What I Wish I’d Known: A Parent's Guide to Dyslexia

Terra Lynch, Consultant

In honor of Dyslexia Awareness Month, I invited Terra Lynch to share some of her professional and personal insights. Terra has spent 25 years in public, charter, and independent schools in Texas and New York. She founded the Learning Specialist role at Headwaters School and served as its Middle School Director. She is co-author of Protocols in the Classroom, trained in Basic Language Skills at the Rawson Saunders Institute, and co-founded a neighborhood dyslexia parent support group. Now a consultant, Terra helps kids and families understand a dyslexia diagnosis and advocate for themselves at school. —Teri

“She’s not where I thought she would be in reading.”

My daughter’s birthday fell one day past the public school kindergarten cutoff, so she stayed in her forest pre-K program while her friends moved on. A couple of months in, she was adamant about wanting a more traditional classroom experience. By November, we found a private kindergarten with room for her, and she settled into the routines quickly. But not the reading.

Flowers in a vase, made in the art center

“She has single-handedly transformed the art center into a hub of activity,” her teacher continued at our first conference. “She shows incredible creativity there and loves the playground. But she’s having trouble with reading and writing.”

I was perplexed. We read to her for at least an hour a day, often more. Our house was full of books, magazines, and newspapers. She loved listening to stories and making up her own, which I would write down. She relished multi-step projects. Yes, she still mixed up some letter sounds (Yion instead of Lion, for example), but her spoken vocabulary was huge. Her fine motor skills were advanced. Yet reading and writing were a struggle.

A kindergarten writing assignment says “I love books!”

At that time, schools commonly told families to wait until first grade to test. So, we waited. By first grade she was hiding her homework books, crying during homework time, cutting her clothes, and picking at her fingernails at school. Our happy, high-spirited girl started saying things like "I hate grades" and "I hate school." She is the daughter and granddaughter of teachers. It was heartbreaking to watch.

I requested an evaluation from the school district. After a mid-year meeting and a few months of data-gathering, the school agreed to evaluate her, and the diagnosis came that spring: dyslexia.

First place: one of many running medals

We explained it to her like this: “You know how running comes easily to you, and you’ve won lots of races? Other kids have to practice really hard just to finish one.” She nodded. “Reading is like that. It comes easily to some people, like Mom, but it takes a lot more work for you.” She nodded again--the story of me learning to read before school was part of family lore. “That’s what dyslexia is. Your brain learns to read in a different way, so you’ll need extra practice. You’ll get to work with a special teacher at school who knows how to help.”  She seemed relieved. Better still, once the specialized reading instruction began, her confidence came back. It took five years and a lot of hard work on her part for her to read at grade level, but she did it (and we are forever grateful to Mrs. Fuller for that!)

A few years later, my son was diagnosed too. At the start of first grade he felt that something was off, and told me, "I'm the oldest kid in my class, but I'm the worst reader!" This time the process moved faster. He began working with the reading specialist right away, and the diagnosis soon confirmed what we expected: dyslexia.

Once we knew, I set out to learn everything I could. I joined a parent dyslexia group, and then co-founded one in my own neighborhood that grew to 30 members. I earned a certificate from Austin’s Rawson Saunders Institute to teach Basic Language Skills, a structured literacy curriculum, so I know what good dyslexia instruction looks like. I created the Learning Specialist position at a local independent school, where I went on to become the principal of the middle school. I coached students, parents, and teachers through evaluation, diagnosis, advocacy, and day-to-day tools and support. I’ve seen dyslexia at the kitchen table, in the classroom, and in the principal’s office. Now I want to help other families spend less time struggling and more time getting what their kids need.

My son’s specialized reading practice

What I wish I’d known

• Dyslexia is common, and it runs in families. Estimates range from about 5 to 20 percent of people, depending on how it’s defined. If you or your partner struggled with reading in school, or your grades didn’t reflect your knowledge, one of you may be dyslexic, too.

• Don’t wait. Waiting delays instruction and costs confidence. Texas schools must screen for dyslexia in kindergarten and first grade, so ask for your child’s results. If you want an evaluation, put your request in writing. A written request gives the district 15 school days to respond.

• Know which meeting you’re walking into. Since 2023, Texas treats dyslexia as a specific learning disability under federal special education law (IDEA). Many families now go through an ARD meeting, not only a 504 meeting. The rights and paperwork are different, and confusing.

• A teaching certificate doesn’t guarantee dyslexia training. Texas early-grade teachers must pass a Science of Teaching Reading exam, but a test is not the same as training in structured literacy. Your child’s teacher may not recognize the signs.

