No teacher ever told me I was a great writer.

What they said instead was: “He tries hard.” “Christopher, C’s get degrees.”

I felt intimidated growing up.

My school assignments came back drowning in corrections.

I used black ink. My teachers covered it in red ink.

Kids would leave the classroom saying they were done.

I would always be the last person in the room.

My mum told me I was dyslexic when I was seven.

I remember that moment like yesterday.

I was standing in her bathroom, and I cried because I thought dyslexia was an illness.

I thought something was wrong with me.

The other day, I pulled over the car and asked a stranger: “Are there any great rubs and pestaurants nearby?”

He replied, “I’m not sure about those, but I do know some fabulous restaurants and pubs!”

When I was 18, I started a clothing brand doing custom embroidery.

One of my first orders was for a golf school team going to Bordeaux.

I got the order, stitched every item, and proudly delivered it.

Except I had embroidered “Bordaux” on every single one of them.

I tried to convince them there was no difference, but they said, “We’re going somewhere in France, not Germany.”

I had to refund the money and do the whole order again.

That’s the funny side of dyslexia.

But it’s also the frustrating side.

Over the years, I’ve learned how to live with it better.

I used to beat myself up. “How could you be so stupid?!” “Why are you so slow?!”

More importantly, I’ve learned how to be kinder to myself because of it.

I still flip letters. I still flip numbers. I still create words that don’t exist.

But now, when I laugh at myself, it comes from a place of love rather than self-criticism.

But somewhere deep down, I’ve always found writing fascinating.

You can turn a blank piece of paper into something.

Something that can move someone. Take someone on a journey.

It is just like staring into a beautiful piece of art.

You can lose all sense of time and place.

Great writing has a kind of rhythm.

It makes you want to read the next sentence.

It pulls you in like a great song, always waiting for the next beat.

If it is so good, you may want to read it again.

Share with your best friend.

When I was 26, I started writing my first book.

I spent three years writing it. Turning up to cafés by myself. Staring into the unknown. Trying to get words onto paper.

One summer afternoon, I printed it out and read it in the garden.

I was horrified by what I had created.

I put it all in the bin.

It was unreadable. A collection of irrational thoughts.

It was like the artist was trying to find himself, putting paint onto canvas.

But nothing was connecting.

Someone once said that “writing is crystallised thought on paper.”

I think that’s true.

When good art appears, there is a connection with the creator.

You can feel it when you read it. When you see it.

When I write, I like to picture one person in my mind.

That’s it.

I think about them sitting at their kitchen table, reading my words, and how those words might make them feel.

What emotion do I want to leave them with? What journey do I want them to go on inside themselves? What happens to them after they have finished reading?

I can sit in a coffee shop with a notebook or my laptop, start writing, and suddenly feel everything at once: sadness, joy, excitement, and gratitude.

Very few things move me that deeply.

So I read. I study great writing.

I’m by no means claiming to be a great writer.

But I do love the ritual of writing.

I write to teach myself about the things I am trying to understand.

I love to write things that may inspire someone towards a better tomorrow.

My mum has always written me the most wonderful birthday and Christmas cards.

Beautiful, elegant handwritten letters.

Not just “Happy Birthday” inside, but words that would move you.

Maybe it started there.

Maybe a part of me is still angry at the English teachers who made me feel like I would never amount to anything.

Maybe part of me is still trying to prove them wrong.

Writing doesn’t have to be complicated.

Keep taking away the unnecessary.

Use simple words instead of fancy words.

Just turn up.

It just needs expression.

It needs feeling.

It needs the weight of something true.

Kia Kaha,

Chris