Read an excerpt
For anyone who’s ever looked for answers between the lines.
INTRO: He had been diagnosed with dyslexia as a child. But no one warned us what it might mean for love. For communication. For connection.
This isn’t his story. It’s mine.
A memoir about holding on, letting go, and slowly finding my voice inside a relationship that often left me unsure which way was up.
Before the unraveling, there was this:
A pressed shirt. A thoughtful gift on the table. A moment that felt like the beginning of everything.
PART ONE:
When Love Looked Perfect: The Mask He Wore So Well
We all wear masks at the beginning.
It’s part of dating, part of courtship, part of being seen before we’re really known.
But some masks run deeper.
Some aren’t just social polish or nervous first-date smiles.
Some are practiced over years, even decades—woven into identity, held in place by necessity, fear, shame and survival.
When I met Jonah, I didn’t see a mask. I saw a man who showed up. Who planned. Who followed through.
Who, in a world of flaky messages and canceled plans, stood out like a full sentence in a sea of fragments.
He was clear.
He was kind.
He called instead of texting.
He booked a table instead of suggesting “something casual.”
He brought a candle and three small silver starfish medallions instead of showing up empty-handed.
And when I asked—last minute—if my six-year-old daughter could come with me, he didn’t hesitate.
He said yes. With warmth. With ease. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I remember walking into that restaurant, still faintly smelling of child vomit, in my rain boots and baseball cap, thinking: If he likes me like this, maybe we’ve got something real.
And it did feel real.
His shirt was pressed. His hands were folded neatly on the table. He was charming, confident, attentive.
Everything felt intentional.
But looking back, I wonder:
Was he showing me himself—or just what he hoped I needed to see?
I don’t ask that with judgment.
I ask it with tenderness.
Because I think he believed, in those moments, that he was being fully himself.
I think the version of Jonah I met on that first date—the one who planned ahead, greeted my daughter with grace, and made me laugh until the bathwater went cold—was real.
But it was just one part of him.
The part he knew how to present.
The part he’d spent a lifetime perfecting.
Reflective Pause:
I’ve since learned that many people with dyslexia or ADHD develop strong masking strategies—especially in social or romantic settings. They lead with strengths: charisma, charm, attentiveness. They learn to anticipate what people want to see and mirror it. Not out of manipulation, but as a form of self-protection. What I saw on that first date wasn’t fake—it was just practiced.
Explore more:
Why I Wrote This Book
The Unseen Layers / What We Didn’t Know
The Invisible Load of Misalignment
Want to keep in touch?
This is just one chapter of a much bigger story. If you’d like to be notified when the book is available—or when new reflections are shared—reach out here and let me know. I’ll be in touch when the time is right.