I remember being told I was “on a slow boat to China” at school. I didn’t even know what it meant at the time — but the way it was said made it clear it wasn’t meant kindly. It stuck with me, not because I understood it, but because I felt it. It summed up how school made me feel for a long time: slow, behind, and not quite good enough.
I left primary school with a reading age of seven.
But here’s the thing — I don’t think that was my fault. I think that was because of the system. There was a special needs teacher who only came once a week, and my learning style just wasn’t being supported properly at school. If anything, it was my mum and dad who really made the difference.
I got my hearing aids just before my 10th birthday. I know that for certain, because my sister wasn’t allowed to get her ears pierced until she turned 11 — but I got mine done at 10. I was so self-conscious about wearing hearing aids that my parents agreed I could have my ears pierced early, and my sister wasn’t too pleased about that! But for me, it helped me feel a little less “different” at a time when I already felt like I stood out in all the wrong ways.
Things started to shift in secondary school. With hearing aids and the right help, I finally had some support. And with a lot of hard work, I managed to take all but one GCSE by the time I was 16. My parents were incredible advocates. They paid privately for a dyslexia test, but the result came back inconclusive — why? Because I couldn’t read well enough for them to even finish the assessment. 🤦♀️
Every test after that put me somewhere on the borderline. Always struggling, always almost qualifying. That continued into my NVQ in beauty therapy. But the real turning point came at university.
I nearly failed my first year — not because I didn’t understand the content, but because I struggled so much with writing essays. It made sense when I stopped to think about it. In secondary school, you’re taught essay skills alongside developing reading fluency. But I was still learning to read. I never got the foundation that others had, so I was thrown into GCSEs without the scaffolding that helps neurotypical learners thrive.
In fact, I remember some classmates doing GCSE English alongside a remedial English class. I often wonder if I’d had access to more tailored help, maybe I’d have had less shame and struggle around my learning. Instead, when I hit my first real academic wall at uni, I was horrified and embarrassed.
But I will never forget what one of my university lecturers said to me:
“You’re on your final chance for this module, and I want to help. Give me your essay a month early, and I’ll support you through it.”
She then booked an appointment with me two days after her due date — not the official hand-in date — so it was still a month early. She gave me the structure, reassurance, and belief that I needed. Then, after reading it, she said:
“Laura, I’ve no doubt at all. You are dyslexic. Let’s get it formalised.”
Everything made sense after that. And with tools like Dragon Dictation, the Notes app, and ClaroSpeak, I finally had the support I needed. I didn’t just pass. I thrived. I walked across that graduation stage with a Bachelor of Science Honours Degree in Podiatry — and I was so proud of myself.
And now? Now I’m here. Writing blogs every day. Helping others who’ve gone through birth trauma, those who are neurodivergent, or parents raising premature babies. I never imagined this is where that “slow boat” would take me. But I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Because it turns out — slow boats still arrive. And sometimes, they’re stronger for the journey.
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