I’ve spent most of my life dancing with a label.
Dyslexia.
It’s a word that was whispered about me long before I understood what it meant. A word that followed me from classroom to classroom like a shadow I couldn’t quite shake. I was the child who stayed in at recess. The one who froze when called on to read out loud. The one who spent hours trying to decode sentences that never seemed to come as easily as they did for everyone else.
And yet, while my mind was stumbling over phonics and spelling tests, it was quietly spinning stories, imagining wild adventures, and picking up on things others didn’t always see. But no one gave that part of me a label. No one called that “gifted.” All they saw was the struggle.
When you grow up being defined by what you can’t do, it can take years—decades even—to fully believe in what you can.
But somewhere along the way, grace found me.
It found me in a college classroom, through the eyes of a professor who saw past the misspelled words and saw the fire in my soul. She called me brilliant. She told me I had something to say—and that the world needed to hear it.
That moment changed everything. Not overnight. Not without work. But it planted a truth so deep that it eventually began to grow. Slowly, I began to believe that my brain wasn’t broken—it was just built differently. Beautifully.
Since then, I’ve worn a lot of titles: teacher, wildlife rehabilitator, dog trainer, Realtor, author, and my favorite—mom. I’ve taught children to read. I’ve advocated for learners like me. I’ve held my daughter close and told her, “Mommy’s brain works differently, and that’s part of what makes her strong.”
And I’ve learned this:
You are not your label.
You are not your IEP or your reading level or the test scores tucked away in some file folder.
You are not your diagnosis.
You are not the moments you felt behind or less than or left out.
You are light. And brilliance. And fierce, God-given strength.
And sometimes, the very things the world sees as weaknesses are actually the beginning of your becoming.
So if you’re walking through your own dance with a label—or raising a child who is—know this: you are not alone. And you are not defined by what they say you are.
You are defined by who God made you to be.
And that truth is far greater than any label ever could be.
Raising Light 