Issue 22: Dyslexic Me with a Splash of ADHD | Zena Leech-Calton

As a child born in the late 60s, I was considered a little thick (unintelligent). I was at the bottom end of most classes and hated reading. I learnt strategies, like reading the first and last pages of every book along with the description on the back page, so I could write my book report by blagging. In fact, I only read one book from cover to cover in my childhood – 'The Mouse and The Motorbike', yet my reading log was always up to date and full. I eventually got kicked out of the French class when I got 6% in an exam.

My final years were filled with disappointment when my own friends would ridicule me for not achieving much. I ended up with one O level and a few GCSEs with average grades, like a D in English Literature. Yet my CV was faked!!!

I only found out I was dyslexic in my early 20s when I watched a programme on TV and knew that it was me; in fact, it was my dad, too. It took me years to understand myself, and it wasn't until my late 30s that I was proud of my neurodivergent brain—I mean, I always knew I was clever in different ways, I knew I was practical, and I was told all the time by my parents that I would achieve anything.

I know firsthand that growing up with a learning difference is a journey fraught with challenges. It influences academic outcomes and can profoundly shape a child's self-perception, belief, and worth.

As I navigated the childhood complexities of dyslexia in a mainstream school environment, I also grappled with a relentless inner critic who told me, despite how hard I worked, "I'd never be good enough."

The reality is that there's a bottomless impact of growing up with a learning difference on a child's emotional well-being that, for many, will remain long after they can read and write proficiently. For me, I had horrendously low self-esteem, lacked confidence in my abilities, and developed a fixed mindset that assured me I would never be smart like my peers despite any success I had achieved.

For this reason, I dove deep into personal development to help rewrite the many limiting beliefs holding me back. Over a decade of in-depth work across multiple modalities, I realised what was missing—that we must explore the multifaceted impact of growing up with dyslexia on a person's mindset. Through my work, I have come to know that there are many practical ways for parents and educators to help build and nurture confidence and self-esteem in our neurodivergent children.

My Story

At the age of three, I asked my dad if I could take my new watch to bits. He asked me why, and I said I wanted to see how it worked. He told me that If I could put it back together again, then I could. I did take it to bits as I needed to know how the magic worked, but I needed my dad’s help to put it back together. I spent my childhood making fires, climbing trees, fighting boys, making stuff, and challenging ideas like religion.

Nothing made sense; no one could answer my questions, and a lot of what I was being told I could prove was a lie.

When I was about four or five, my great-nana died. Later that year, we were taking a flight to Tenerife. On the plane, just before take-off, I asked my mum if we would see Nana.

She said, “No, Nana's at home. We will see her when we get back.”

I said, “No – my great Nana.”

She said, “No, sweetheart, she died, didn't she?”

I said, “But you told me when she died she went to Heaven, and when I asked where Heaven was, you said in the clouds – this plane is flying through the clouds, will we see her?”

The people around me, including my parents, laughed. But I was not only disappointed they were ridiculing me, but they had lied to me; Heaven was nowhere to be seen. I became a 5-year-old atheist, not because I didn't believe in God but because God didn't exist. Nothing made sense; no one could answer my questions, and a lot of what I was being told I could prove was a lie.

In my 30s, I had two children. I knew it was likely they would inherit my dyslexia. What happened was that my daughter is borderline autistic with social anxieties and possesses incredible organisational skills. My son was diagnosed with dyslexia from an early age. It was only when he hit his teen years that we worked out he had a mild form of ADHD.

It took me until my 50s to realise that my son, now in his 20s, had to have gotten it from somewhere. Of course, a lot of the quirks of my dyslexia were ADHD – my lack of concentration, my mind wandering, my lust for excitement, my need for attention and praise, my brilliant sarcasm and the way I think outside the box – dyslexia and ADHD went harmoniously together to make me epic.

It's not me that's epic. It's my mind.

I went to catering college as I was practical and could never have worked in an office. I rose up the ranks very quickly in my decade in London. At first, I was slow, but when I could work out the best and easiest way to juggle it all, I swallowed catering knowledge like a snake—I did exceptionally well.

At the same time, in London, I met my husband. I pushed us forward to buy flats, one to live in and one to rent. We later bought a property to renovate. Being practical and especially with my parents' help, we had another income. With that money, we bought a second renovation project in Norfolk and moved back to work on it.

My mum was right; you can do anything you want – you just have to put your mind to it.

I always wanted to teach so I started doing that when my son was around one. I excelled at that – I loved breaking things down and teaching about food. The only issue was the stupid amount of paperwork and remembering everyone's name in a class.

At 48, we were living in our third renovation project, which had my sole trader business attached—Lodge Farm Holiday Barns and my cookery school taught out of our family kitchen. I also had the idea to start Food and Drink Walking Tours in Norwich—I've now been doing that for 9 years. My mum was right; you can do anything you want – you just have to put your mind to it.

I'm now in my mid-50s. My son works as a chef like me—yes, I'm very proud—and my daughter still lives at home. She is more delicate, and as a parent, I need to slowly make her independent so that she can eventually have her own place.

I've also been blogging for a decade with over 20k on Instagram @Love_Norwich_Food, where I spend my free time promoting local businesses and producers. I need to fill up my time (brain), or I'll come up with another business idea and give myself more work to do, which I don't really want. The joys of my thinking is that I am forever coming up with business ideas, ways to solve problems and digesting information only to spit it out in a better format.

Pre-COVID, I released a YouTube channel called Dyslexic Chef with cookery demos. I thought that if I called it Dyslexic and if I made any mistakes in a one-take approach, I'd be forgiven and mostly understood. My son hated the name—he's still in the don't tell anyone era.

My approach is to come straight out with it – if I'm struggling with words, reading, etc, I just tell them I'm dyslexic & if I'm being naughty verbally, I just say I have a tad bit of ADHD. I must admit I'm proud of it – it makes me, me, and I like dyslexic me with a sprinkling of ADHD. I am fully aware of my faults, but I love my superpower.

I woke up from a dream last month in which I realised that the future of AI is going to be owned by the neurodivergent. Companies are already hiring us for our incredible brains—imagine if we had AI at our disposal—just wait, we will have our day and probably the rest of the century.

What's the future for dyslexic me – I have set myself 2 goals, both ridiculous and slightly mad. The first is to earn a million pounds from an idea, and the second is to win a Nobel prize. I think that's going to be tricky, but if I can work out the cure to cancer, or a chart of pre-warning signs of diseases or a theory that proves God never existed, then I could, and I'm happy to keep trying. I always need something to think about: why not be an unachievable dream?

Zena Leech-Calton

Extracts from Dystinct Magazine