Diagnosed with dyslexia at eight, Madeleine Morley grew up questioning her intelligence, her eyesight and even whether her diagnosis was real. Her account examines four persistent misconceptions about dyslexia, and the damage they can do when adults mistake a reading difficulty for a personal failing.
This is an adapted personal essay. The separately labelled evidence notes were added by URevolution.
Before I could read, I knew that books would take me on journeys. But when I was old enough to sit down with a book, something vital escaped me. Whenever I attempted to read out loud with my parents, pages became thick, stony and impenetrable. I couldn’t make sense of the units of conjoined letters, and knitting words together didn’t transform the world around me. Instead, it felt like wading through wet concrete.
When I was eight years old, a schoolteacher suggested that I might have dyslexia, which a test confirmed. Then began the painstaking process of sounding out words with a tutor after school, phoneme by phoneme.
Sometimes I thought that I just wasn’t that smart, or that there might actually be something wrong with my eyes. At other moments, I grew convinced that this ‘dyslexia’ thing was actually a giant ruse.
None of that was true, but in retrospect, it’s unsurprising that I picked up on these particular ideas. Myths about dyslexia are deeply entrenched, and the following misconceptions have profoundly shaped the early experiences of those with the learning disability.
1. Dyslexia means low intelligence
In 1896, 14-year-old Percy F was taken by his father to see Dr William Pringle Morgan, a doctor working in Seaford, Sussex. Percy struggled to learn to read, although Morgan described him as “bright and intelligent”. His case became an early British account of developmental dyslexia, then described as congenital word blindness.
The concern of parents like Percy’s father reflected the growing importance of literacy in the late 19th century. The first appearances of dyslexia as a diagnosis in Britain corresponded with the advent of compulsory schooling. Parents worried about their children’s futures, and the diagnosis became entangled with the suspicion that they were trying to conceal a lack of intelligence.
Whenever I read poetry in middle school, going over and over each twisted line, in the back of my mind I had the feeling that dyslexia might just be a nicer way of saying I was actually “dense”. This feeling was so overwhelming that I didn’t yet realise how, through the support of my patient parents and daily exercises, books were slowly opening up for me.
2. Dyslexia is a “middle-class myth”
In high school, the feeling that dyslexia might not actually exist at all began to creep up on me. My dad had occasionally joked that it was all a “middle-class illusion”, having grown up in a working-class context in which access to information about invisible disabilities, like learning difficulties and mental illness, was near impossible to come by.
Like ADHD, dyslexia has long been thought of as a “middle-class myth”, lending certain children an excuse for their poor grades or an additional leg up in exams, such as extra time and the use of computers.
Historically, families with money were better placed to obtain recognition and specialist help. Campaigning and the growth of dyslexia organisations during the 1960s and 1970s helped widen recognition in Britain. Yet that association with more affluent families became another reason to question whether dyslexia existed at all.
That scepticism makes it harder for students from all backgrounds to receive attention.
3. Dyslexia is an eyesight problem
Whenever I’d start answering a question during an exam, paragraphs and paragraphs of writing would flow out from me. I’d leave the room so excited – I’d definitely done it this time. But the next day, my teacher would call me over. What I’d written was great, she’d say, but I didn’t answer the question at all.
I’d reread the exam prompt a couple of times and swear it had said something different yesterday. Was there something wrong with my eyes?
Early researchers used the phrase “word blindness”. The name encouraged a visual explanation of reading difficulties, even though the problem could not simply be explained by poor eyesight.
What did “word blindness” mean?
“Word blindness” is historical terminology used for reading difficulties, including what researchers later distinguished as acquired and developmental conditions. It is not a modern diagnosis of poor vision or a precise substitute for every form of dyslexia.
4. A special font or coloured overlay will fix dyslexia
At some point in my schooling, maybe when exam prompts were shapeshifting before my eyes, I was given a set of transparent colour overlays by a teacher and advised to use certain specialised fonts when on the computer. These measures, I was told, would help prevent letters from swimming and turning.
I was too embarrassed to admit that I never saw letters spin or that these coloured sheets did nothing to help. This might reveal, I feared, that I didn’t have dyslexia after all, or, even worse, that I was a lost cause. These aids can add to the frustration and confusion, and give some students, like myself, false hope and very real disappointment.
When disabilities are invisible, they’re often more difficult to define and more susceptible to suspicion. Having taken root and developed slowly over time, these misconceptions of dyslexia distorted my own comprehension of my diagnosis.
It was never my eyes, never my intellect, and never a cover-up. With the right support, my reading improved and I went on to study English at university. Like other disabilities of its kind, dyslexia has always been difficult to read.
What useful support looks like
Additional context from URevolution: Support should respond to the person’s difficulties, rather than requiring them to match a familiar stereotype. The IDA’s current definition stresses that identification and targeted teaching matter at any age, with particular value in early language and literacy support.
Presentation matters too. The British Dyslexia Association’s style guide recommends readable type, adequate spacing and avoiding long stretches of capital letters or italics. Offer usable text and ask about preferences. Do not make someone prove that a fashionable font works for them before you take their needs seriously.
For another individual account, read James Gentry on growing up with learning disabilities and finding support. His experience differs from Madeleine’s; that is part of the point. If the terminology is unfamiliar, our guide explains the difference between neurodivergent and neurodiverse.
Source and adaptation: Adapted from “Dyslexia and its misconceptions” by Madeleine Morley, first published by Wellcome Collection on 9 February 2022, under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International licence. URevolution changes the introduction and headings, condenses historical material, and adds separately labelled evidence notes and further reading. These additions are URevolution’s editorial work; they do not imply endorsement by Madeleine Morley or Wellcome Collection.
