My Dyslexia Was Never the Problem — My Beliefs Were

If you’d told me a few years ago that I’d be writing a book, I would have laughed.
Not because I didn’t want to — but because I genuinely believed I couldn’t.

I’m dyslexic.
And for most of my life, that label shaped what I thought I was capable of.

At school, writing made me feel small.
I’d avoid reading out loud, triple-check every word, and shrink when teachers marked my spelling in red.
I learned to express myself through movement, animals, and feeling — not through words on a page.

And while that gave me a deep understanding of energy, communication, and intuition (especially with horses), it also planted a quiet belief:

I’m not smart enough to write.

That belief followed me into adulthood.
Even as I built my business, travelled the world, and spoke confidently to hundreds of people, writing still felt like a place I didn’t belong.

But something shifted this year.
I stopped waiting to “feel ready” and just started.
One word. One thought. One story at a time.

Fast-forward to now — I’ve written 17,600 words of my book.
And I’m enjoying every part of it.

The irony?
Writing has become one of the most creative, healing, and freeing things I’ve ever done.

When I stopped focusing on how perfectly I wrote, and started focusing on what I wanted to say, everything opened up.
The flow, the emotion, the truth — it all came through naturally once I got out of my own way.

My dyslexia used to feel like a limitation.
Now I see it as my superpower.

It’s what helps me:

• Think differently.

• Feel more deeply.

• Explain things through emotion and connection rather than structure and rules.

And honestly, that’s what makes my writing real.

For so long, I thought I had to fit into the way others wrote, spoke, or learned.
But the truth is — the only limit was me.

If you’ve ever told yourself you can’t do something because of how your brain works, I hope this reminds you that your way might be the exact thing that makes your voice powerful.

We don’t need to write like everyone else.
We just need to tell the truth — in our own language.

Because when we do, people don’t see the spelling mistakes.
They feel the message.

And that’s what writing — and connection — is really about.

The book I’m writing is about everything horses have taught me — presence, patience, and the power of awareness.
But somewhere along the way, the writing process began teaching me the same lessons.

It’s reminding me to slow down, stay curious, and trust my voice — even when it feels uncomfortable.

If you’ve ever doubted your abilities, I hope this serves as proof that your difference isn’t your weakness.
It’s your way in.