• Your child is not lazy. Research suggests that once a child decodes well, they may need only one to four successful readings to learn a new word. A struggling reader may need dozens of repetitions, which is why consistent, well-designed instruction matters so much.

Where I can help

Maybe you just heard “she's not where we expected” at a conference. Maybe you have an evaluation report and aren’t sure what it says, or how to share it with your child. I work with parents on:

• Understanding the evaluation and diagnosis in plain language

• Talking with your child about dyslexia so they understand how their brain works and keep believing in themselves as learners

• Preparing for teacher conferences with specific questions to ask and observations to share

• Getting ready for 504 and ARD meetings: what to expect, what to ask for, and how to follow up

My daughter, who once told me, “I hate school,” is now earning her nursing degree. She works on an ambulance, manages a band, and took last semester off to travel to eleven countries in five months. My son, who called himself the worst reader in his first grade class, is now a high school junior taking multiple AP classes. After a car design course in Turin last summer, he plans to learn Italian fluently and study transportation design in college.

If you’re worried about your child’s reading, or navigating school and family life after a diagnosis, I’d love to talk with you. You can book a consultation with me here.

My daughter’s illustration from middle school comparing the dyslexic brain to a neurotypical brain

—Terra Lynch | Consultant

When teachers are trusted, students thrive

Guest contributor Adriana Mata is an anchor teacher for Discovery Class 1 at The Compass School in Austin, Texas, where she works with early elementary students in small group settings. With over a decade of classroom experience across diverse learning environments, she is also pursuing doctoral work with a focus on writing and Chicana feminisms. Her teaching emphasizes place-based learning, cultural pedagogy, and student agency.

 Some of the most important moments in learning happen when a teacher has the time and trust to truly notice a child. In many schools, public and independent alike, educators carry the weight of systems they didn't shape. Mandates, pacing pressures, and test-driven priorities push teaching craft to the margins, leaving teachers to apply their deepest skills last. When that happens, students feel it first.

But what changes when teachers aren't constrained?

I've seen what becomes possible when educators are trusted as curious, thoughtful professionals whose voices meaningfully shape how learning unfolds:

When time constraints are replaced with intention.
When the preset curriculum gives way to student interest.
When testing is reframed as coaching.

What emerges is a learning environment where children are deeply known, and where rigor comes from attention rather than pressure.

Recently, I worked with a student who shared that they didn't have any particular interests and felt unsure about beginning a deep dive project. Instead of rushing past that moment, we slowed down. Through observation and conversation, a quiet curiosity emerged: plants. From there, I guided, encouraged, and challenged the student to research, document, question, and present their learning. What began as uncertainty became ownership. This is what student-driven learning can look like, not the absence of structure, but the presence of responsive, skilled guidance grounded in professional judgment.

When teachers have autonomy, families see the impact in their children's academic growth, but also in their confidence, agency, and willingness to take intellectual risks. Students learn to articulate their thinking, revise their work, and see themselves as capable learners. This growth is not accidental; it is the result of the teacher's voice being central to daily decisions about learning.

For educators who sense they're capable of more than constraint-driven systems allow, this recognition matters. Ecosystems that trust teachers are rare. They work because trust is operational, not aspirational. When educators are given both the tools and the autonomy to practice their craft fully, students benefit directly from that alignment.

Education should be thoughtful, human, and deeply responsive to who children are and who they are becoming. When educators are trusted as professionals, and when students are invited to discover, develop, and lead their own learning, schools become places where children and the adults who teach them are trusted to grow.

—Adriana Mata | The Compass School

When learning gets messy: The power of productive struggle in early elementary

The Compass School is a research-driven school in Austin that grounds its educational approach in neuroscience, psychology, and education research. Anna Yakabe, a founding member and Director of Learning, shares insights from their Innovation Lab, where young learners develop the perseverance and problem-solving skills needed to create meaningful change.

In Hidden Potential: The Science of Achieving Greater Things, Adam Grant reminds us that the real magic of learning comes from the struggle.

Grant describes learning as a journey shaped by how we respond to challenges. When children wrestle with something new, they're strengthening the neural pathways in their brains that lead to long-term understanding and resilience. Each mistake, frustration, or I-don't-get-it-yet moment is an invitation to stretch the mind and build perseverance.

