I look normal, though honestly, I am not.
You wouldn’t know or think twice. Usually my speech or repeating giveaway
A disorder, not fully aware, like to share and explain how it came to be,
The inner struggles, and hopefully food for thought.

My Mom was pregnant with me at forty-two
When the doctor gave her fear, saying I would possibly have Down syndrome or any disability.
But I came out healthy, no problems, double the blessings—-
Being brave and having faith as the breakthrough.

It began one evening when I was only three;
Dinner time was announced, yet I didn’t react or turn around.
My family called my name, screamed, clapped,
Trying to get any attention from me.

One diagnosis was I was becoming deaf;
But up close I could hear just fine, though not everything that was called “normal”
So the solution of having autism was left.

My parents took me to an autism specialist,
And after some tests, came with a smile and said,
“She does not have autism!”
Was the heartfelt testament.

Some signs looked like I have it,
But not correctly, especially how I talked to nurses, keeping their gaze with
A tongue not knowing when to quit.

The long-awaited solution took the form of a rare cause:
Auditory Processing Disorder, or APD for short, was the answer for how I hear and talk.
But for anyone who’s never heard it, come to a confusing pause.

What is APD? What is this disability disorder?
How I explain is like the brain “can’t hear,” may not hear everything,
Even if it was all in order.

For instance, say you tell me three things to do:
I may catch the first instruction, somewhat of the third.
Often the middle I didn’t hear fully, all muddled, not a clue.

I hear just fine, but not always entirely.
My speech sometimes takes work, accidentally repeating.
Visionary learner I proudly am, but everywhere is almost
Auditory teaching is painfully screwing.

I’m a fast learner in many areas, yet slow to learn in other depending sections.
Been jeered by peers growing up for being “slow,” and by teachers and other adults
Thought I was “disobedient” from given directions that
Lead to harsh corrections.

From age four to twelve, twice to three times a week
Having appointments, with different lady teachers, for speech therapy.
Wasn’t grateful then, as I am now, a therapist to a student
Hard at emotional work to teach me the right way to speak.

Almost daily in conversation can be a slip of the mind
It is repeating a topic, a joke, or a feeling that I had mentioned already before.
My words can get mixed up, like “say potato,” which can be misheard as “save turtle.”
I try to make sense, though mentally one thing to find, is give myself grace and be kind.

Even finding a job or more wasn’t always easy;
If misunderstood stepping in leads to overpowering stress, and not getting something
Right make anxiety all the more queasy.

It’s very easy to believe that you’re all alone and can be quite different.
Can be somewhat blessing and curse, though half quiet and kept to self,
Or more ways than one be outgoing or vociferant.

There is great beauty that doesn’t have to be like everyone else:
“I’m not normal, so I’m not boring!”
This world’s too busy to take precious time to see beauty in differences with reassuring
Words that are meant for restoring.

I want to make a difference, a purpose, for those who are like me.
No one is ever perfect. No more focus on what you can’t but focus on what you are able—
The secret of pure joy and growth of life is key.

Being misunderstood does leave a bit of a bruise.
Every day I have a choice to make——self-pity and hide away
Or look for great possibilities for a meaningful life
With an extra mile in my shoes.