I’m dyslexic, and I couldn’t read until third grade. I remember memorizing books and pretending to read silently in class to fit in.
At a young age, I got used to hearing a lot of constructive criticism. Being young is hard enough—mean girls, identity struggles—but feeling like the dumbest kid in class and getting bullied for it made things worse.
In elementary school, there were tears from being teased. My mom comforted me with mango sorbet and licorice tea. Over time, I learned to take feedback with grace and use it to improve. I found my own way to learn and reach the same goals as others.
I learned my soft spots—mixing up numbers, reversing letters—and developed ways to double-check them. Flashcards, rewriting notes, and giving myself extra review time became second nature.
Choosing an all-girls high school gave me a clean slate. My study habits started to pay off. I fell in love with writing and joined The Broadview, our school newspaper. My journalism advisor treated us like adults, and I rose to the challenge—writing real stories about the Catholic Church scandals and teenage life. Becoming editor-in-chief felt surreal for someone who once struggled to read.
In college, my next big “a ha” moment came in an art history class. The final exam tested our ability to identify artists and styles. When shown a new painting, I instinctively knew how to analyze it and scored near-perfectly. My classmates were stumped, but pattern recognition came naturally to me.
That’s when I realized dyslexia had become a strength. It taught me to take feedback, not personally but productively. It trained me to problem-solve differently—and persistently.
At UC Berkeley, the dominant narrative was that technical majors led to success. I chose Media Studies instead, where I thrived. I took graduate-level courses, wrote a thesis on social media just as it was emerging, and discovered my passion for building people’s profiles and platforms. A big thanks to Dan Schnur—your political science courses shaped how I think about message positioning to this day.
When I graduated into the 2008 financial crisis, I didn’t wait for on-campus recruiting. While others pivoted away from firms like Lehman Brothers or Bear Stearns, I pitched my former employer, Burson, for a full-time role. My internships at Weber Shandwick and Burson—and the relationships I built there—proved far more valuable than my GPA.
I was also my autistic brother Mikey’s 8th-grade graduation speaker. Speaking to his classmates about not caring what others think was deeply meaningful. Mikey’s friends said it was “cool” his sister gave a real, funny, and relatable speech. I revisit that speech often when I feel myself slipping into people-pleasing mode.
Now, in 2025, with AI reshaping how we work, genuine human connection is the ultimate advantage. I love learning about people, helping them, and understanding how they think. My version of networking is personal—I invite people to events even if they don’t live in NYC, or for dog walks and SoulCycle rides. Not every business relationship needs to start over coffee or cocktails.
We’re living through a renaissance of social skills—and I’m here for it.
If you’re also dyslexic, I’d love to hear your story.