When I was a kid, books were my sanctuary. I would stay up late into the night, flashlight in hand, eagerly devouring the adventures of Ramona the Brave, The B.F.G., The Babysitters Club, Sweet Valley High, Anne of Green Gables, The Chronicles of Narnia, and so many more. These stories were my world, my escape, my joy.
When I became a mother, I was bursting with excitement at the thought of sharing these beloved tales with my children. I couldn’t wait for the day when my daughter would pick up a book and experience the same thrill I did.
That anticipation grew as she entered kindergarten. I envisioned her coming home with a backpack full of books, excited to read together. But that moment never came. She showed no interest in books, no spark in her eyes when we read together. I chalked it up to the disruptions of COVID—no formal preschool, limited social interaction, and the general chaos of the times. We read when we could, but I didn’t push it. After all, everything I read suggested that kids learn to read at different ages, from kindergarten to age eight or nine. No harm, no foul, right?
But as kindergarten progressed, it became clear that something was off. My daughter started to fall behind her peers in reading. We blamed it on many things—two years without preschool, a wrong glasses prescription, changing schools—but by the end of the year, she wasn’t where she needed to be. The gap between her and her classmates grew, and I knew I had to do something.
So, I did what any Type-A mom would do: I got her a reading tutor. I was determined that my child would be ready for first grade by the end of the summer. The tutor was excellent—highly recommended, kind, and experienced. She worked with my daughter and even with my son, who was about to start kindergarten. By the fall of 2022, my son was reading chapter books. My daughter, a full year older, struggled to read at a kindergarten level.
By then, it was clear: we had a problem. My first-grade daughter was barely reading, and despite all the tutoring, her progress was minimal. As a woman of action, I wanted her assessed for a learning disability immediately to find her the right help as soon as possible. But we were met with resistance. “It’s too early for a definitive diagnosis,” they said. “You’re overreacting.”
But I knew better. The months dragged on, and my daughter fell further and further behind. She even hid her homework in her cubby for nine weeks because it was too hard. Tutoring felt like a band-aid on a gushing wound. Desperation set in, and I decided to have her privately assessed. Within a few weeks, we had our answer: dyslexia and a processing delay.
I sighed with relief—finally, some answers. But as any parent in this situation knows, the diagnosis is just the beginning. I dove headfirst into research, buying every book I could find on teaching a dyslexic child. I was determined to help her. But months later, after thousands of dollars spent on private tutors and reading programs, she was still behind.
Then, I found hope in the most unexpected place—TikTok. I connected with an Orton-Gillingham trained specialist who came highly recommended. It might sound unconventional, but this was the turning point. We enrolled our daughter in her program and finally saw real progress. Our daughter, who once couldn’t read, now reads every night. She is still struggling and is not reading at a third-grade level yet, but her progress is amazing.
This journey has been long and hard, filled with frustration, tears, and countless setbacks. But it’s also been a journey of resilience, determination, and the discovery of a new kind of love for books—a love born not of ease but of effort and perseverance.
My daughter may not be reading the classics yet, but she is on her way. And that, for me, is the greatest adventure of all.
