I’m an adult woman with dyspraxia – realising that changed my life

Reframing my failings as “symptoms” changed everything. I spent a lot of my life wondering why I was so shit at everything. I didn’t have another word for it. I didn’t understand how I could really, really try, but still spill coffee everywhere, be unable to sign a birthday card neatly, be unable to unlock my front door first time. Or why I am always covered in bruises; why I find loud noises so distressing that I have to abandon my shopping basket and flee Boots when a grating song comes on; why gusty wind feels like a personal attack; why dancing with anyone sends me into a panic; why I can’t walk through a doorway without knocking a gangly limb; why I have to back into a corner in bars or restaurants to tuck myself out of the way, because otherwise I’ll bump into people or spill things or spend my entire evening worried I’m about to. At my lowest moments, this is what it felt like to be me: imagine if every single thing you did went to shit. Imagine if the entire world was too bright, too loud, too fast and too close.

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