The Unseen Hurdle: How a Late Diagnosis Rewrote My Academic Story

For years, a frustration simmered beneath the surface of my academic life. As an undergraduate ecology student, I poured hours into my studies, meticulously preparing for exams and assignments. Yet, the results rarely seemed to reflect the effort. I’d watch peers, who seemingly coasted, achieve higher grades, leaving me questioning my own intelligence and capability. It was a lonely and demoralising experience, one that chipped away at my self-esteem and love for learning. What I didn't know then was that I was fighting a battle with unseen adversaries: undiagnosed dyslexia and dyspraxia.

My university experience was dominated by summative assessments, primarily timed essays in exam conditions. While these formats are meant to gauge understanding, for me, they were often a source of intense anxiety and bewildering outcomes. I now understand why. The very nature of these tasks played directly into the weaknesses I wasn't even aware I possessed. Literature points to the significant impact dyslexia can have on vocabulary, spelling, and handwriting, all of which can impede academic progress. Difficulties with organisation, composition, and even the speed of writing are common – all hurdles in a timed essay environment.

It wasn't until my postgraduate studies, when a tutor noticed consistent grammatical errors in a lengthy assignment, that the possibility of a specific learning difficulty was raised. The subsequent screening, revealing traits of both dyslexia and dyspraxia, was a watershed moment. It was like finding a missing piece of a puzzle I’d been struggling with for years. Suddenly, so many of my past struggles began to make sense.

The assessment report laid bare some of the cognitive challenges I'd been unknowingly grappling with. For instance, my performance on the DA Digit Memory Test, a measure of auditory working memory, was in the low average range. My score corresponded to the 18th percentile for my age group. This meant my working memory capacity, as assessed by this particular test, was comparable to or exceeded that of only 18% of people my age. The report concluded this demonstrated a limitation in this cognitive area. This specific finding resonated deeply. The difficulty in holding and manipulating information, especially under pressure, explained so much about my exam experiences. I would meticulously plan my essays, breaking down questions and brainstorming key points. Yet, vital information would often slip away, only to resurface when the main body of the essay was already written, leading to a disjointed structure. My free writing speed was also found to be 33% below the expected average, and under pressure, the clarity of my writing decreased, with more words being omitted.

This wasn't just about academic scores; it was about my sense of self. I’d always been punctual, assertive in lectures, and dedicated to independent revision. The disconnect between my effort and the outcome was profoundly damaging. I developed a perfectionist streak, setting impossibly high standards for myself. When I inevitably fell short, the self-criticism was relentless, eroding my motivation and fostering a sense of anxiety and procrastination. The Davis Dyslexia Association International notes that many dyslexic students exhibit these perfectionistic tendencies and the associated negative attributes. This was my reality.

The diagnosis was, in many ways, a relief. It validated my experiences and allowed me to reframe my academic journey. I wasn't unintelligent or incapable; I simply learned differently and faced challenges that required a greater work ethic for literacy-based tasks. The knowledge that my brain was wired differently allowed me to be kinder to myself, to accept that reading and writing would take more energy and time.

If I had known earlier, my undergraduate experience could have been so different. Access to special educational needs support, like extra time in exams and proofreading assistance, would have levelled the playing field. More importantly, understanding and accepting my specific learning difficulties would have lessened the burden of perfectionism and self-criticism. My approach to revision would have changed too – focusing on shorter, more regular study periods and placing greater emphasis on prewriting strategies, which Worden (2009) found corresponded to higher assessment scores.

This journey hasn’t just changed my view of myself as a learner; it has profoundly shaped my perspective as an aspiring educator. I am now acutely aware of the detrimental impacts of undiagnosed learning difficulties, not just on academic performance, but on mental health. While I believe diagnostic tools and support systems have improved, there is always more to be done, particularly, as Carter (2014) suggests, in developing writing pedagogy for students with specific learning difficulties.

My story is a testament to the fact that academic success isn't solely about effort or intelligence in the traditional sense. It's also about understanding how we learn and having the right support to navigate our unique cognitive landscapes. The diagnosis may have come late, but it has empowered me to move forward with a greater understanding of myself and a deeper empathy for others who may be facing their own unseen hurdles.