Dyslexia, Shame, and the Myth of Intelligence

Sherman spent his early years in special education classes. He grew up believing he was dumb. It took him longer to process information, and his classmates made sure he knew it.

Sarah struggled to process what she heard. There was always a gap — between the words reaching her ears and the thoughts forming in her mind. Teachers and peers interpreted that gap as slowness. She told me, "They thought I was an idiot." She never fully shook that label.

Jamal knew by age eight that he was different. He repeated a grade, then was pulled into separate classes. Given computers when others were not, it was meant as support. Instead, it marked him as an outsider. His self-esteem collapsed, and he withdrew.

I've changed their names, but I know them well. They are physicians and nurses in leadership roles at my hospital. All have dyslexia. None of them knew it as children.

When people think of dyslexia, they think of letter reversals or sloppy reading. In reality, it reflects differences in how the brain processes language — affecting decoding, memory, and fluency. It is not a measure of intelligence. Reputable sources estimate that, worldwide, 5–10% of people have dyslexia, though many are never diagnosed.

What they often share is not low ability, but repeated failure — and humiliation — early in school. Children who cannot read quickly learn to hide it, act out, or disengage. Some are mislabeled as behavioral problems; others are quietly left behind. Early reading difficulty is strongly linked to school failure, dropout, and even later involvement with the justice system. These are not inevitable outcomes. They are the result of missed opportunities to intervene.

Reading is not an instinctive skill; it must be taught. For children with dyslexia, it needs to be taught differently — with structured, evidence-based methods that help kids hear and manipulate individual sounds, instead of teaching whole-word recognition without understanding sound structure. We have known how to do this for decades. We often fail to.

Instead, we continue to mock those with dyslexia. Consider President Trump's recent public comments bullying California Governor Gavin Newsom over his dyslexia. Four times in one week, Trump told the public that a person with a learning disability couldn't be president. Of Newsom, he said, "Everything about him is dumb." Dyslexia has nothing to do with intelligence or leadership ability. Newsom has led a state whose economy, if it were a country, would rank fourth in the world. Trump's comments are not only inappropriate — they are dangerous.

If anything, many people with dyslexia develop unusual strengths — resilience, problem-solving, creativity — precisely because they have had to navigate a world not built for how they learn.

Sherman, Sarah, and Jamal are not exceptions. They are examples of persistence and hard work.

The real failure is not dyslexia. It is a system that mistakes difference for deficiency — and misses the window to help children before shame takes hold.

We can do better.

— Dr. Michael Wilkes with a Second Opinion

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