Dyslexia In Adults: Why The ‘Superpower’ Myth Is Failing Neurodivergent Employees

Natalie Brooks is the founder of Dyslexia in Adults, and author of Dyslexia Unlocked (available 23 April 2026).

After making the same mistake twice in relatively quick succession at my former workplace, a manager said to me “are you lazy, or are you stupid?”. The mistake itself was small. I had sent a quote in pounds instead of dollars. But it happened twice, and what my manager saw as carelessness, was actually my dyslexia.

I didn’t admit this to my manager, because like many adults with dyslexia, I had learned to cope with it – and hide it. Until situations like this continued to crop up, which triggered a spiral of fear that people would notice how much by dyslexia impacted me.

For years, I had also been told that dyslexia is a superpower. It’s a phrase that appears with neurodivergence narratives a lot – in workplaces, motivational talks, even on LinkedIn posts. I understand the intention is positive, to empower people with dyslexia. But it never matched my reality, and I suspect I’m not alone. If dyslexia is a superpower, why does it so often feel like we’re working twice as hard just to keep up?

What tends to get lost in these superpower narratives is the effort involved. While I do not doubt that my dyslexia brings me an amazing set of strengths, skills and ways of thinking, the day-to-day lived experience of dyslexia is often far less glamorous.

What’s more, these supposed strengths or ‘superpowers’ can feel vague and hard to recognise in real life. Terms like ‘big-picture thinking’ and ‘creativity’ sound impressive, but are difficult to translate into everyday situations. The list of struggles can feel far longer than the moments where the supposed ‘gift’ shows up. Too often we often gloss over the reality of how little support people are given to access strengths or support challenges. I remember calling my partner after a tough conversation with my manager about a small error. Trying to comfort me, he said “But it really is a gift”. I snapped back: “how the hell is big-picture thinking helping me with my emails?!”

One of the most common challenges for dyslexic adults is working memory, which is the ability to hold and manipulate information in your mind. Imagine trying to follow instructions while holding several pieces of information at once – for some people this might be an okay thing to do, but for me it feels like trying to juggle too many balls in the air at once, and to make it worse, knowing that if one drops, people may think you’re not paying attention, or worse, can’t do your job.

I often describe dyslexia as carrying a backpack full of bricks. Everyone else may be walking the same path, but you’re carrying extra weight – working memory challenges, organisation difficulties, constant misunderstandings and, over time, a loss of confidence. The journey might look the same from the outside, but the load is very different.

It’s not just a few of us with this heavy load, dyslexia is common. Around 1 in 5 people (20%) are dyslexic, making it the largest neurodiversity group globally, and approximately 25-40 per cent of individuals with dyslexia also meet diagnostic criteria for ADHD. Many of the adults I work with are professionals, managers, business owners and parents. The common thread isn’t a lack of ability, it’s frustration. They know they are capable, but they lack the tools or understanding that would help them work with their brains rather than against them.

One client once told me that when she decided to break up with her boyfriend, she was so worried she wouldn’t be able to articulate her thoughts clearly that she wrote everything out first, filmed herself saying it, and watched it back repeatedly to make sure it made sense.

This is the kind of invisible effort that many dyslexic and neurodivergent adults put in everyday, not because they lack intelligence, but because we care about getting it right.

I learned those lessons early. The only way to cope was to work harder, constantly, and often without support.

When I was choosing my school subjects, every teacher told me the same thing: “Natalie, you’re smart, but this subject isn’t for you.” History involved too much reading. Science meant spelling complicated words. Maths was difficult because of my dyscalculia. Room after room, teacher after teacher, I heard the same message. Eventually I realised it wasn’t the subjects that were the problem, it was that no one wanted the dyslexic kid in their classroom.

The truth is, this stayed with me for years. It taught me that my dyslexia was something to hide, something people tolerated rather than supported.

The emotional toll of dyslexia is rarely talked about, while most think about it affecting reading and writing, but it can also shape how you see yourself. When mistakes are misunderstood as lazy or a lack of ability, these messages or judgement can internalise and ruminate. There have been periods where I’ve felt disorganised, careless or simply not good enough, and it’s awful.

I’ve worked with adults who have avoided promotions because they were afraid, they wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demands of the role. Others have stayed silent in meetings despite having brilliant ideas, because they worry they won’t be able to explain them clearly enough. Many, including myself, spent years feeling like they are constantly failing at things that seem to be easy for everyone else.

Dyslexia doesn’t need to be romanticised to be understood. What it needs is practical support.

Dyslexia doesn’t disappear when you leave school. But support often does. Many adults are left navigating their careers believing their struggles are personal failures, rather than the result of systems that were never designed with neurodivergent minds in mind.

We don’t need more inspirational posts telling us dyslexia is a superpower. What we need is understanding, practical tools and workplaces that recognise how differently our brains work.

Because when the weight of those “bricks” is lifted, something remarkable happens. The energy that once went into simply keeping up can finally be used to move forward.