While my mother devoured books, it was somewhat challenging for me to read. I never really knew why, or had a diagnosis. I just knew that when I sat down to read like the rest of my family, my mind would wander. Chunks of time would pass, and I was still stuck on the same page. I could read, but early on I learned that I could listen better— and listening is how I advanced myself, in school and later, in my career. What I could not ascertain through the written word, I’d make up for through bionic listening. We all have our strengths.
I lived the first 53 years of my life fully invested in the narrative that I was my mother’s firstborn child, her firstborn daughter. I had been raised on the bittersweet love story of my parents.