When the Letters Danced — Welcome to My World

I’m not saying that everyone in the stories I share, or the things I touch on, are all like this in the world—but let’s just be honest: not everyone out there is kind. There are people who hurt others, and there are people who help heal others. You’ll see both sides here—the good and the bad—because that’s the truth of life.

But no matter what, I promise to always keep it real with you.
If my truth makes you uncomfortable, that’s okay. This space isn’t about pretending—it’s about truth. My truth. The way I saw and lived things through my eyes.

It hasn’t all been bad. I’ve had some incredible people in my life too—teachers, mentors, and beautiful souls who saw something in me when I couldn’t see it myself. Some of them became like second mothers to me. Out of privacy and respect, I’ll never name them—but if you’re reading this and recognize yourself in my story, I hope you know how much you mattered.

As a little girl growing up with severe dyslexia, my world looked nothing like everyone else’s. I didn’t just see words — I saw movement, confusion, color, and noise. The letters wouldn’t stay still. They danced, twisted, and switched places like they were alive. Every sentence was a storm I had to survive.

You’ll begin to see through my dyslexic eyes — to hear words the way I hear them, to watch how they blur and shift until the meaning almost disappears. I want you to feel what it’s like when a single word becomes a puzzle, when your heart starts racing because you know the teacher might call on you next, and you’re praying you don’t mess up or look stupid. That was me — scared, smart, misunderstood, and just trying to keep up in a world that didn’t understand me.

My journey changed when my parents made a choice that I believe saved my life. They sacrificed and did something selfless — they put me into a private school when I was young. If they hadn’t made that decision all those years ago, I know I wouldn’t be here today writing this blog or my memoir. That moment gave me a fighting chance at life — a chance to find my voice and believe that I was more than my struggles.

I’ll forever be thankful for the teachers who gave me hope, patience, and the belief that I could learn, just in my own way. They saw something in me when the rest of the world didn’t.

The school that changed everything for me was The Winston School San Antonio — a place built for students like me, who needed to be understood, not judged. They didn’t just teach me letters and words; they helped me rebuild my confidence, one step at a time. I’ll always be grateful for that chapter of my life and the people who were part of it.

And I’ll also be sharing what it was like watching my parents fight for me every step of the way — how important that was for me as a child. They never ignored my dyslexia, never treated me as less, and never acted ashamed of me. They loved me through it. They made sure I knew I wasn’t broken or different — just unique.
That love and support gave me strength, because I knew they were on my side when the world didn’t always understand. That’s what schools need to see — what they should have seen when I was growing up. Kids like me should never have been separated or labeled. We didn’t need to be pulled out and made to feel different; we needed to be believed in, accepted, and taught with patience and understanding.
Because we are not wild animals that need to be locked in a cage because we can’t be tamed — or made to feel like we only belong inside a circle while the rest of the world moves freely around us. We are human. We are capable. We just learn differently.

I’ll be real with you — dyslexia is an invisible disorder. You can’t see it, and that’s what makes it so hard. Teachers, even the kind ones, often looked at me and thought I didn’t have a problem. They couldn’t see how hard I was fighting just to get through one lesson, one page, one day.

Over the years, I’ve taught myself tricks — little ways to survive the day without breaking down, quitting, or throwing up from the anxiety that came with reading out loud. I’ve learned how to adapt, how to make it through life even when the world wasn’t built for the way my brain works.

I’ve often joked with the few people I trust the most — my closest circle — that my life could have been made into a movie. Because truthfully, the things I’ve experienced and lived through are things most people would never believe if there hadn’t been witnesses there to see it.
There’s one story in particular that still feels unreal even to me. When I was put into special reading classes in middle school — separate from the others — it made me stand out in ways that were dangerous. By eighth grade, I ended up on a hit list. A gang at school put a hit out on me, and I had to be escorted by a special officer every day just to stay safe. Once again, out of privacy and respect, I’ll never name names — but if you’re reading this, you know who you are, and you’ll forever hold a place in my heart.