This concept of productive struggle has deep roots in education research. J. Hiebert and Douglas A. Grouws introduced the term in 2007, though it wasn't until H. K. Warshauer's 2011 paper that it gained widespread recognition within mathematics education. The concept draws on several foundational frameworks, including Bjork's theory of Desirable Difficulties and Vygotsky's Zone of Proximal Development. These frameworks share a common insight: learning happens most powerfully in a particular space. When tasks are too easy, students experience boredom and minimal growth. When tasks are too difficult, students experience frustration and disengage. Productive struggle exists precisely in that sweet spot where the challenge is significant enough to require effort and creative thinking, but not so overwhelming that it becomes counterproductive.

While Warshauer's work focused on mathematical thinking, the principles of productive struggle apply across disciplines. The question that matters most to educators and parents is: What does this actually look like in a classroom with six- and seven-year-olds?

From Theory to Towers: Design Thinking in Action

Recently, our young learners faced a challenge in our Innovation Lab that brought these research insights to life. The task: design a structure out of different size plastic cups for a LEGO person that stands at least 39 inches tall and can withstand a wind gust from a fan.

After a quick prototype and testing, students found that the fan caused structures to collapse instantaneously. One student captured the moment perfectly: "There needs to be weight to give it stability." This observation marked the beginning of their productive struggle.

The Messy Middle: Where Real Learning Happens

What unfolded over the next three days wasn't a neat path from problem to solution. It was iterative, frustrating, and essential to deep learning.

Students brainstormed: How can we add weight? They tried tape, hoping adhesive strength would compensate for structural weakness. They experimented with stacking cups of various sizes and materials, testing whether diversity in their building blocks would create stability. They placed LEGOs at the base, reasoning that a heavy foundation might anchor the entire tower.

Each attempt taught them something. Each failure led them to a revised design. This is the design-thinking protocol in its most authentic form—not a worksheet about problem-solving, but the actual experience of wrestling with a real challenge that has no predetermined answer. Students moved through cycles of defining the problem, generating ideas, prototyping solutions, and testing their effectiveness.

The breakthrough came from an unexpected place. What if the weight didn't need to be at the bottom? What if it could wrap around the structure like a sleeve? Students created a square LEGO structure that slid over the third cup from the bottom, adding stability exactly where the tower needed it most.

When the fan finally turned on and the towers stood firm, the celebration wasn't just about success. It was about the journey they'd taken to get there.

The Role of the Educator in Productive Struggle

During the cup tower challenge, no adult handed students the answer. No one told them where to place the LEGO sleeve or which cup would provide the best anchor point. Instead, educators asked questions: What happened when you tried that? What might you do differently? What are you noticing about the structures that are more stable?

The role of the educator is not to eliminate struggle, but to make it productive. Educators provide scaffolding through questioning rather than direct instruction, supporting students' thinking without removing the challenge that makes learning meaningful.

Why Productive Struggle Matters More Than Ever

Progressive education has long understood what neuroscience now confirms: Children learn best when adults support them through obstacles.

The research is clear. When students engage in productive struggle, they develop a growth mindset. They begin to see difficulty not as a stop sign but as a signpost pointing toward growth. They build executive function skills like planning, flexibility, and self-monitoring. Most importantly, they develop the courage to try, fail, and try again.

According to neuroscience research, when students work through challenging problems, they are building and strengthening neural connections. The effort required creates deeper, more durable learning than passive reception of information. This aligns with Grant's emphasis that achievement isn't about having the most natural ability but about developing the character skills that help us unlock our potential. Those skills—perseverance, adaptability, creative problem-solving—are built one productive struggle at a time.

Building Courageous Learners

When we give young children the space to struggle productively, we're not just teaching them about engineering or physics. We're teaching them about themselves. We're showing them that they are capable of facing uncertainty, of persevering through frustration, of collaborating to solve problems that no single person could tackle alone.

The next time you see a child wrestling with something difficult, resist the urge to jump in with the answer. Instead, lean into the discomfort. Ask a question. Express curiosity about their thinking. That struggle is not a problem to be solved. It's the very place where learning comes alive.

—Anna Yakabe | The Compass School

The mechanics of cultivating growth mindset

Srinivas Jallepalli is the author of Education Empowered: A Holistic Blueprint for Building Better Schools and a Better World. He also founded Sankalpa Academy, a growth-mindset school created to offer gifted-level education to all children, and cofounded the Higher Orbit Foundation, a nonprofit that promotes educational equity. We asked him to share some thoughts on “growth mindset” based on his extensive research for the book.

If you stand on a street at dawn, you can feel the city waking up and everything feels possible. Childhood is like that. It isn’t one long day; it’s a series of early mornings—“windows”—when the brain is unusually ready to wire new beliefs and habits that can last a lifetime. The most powerful of those beliefs may be: I can accomplish anything.

