
By her promoting this unhealthy mentality towards herself, it all clicked into place that a little bit of my lacking self-belief stemmed from her.
I didn’t want to end up thinking I was incapable of doing things, and I certainly didn’t want her to keep thinking like that either, so slowly but surely, the family pulled together and helped navigate her into a more positive mind set about herself, by declaring all the wonderful things she was, through presenting the strength she lacked on the days she was feeling her weakest.
She became more positive within herself, and now through the struggle of temp work and job after job, jumping out of her comfort zone she is so much stronger for it.
My beautiful, strong Moomar
I wanted to push through to the opposing side like she had done and do everything I had set out in my mind to do because, if I didn’t like things or situations that manifested from my choices, then at-least I know, instead of dwelling, wishing and waiting for me to change my mind at a later basis.
I don’t know where I got this sudden go getter attitude from or how I even decided to turn all the negatives in my head into my fan club of voices that now say, “go on I dare you”. I suppose, I just realised I didn’t want to be living a life I wish I lived differently.
I often feel upset with myself that I have grown up to become such a sponge of a person, taking everyone’s opinion of myself completely to heart and always valuing that over what I truly understand to be me. However, I owe everyone who has ever projected their doubt onto me a huge thank you, I may have never had this awakening journey to becoming exactly who I’ve always wanted to be, by doing exactly what I’ve wanted to do, if it wasn’t for you.
More reason why I wanted to create a blog in the end was- I’m not perfect, nor is my style of writing or the structure in which I write, there are for sure words used in the wrong content and too many metaphors that jam pack a small sentence, or a sentence so long you have forgotten how it started, but whilst that’s going on my only intention with writing is delivering to you all of my thoughts from the core of my heart as though you were having a conversation with me in person. I wanted to keep the character of me alive through everything I write, which would have to mean it’s mostly incorrect because, well thats how I talk, but hey, they say practice makes perfect right?
It literally just goes to show that you are in charge of everything you put your mind to, you can do whatever you want with your life as long as you stop listening to the people who try and amend it for you to be something else.
Everyone has their own structures to them which assemble a unique story as to why they are them now, so please don’t waste your ideas or dreams on the cloud of doubt that we all have lingering in the background of our minds.
You are completely worthwhile with your own journey to tell, so start talking, even if you can’t spell the whole story correctly…as the saying goes, “It’s the thought that counts”.
CHEERS TO THAT