That story is one I’ll be sharing more deeply in another post soon — and trust me, that one’s emotional. It’s a story that’ll make you see how strong a child has to be just to survive when the world turns cruel. It’s also a reminder why kids with learning disabilities should never be treated differently, because the way we’re treated shapes the kind of adults we become.
So don’t miss that one — it’s a hard one, but a healing one too.

That experience taught me something powerful: children with learning disabilities deserve to be treated equally, not differently. We don’t need to be pulled out of classrooms and labeled just to be taught how to read. We need understanding, not separation.

Through this blog, I want to share those pieces of me. The real parts. The things that might help a parent understand their child a little more, or give a teacher a better way to reach a student who’s struggling silently. Maybe something I’ve learned along the way will help someone else keep fighting too.

I’m also going to open up about what it’s like being a dyslexic mother raising a son with dyslexia. The struggles, the small victories, the tears behind closed doors — all of it. It’s one thing to live it as a child, but it’s another to guide your own child through that same storm. There’s a deep kind of understanding that comes from walking that road together, and I want to share what that looks and feels like from both sides — the child and the mother.

Believe it or not, this is all new for me. I’ve always been an outgoing person who loves others with my whole heart — sometimes too much. And because of that, I’ve been taken advantage of, hurt deeply, and left wondering how people can find pleasure in causing pain. At times, my life has felt like a TV series, one episode after another of things you wouldn’t believe. But every single experience I’ve endured has shaped me into who I am today — unbreakable.

Maybe throughout my life, others have seen me as an easy target — like I had a bullseye on my back. But once again, they never really saw me. They saw what they wanted to see, not who I truly am. And that’s on them. Because the very thing they couldn’t see were all the best parts of me — my heart, my faith, my light.

Through it all, God has never left my side. He’s carried me through battles I didn’t think I’d survive. My family, and the few trusted people in my closest circle, they see me. They know my heart. And that’s what matters most. No matter what others say or do, I’m backed by love that’s stronger than any hate.
And I’m not afraid — because I’m a child of God, and He’s fought every battle I’ve ever faced. Every scar, every heartbreak, every trial… He turned it into strength.

Because of that, I’ve learned to become more private, to guard parts of myself. So opening up here isn’t easy. But I’m doing it anyway — because I believe there’s healing in honesty, and purpose in pain.

I grew up as a little girl with severe dyslexia. I’m not a doctor, not a textbook expert—just someone who’s lived and breathed every bit of this journey. And I never imagined I’d be here today, writing a blog or publishing a book with ten chapters. But here I am—proof that faith, grit, and honesty can turn pain into purpose.

So, welcome to my world—where the letters still dance, but now, they tell my story.

Author’s Note

Thank you for taking the time to read my very first blog post. Writing this wasn’t easy, but it’s my truth — the good, the bad, and everything in between. I’m sharing pieces of my heart here in hopes that maybe someone out there will feel a little less alone after reading it.

If you’re a parent, a teacher, a student, or just someone trying to understand what it’s like living with dyslexia — welcome. You’re in the right place. I’ll be sharing more stories, lessons I’ve learned the hard way, and things I wish someone had told me when I was that scared little girl just trying to keep up.

And yes — that story about the gang hit? You’ll want to come back for that one. It’s emotional, it’s hard, but it’s real. And it changed the way I see the world forever.

This is just giving you a little glimpse of what’s to come in the near future — my vision, my truth, and my hope for what this blog will grow into. I want this space to become a place of healing, connection, and understanding, where stories like mine open eyes and soften hearts.

But most of all, out of everything I want from this, it’s to be the light for others — to bring hope, comfort, and maybe even a little help to someone who needs it most.

This is a safe space. You’re welcome to reach out, ask questions, or even share your own story with me. I want this blog to be more than just words — I want it to be a place where we see each other, really see each other, through love, understanding, and truth.

From my heart to yours,
Brandy Lawhon