When the Struggle Finally Had a Name
College Alumni of Endicott College
A Personal Story By Morgan Sebastian:
I first learned I had dyslexia at the end of sixth grade, and the moment brought with it a whirlwind of emotions: relief, acceptance, frustration, and even happiness. For half of my school career, I had struggled in silence, carrying a quiet weight of confusion and self-doubt. Each school year only deepened those feelings. I didn’t understand why I worked harder than my classmates yet fell behind. I didn’t understand why reading and writing felt like scaling a mountain when others seemed to float effortlessly. I just knew that something wasn’t clicking, and I feared there was something wrong with me.
When the diagnosis finally came, it was like a light switched on in a dark room. Relief washed over me because suddenly, the constant struggle had a reason. Acceptance followed quickly; finally, there was a name for the way my brain worked, a piece of my identity I had been missing. But that relief was tinged with frustration, thinking of the years I had spent without the support I desperately needed. And then there was happiness, because for the first time, I could see a path forward, a way to understand myself and learn strategies that would allow me to thrive.
Before my diagnosis, school was exhausting in ways that went far beyond the normal. I was smart, hardworking, and determined, yet I constantly felt like I was swimming against a current I couldn’t see. Homework would take hours, hours spent crying at the kitchen table with my mom, hours spent in tutoring sessions that seemed to go nowhere. Even when I did my best, it never felt enough. I loved sports and being with friends, but I couldn’t be fully present. My mind was always on the next assignment, the next test, the next moment of feeling behind. Exhaustion became normal, frustration became routine, and my confidence slowly chipped away.
My teachers were a mixed bag. Some cared, some didn’t, but very few had the training or tools to help a neurodiverse student like me. One teacher in particular didn’t believe in dyslexia and refused to provide the accommodations my IEP guaranteed. That experience was more than just discouraging; it was damaging. It showed me the immense harm that can be done when someone in a position of authority is unwilling or unable to adapt. At the same time, it ignited in me a deep understanding of what it means to truly advocate for students, and later inspired me to pursue work supporting children with learning differences.
Socially, it wasn’t easy either. I faced verbal bullying from classmates, and the feelings of shame and inadequacy followed me home. I knew I was falling behind academically, though I didn’t fully understand how far. In response, I pushed myself harder, even as it drained me, leaving me exhausted, frustrated, and often in tears. I didn’t yet realize that my worth wasn’t defined by my grades or how quickly I could read a page of text.
Everything changed when I switched schools. I was nervous, I carried fear and excitement in equal measure, but the environment was transformative. The teachers were trained, understanding, and genuinely supportive. For the first time, I felt capable, smart, and truly seen. Academically, I advanced multiple grade levels over the years, learned countless strategies, and discovered a love for learning that had previously eluded me. Socially, it took time to find my place. Classes were small, commutes long, and it took a few years to build a community. But the challenges were worth it. I gained grit, perseverance, and a sense of self-confidence I had never known. I am forever grateful to my family who made extraordinary sacrifices so I could attend a school designed to support me and my learning.
What kept me going during the toughest times was recognizing how privileged I was to have these opportunities. So many students never receive the support they need, and they grow up thinking they are incapable. I was lucky, and I refused to squander that chance. That determination became a cornerstone of my identity, shaping the person I am today.
Dyslexia has, ultimately, become a superpower rather than a limitation. It has taught me creativity, empathy, resilience, and an extraordinary work ethic. When I interned as a school therapist at the Carroll School, a school for students with dyslexia and language-based learning differences, I fell in love with their motto: “Great minds think differently.” I truly believe it. Being different is not a weakness; it’s a gift. It shapes perspective, builds character, and allows for strengths others may not see.
To a student just beginning this journey, I would say: it is okay to feel every emotion, anger, sadness, and frustration. But do not let those feelings hold you back. Use them as fuel to prove to yourself, and to anyone who doubts you, that you are capable, resilient, and brilliant.
To parents, I would say: the path is hard, but your support is priceless. You are shaping your child’s confidence, independence, and future success in ways that will last a lifetime.
Looking back, I realize that every struggle, every late night, every tear shed over homework, shaped me. Dyslexia taught me perseverance, resilience, and self-awareness. It allowed me to turn challenges into strengths and doubt into determination. What once felt like a limitation has become the lens through which I see my own potential, and the force that drives me to embrace every opportunity. My difference is my advantage, my passion, and my superpower, and it has made all the difference in who I am today.