For their landmark study of language acquisition in the early years, Betty Hart and Todd Risley sat on many living-room floors and watched and listened. Their observations revealed something so basic that it might be easy to overlook: a stark difference in how much and how richly adults from different backgrounds talked with their children. The gap wasn’t just in word count—it was in conversational turns, encouragement, and the sense that a child’s voice mattered. It turns out that these early exchanges were highly correlated with vocabulary growth over the years, school readiness, and even achievement in higher grade levels. But the greatest benefit is in building identity: repeated serve-and-return talk teaches a child: My ideas are worth exploring.

Other scholars—Garcia and Otheguy, Flores and Rosas, and Faltis, for example—also point to issues with schooling that compound the challenges children from minority communities face. They argue that a cultural mismatch between families and a school system rooted in middle- and upper-class White norms is a key deterrent in the United States for these communities. Incidentally, evidence from feral and institutionalized children, Maria Montessori’s work at the Scuola Ortofrenica, and significantly higher scores for homeschooled children on the Piers-Harris Self-Concept Scale underscore the central role of enculturation, agency, and identity in human development (Education Empowered).

“Your beliefs become your thoughts. … Your values become your destiny.” This inspirational quote, traditionally attributed to Gandhi, sums it up well. This idea isn’t a cliché, it isn’t hyperbole. It’s neurological wiring in action. In the language of Education Empowered, subconscious programming happens when a message is repeated with emotion and social proof. If a child repeatedly hears, “You’re not a math person,” that phrase gets stored under truth and will silently steer choices for years. If a child repeatedly experiences “When I try strategies, I learn,” that becomes the stored program. The window isn’t just age; it’s recency and frequency—the density of messages during sensitive periods.

Education Empowered uses the story of Hermione and the House Elves in the Harry Potter series to make a crucial point: the chains that bind are often the scripts we don’t realize we’re reading from. The elves aren’t weak; they are programmed—by the world’s expectations and their own rehearsed self-talk. Hermione doesn’t just free the elves; she invites them to imagine new roles and practice them until they feel natural. This is precisely how growth mindset works in children.

How can we benefit from this understanding? The Department of Public Health in Georgia took the lessons from Hart and Risley’s work and acted. Their innovation was disarmingly practical: using the WIC program—where nearly every infant and caregiver already shows up—to coach parents on language enrichment and parent-child interaction. No new app. No new building. Just reimagining diaper changes, bath time, and grocery trips as micro-seminars in brain building. Coaches help caregivers narrate what they see, ask open questions, wait for the baby’s response, and mirror it back. Because it’s anchored in real routines, the coaching sticks. It’s not “homework”; it becomes home. And when caregivers change the soundtrack of daily life, children internalize a different story about themselves: I am a participant, not a passenger. This narrative offers an excellent start. If parents and schools then follow up with reading materials that are enriching, engaging, nuanced, and inspiring, we are well on our way to wiring confidence, high expectations, grit, and courage into our children.

The following four windows of opportunity for fostering growth mindset make the process relatively concrete.

1. Birth to 3: Wire confidence through identity.
   This is the Hart & Risley era. Babies aren’t keeping score of correct answers; they’re counting turns. Narrate (“I’m zipping your jacket—up, up, up”), name feelings, and practice wait-time. Celebrate effort (“You kept trying that sound!”). Every serve-and-return is micro-proof that initiative matters and the child’s ideas matter.

2. Ages 4–7: Script values and inspiration through play.
   Children try on roles the way actors try costumes, and it helps to minimize cultural misalignment. Offer challenges with visible feedback: puzzles with multiple strategies, invented spelling that improves every week, stories with values that inspire. Label process not person: “You tried two ways,” “You asked for a hint.” These phrases write the growth script line by line.

3. Ages 8–12: Make struggle normal and strategic.
   Teach the practices behind progress: spacing, retrieval, worked examples, and reflection. Allow them to confront options, multiple choices, irony, hypocrisy, and strategy. Invite students to annotate their setbacks: What did I try? What will I try next? Turn “wrong” into data. When adults model revisions in their own work, children learn that improvement is a professional skill, not a personal rescue. Mindset dies when schedules deny second tries.

4. Adolescence: Align belief with purpose.
   Teens will work incredibly hard for something that matters to them. Enable them to experience agency repeatedly. Link growth to contribution: tutoring a younger student, building a community resource, or pursuing a project that solves a real problem. Help them experience freedom as an opportunity to make a difference.

