Through My Eyes: What Reading Feels Like When the Letters Won’t Sit Still

Sme days the wrolds on the page just won’t sit qiuet.

They dannce, they jumpp, they twist on me lik they got a mind of thire own.
And pepole think it’s jus reading.
But to me?
It’s like trying to catch butterflise in a bloddy windstorm.

I want you—yes you—to reead tihs the way I have to fight thro a page.

Slow.
Stummbling.
Guessing.
Backing up.
Losing your plase.
Finding it agian.
Feeling dumb even when you KNOW you're not.

Let’s go…

Wen I Look At a Page, It Nevver Sats Sttill

The lettters swril, jumble, and somtims they even trade places.

A “b” turns into a “d.”
A “p” becums a “q.”
A word I just read?
Gone. Slipped away like it ran off the papper.

You ever trie to read with the whole page shaking a little?
Or like the words are breathing?
Growing?
Shrinking?
Falling of the line?

This is whut it looks like in my mind:

regdaing
raeding
reading

I know what it should say…
but my brane makes me work for it.

The Page Doesn’t Say What You Think It Says

When I look at a page, I don’t see clean lines and neat letters.

I see:

breathing words
shaking lines
letters slipping off the edge
sentences melting into each other

Sometimes a word feels so close—
right there—
and yet it’s like trying to hold mist.

Here’s what a simple thought becomes:

I wnat to undrsetand.
I reallly do.
But the wrods move,
the lettters changhe,
the lnies bnend,
and my heart sinks becaus I kno it shoudln’t be this hard.

If reading felt unfair to you just now—
good.
That’s the point.

THE PAGE DOESN’T SIT STILL. IT DOESN’T CARE.

People say “just read.”
But they don’t see what the page does the moment I look at it.

The letters start to:

breath
blur
buckle
bned
boiunce
twist
tumnble
slippp
shrinnk
streetch

A clean line turns into a storm.

A simple word turns into a fight.

This is what one word can look like to me:

feels
fels
fells
flse
flesl
feeeIs

The real word is in there somewhere—
hiding, teasing, skipping away like it thinks it’s funny.

NOW READ THIS PART LIKE I SEE IT — DON’T FIX IT

And don’t you dare let your brain autocorrect it.
Let the confusion soak in:

Smoetiems I fele like the page is laughin at me,
beacus the mnore I try to frce the wrods to be still,
the mroe they just won’t.
They dnnace aorund like littel shdows,
flliping and swrling unil I lose my plcce
agian, and agian, and AGIAN.

And evrey time I go bakc to the bgeinning
I fele a litlte bit smalelr,
like the page is wnning
adn I’m jsut tryng to katch up.

Did your head tilt?
Did your eyes ache?
Did you lose your place?
Did you get annoyed?
Did you want to quit?

I don’t get to quit.
I have to read through the swirl.

THIS IS WHERE THE EMOTION HITS

By the time I decode a paragraph,
everyone else is already done.

Their brains glide.
Mine fights.

Their eyes skim.
Mine tremble.

Their page is quiet.
Mine is alive, loud, disobedient.

And when I was younger?

My cheeks burned red.
My heart pounded.
My hands got sweaty under the desk.
Not from reading—
but from shame.

Because I knew what was coming:

The sighs.
The eye rolls.
The whispers.
The teachers thinking I wasn’t trying hard enough.
Kids calling me slow.
People assuming I wasn’t smart.

But they didn’t know that I was using
three times the energy
just to stand in the same place as everyone else.

THIS IS THE PART I NEED YOU TO FEEL

I’m not asking for pity.
I’m asking for understanding.

Because when dyslexic kids say:

“The words move.”
“The letters change.”
“The page won’t let me read.”

We aren’t being dramatic.
We’re telling you the truth the only way we can.

Here’s how one sentence can feel in my brain:

I want to read it.
I try to read it.
The page won’t let me.

BUT HERE’S WHAT YOU NEVER SEE IN THE STRUGGLE

You never see that after all the flipping, swirling, falling letters…

I still rise.
I still learn.
I still understand.
I still see the world with a different kind of brilliance.

Because dyslexia doesn’t break you.
It remakes you.

It builds:

* creativity
* emotional depth
* problem-solving
* compassion
* grit
* imagination
* resilience that glows in the dark

Our minds aren’t messy—
they are magic, rearranged.