The Twelve Pages of My Own Cheerleader : Memoir Shard (Nutshell version)

 

The Twelve Pages of My Own Cheerleader - memoir shard.

(Updated, May 2025)

1. The Spill

I didn’t spill out until menopause cracked me open. My body spoke a language I didn’t yet understand, and the words I needed weren’t built for me.

2. The Dismissal

I went to the doctors with everything I had — my symptoms, my fear, my truth — and woman after woman sent me away. They didn’t hear me. They didn’t see me. They didn’t understand the urgency under my anger.

3. The Lid That Wouldn’t Stay On

I tried to contain it. I tried to be polite, calm, reasonable. But the lid blew off. My truth refused to stay small.

4. The Diagnosis I Never Understood

Dyslexia in 2006 was handed to me like a label, not a language. I thought it meant I couldn’t spell. I didn’t know it meant my brain worked differently, beautifully, powerfully.

5. The Words That Never Came

No wonder I couldn’t explain myself to the doctors. Dyslexia isn’t stupidity. Dyslexia is a different operating system. I was 52 when I finally understood that.

6. The Carer Who Forgot Herself

I was always the giver, the helper, the one who showed up. My time never mattered. My needs were always last. Hypervigilance disguised as kindness.

7. The Girl Who Failed Everything

I left school at 16 with every exam failed. I tried. I tried so hard. French, typing, anything that might open a door. But the doors were built for brains that weren’t mine.

8. The Woman Who Taught Herself

No books, no money, no time, a young family — but I still learned. In 2016–17 I taught myself the basics of computers. I built a new literacy out of stubbornness and survival.

9. The Power of the Written Word

Podcasts, books, voices from Canada and America — they armed me with knowledge. And knowledge armed me with language. And language armed me with power.

10. The Doctors Who Still Didn’t Listen

No two dyslexics are the same. No two perimenopausal women are the same. But the system treats us like templates. They missed the ADHD. They missed the Autism They missed me.  Audhd 50/50?

11. The Man Who Finally Saw Me

I kept going back, again and again. The women didn’t help, and that still breaks something in me. Then I saw a male doctor. He listened. He looked at everything I’d gathered. He didn’t dismiss me. He said the words no one else had bothered to say: you need to be diagnosed.

It was the long way round, but after that I finally received HRT . And suddenly the pieces made sense — why nothing was working dyslexia, ADHD, hormone sensitivity, progesterone intolerance. I knew PMDD very well because my daughter suffered so severely, my intolerance was no surprize. The whole picture finally came into focus.

12. The Cheerleader I Became

I left school at 16. I failed everything. But I became my own advocate. My own translator. My own protector. My own cheerleader.

I refused to let anyone call me stupid again.

And I’m still moving forward — learning the written word, rewriting my story, and refusing to shrink.