Hart & Risley showed that early talk forecasts later outcomes, but the deeper lesson is agency: children who are invited into conversation learn that their efforts can move the world. Georgia’s WIC-based coaching proves the solution can be elegant and equitable—bringing brain-building into places families already trust, for example. Education Empowered adds the blueprint: expose the invisible scripts, replace them with rehearsed, purposeful roles, and let children practice freedom with guidance. When we stack these pieces, we don’t just close “gaps”; we open windows—again and again—until a growth mindset is not a slogan but a lived, daily rhythm.

The dawn is already here. Our job is to step out and build a new world.

Srinivas Jallepalli | Education Empowered

Why critical thinking is key to using AI wisely

Returning guest writer Stephanie Simoes is the mind behind Critikid.com, a website that teaches critical thinking to children and teens through interactive courses, worksheets, and lesson plans. This article is meant to help educators (and parents) more effectively teach kids to use large language models and other forms of AI in positive ways.

 
In the Phaedrus, Plato expressed concerns that if men learned writing, it would “implant forgetfulness in their souls.” A 1975 issue of Science News referenced a survey that revealed that “72 percent of those polled opposed giving every seventh-grade student a calculator to use during his secondary education.”

Generative artificial intelligence is the newest target of that same opposition, and the debate has intensified since the U.S. Department of Education released its Proposed Priority on Advancing AI in Education.

“Advancing AI in education” can mean different things, but it generally falls into three main areas, all of which are addressed in the DoE’s proposals:

1. Teaching how to use AI—media literacy and how to effectively use LLMs as thinking helpers 

2. Teaching how AI works—expanding computer science lessons to teach the fundamentals of AI systems

3. Using AI to support instruction—empoying AI-driven tools to provide analytics and virtual teaching assistants 

Because I teach critical thinking—and because some critics worry that using AI is destroying our ability to think critically—I will explore the first area in this article.

One of the proposed priorities is teaching students to spot AI‑generated misinformation. That one isn’t especially contentious; spotting misinformation, including AI-generated misinformation, is a core part of modern media literacy.

The more controversial question is whether students should use large language models as “thinking partners.” The virality of the recent MIT study, “Your Brain on ChatGPT,” has amplified the fear that LLM use dampens our thinking skills. In the study, 54 adults wore electroencephalogram (EEG) caps while writing short essays. One group wrote unaided, another used a search engine, and a third relied on ChatGPT. Neural activity was highest in the unaided group, lower with search, and lowest with ChatGPT.

Those results, however, come with big caveats: the paper is still in preprint, the sample was small, and none of the participants were K–12 students.

Moreover, the reduced neural activity during ChatGPT‑assisted writing may simply indicate cognitive offloading, the practice of using external tools to reduce mental effort. From maps to calculators to writing lists of things we need to remember, humans have long been engaging in this practice. Cognitive loading isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as it allows us to spend our mental energy on higher‑order tasks. However, it must be implemented carefully in a classroom.

For instance, calculators support higher‑level math education only after students learn arithmetic. Similarly, children should develop basic writing and reasoning skills before using AI as a helper.

Moreover, we need solid subject-specific knowledge before using LLMs as research assistants; otherwise, we lack the expertise to evaluate the results. If we skip those steps, we risk producing a generation of incompetent experts.

But used correctly, AI can be a powerful tool for strengthening students’ critical thinking skills.

Critical thinking is slow, careful thinking. It allows us to question assumptions, spot biases, and weigh evidence. LLM outputs can be flawed or biased like any human source, so their responses deserve the same scrutiny. That scrutiny must sit alongside intellectual humility—recognizing when we don’t (yet) know enough to judge a claim. Students already practice these habits when they evaluate social media posts or websites; LLM outputs are simply the newest arena to apply the same skills.

A drawback of LLMs is that they amplify confirmation bias when we prompt poorly. Ask, “Give me evidence for my belief,” and they may oblige. This flaw can be turned into a lesson about both responsible prompting and confirmation bias. Teach students to prompt “Show the strongest evidence for and against this claim,” and then point out the human tendency to pay more attention to the pieces of evidence that support our preconceptions.

Better yet, have students ask the LLM to challenge their beliefs: “Show me evidence that I am wrong about this.” By prompting for dissent, students learn to explore their beliefs and may even change their minds about some unsupported ones.

History shows a pattern when it comes to new technology: panic, adaptation, and, finally, integration. The task of educators isn’t to shut the door on AI, but to teach students to use it wisely.

—Stephanie Simoes | Critikid.com