Last Thursday, my son showed me a sentence he had just written: ‘Butterflies fly through the clouds with magic bats’. Three mistakes in eight words. But for the first time in years, he was laughing as he read it aloud to me. Not the forced laugh of compulsory homework: a real laugh, the kind people have when they don’t care about perfection. That was when I realised that I might finally have stopped fighting against his dysorthographia.
When spelling becomes a combat sport
Before that, dictation at ours looked like mini wars. My dysorthographic son had developed a terrible anxiety about writing. Not because he was ‘lazy’ or ‘not trying hard enough’ — spoiler alert, those little cutting remarks never helped him. But because every time he sat down to write, he already knew he would get things wrong. And he was right.
The mistakes piled up. My stress grew. His tears fell. And we, as parents, secretly wondered: ‘Is this normal? Am I doing my job badly?’ (Spoiler no. 2: yes, it was normal. No, we weren’t doing our job badly. But nobody says it loudly enough.)
For a long time, I believed the solution was magical. A bit more work. A bit more speech and language therapy. A bit more discipline. As if dysorthographia were a matter of motivation, a sort of spelling laziness to be overcome through willpower.
The quiet revolution: accepting what cannot be changed
The turning point came on a very ordinary day. After yet another failed dictation (the 347th of the month, roughly), my son looked at me with empty eyes and said: ‘I try, Mum. But my brain doesn’t record things like everyone else’s.’
That was it. No tears, no drama. A simple neurological observation from a ten-year-old child. And instead of saying ‘but yes, you can do it, just try harder’, I felt something crack inside me. Not my heart. My stubbornness.
I started reading. About dysorthographia, of course, but also about what is called self-compassion. And there it was: a mother discovering that making people feel guilty has never helped anyone progress. Revolution.
Then we stopped the punitive approaches. No more mistakes highlighted in neon red. No more ‘you have to do it again’. We changed our angle: what if we couldn’t eliminate dysorthographia (impossible), but we made writing less terrifying?
The ridiculous little tricks that really made a difference
When you start again from scratch, you discover that the real solutions are often odd and unorthodox.
The ‘spelling pearls’ notebook
Instead of scolding the mistakes, we opened a shared Google Doc. When my son wrote something particularly creative — like ‘écamouffler’ instead of ‘émerveiller’ — we noted it down there. Laughing about it, together. Not in a mean way: by acknowledging that his brain was looking for a logical solution, even if it was off the mark.
Six months later, he had a list of 50 ‘pearls’. He still reads them sometimes. And he laughs. That is the beginning of acceptance.
Unassessed dictations
Yes, it really exists. It means no marking whatsoever. We write. We read. We discuss what we’ve written. But no little 8/20 hitting you in the face and reminding you that no, you will never be like everyone else.
At first, it went against all my instincts. No marking = no progress. Wrong. Completely wrong. When you aren’t afraid of assessment, you write more. When you write more, you progress better. When you progress, you rebuild confidence. QED.
Digital tools without guilt
My son now uses an automatic correction app when he writes in class (with a PAP, of course). I’m not going to give you the pen-and-paper lecture: the world has changed. Digital tools can genuinely change the lives of children with dysorthographia, provided they are not sold as a ‘shameful crutch’. It’s an adaptation. That’s all.
What hasn’t changed (and it’s important to know)
Let’s be clear: my son is still dysorthographic. He’s not going to become addicted to dictation. He will never win a spelling championship. And honestly, he doesn’t mind any more.
What has changed is his relationship with writing. And his relationship with himself.
Before, he would say: ‘I’m rubbish.’ Today, he says: ‘My brain processes spelling differently.’ It’s a small sentence. But it makes a world of difference.
We also discovered that dysorthographia rarely turns up on its own. Working with a speech and language therapist — but also genuinely changing our approach — we saw that a speech and language therapist on their own really isn’t enough. What was also needed was a different atmosphere, realistic expectations, and a tolerance for the fact that, yes, there will be mistakes some mornings.
Real progress shows up where you least expect it
Today, my son writes stories. Not perfect ones — far from it. But long, creative, fun ones. He sends messages to his mates (with the mistakes they all make anyway). He even wrote on a wall in his bedroom with a marker pen: ‘Les dyslexiques changent le monde. Oh, pardon, c’est DYSORTHOGRAPHIQUES.’ With an arrow pointing to: ‘I did it on purpose.’
That is progress. Not the kind we were expecting. Perhaps better.
If you are reading this and recognise yourself in these daily spelling battles, remember this: no child dreams of becoming dysorthographic. There are simply brains wired differently. And parents who are gradually learning to laugh instead of cry.
Sometimes it’s a matter of time. Sometimes it’s simply a matter of perspective.
Frequently asked questions
Will my being kind stop my child from making progress?
No, quite the opposite, probably. Fear and guilt paralyse learning. Confidence and laughter free it up. And yes, less stressed children learn better — there’s even a bit of science behind that.
How do I explain to the school that my child has every right to laugh at his mistakes?
Explain that humour is not giving up. It is a resilience strategy. And if you value your child’s hidden strengths rather than crushing them under their weaknesses, everyone makes progress faster.
Does dysorthographia ever go away?
No. But it can be managed. It can be accepted. And with the right support, it simply becomes a characteristic of the brain — not a tragedy. There is a big difference.
Going further
- Fédération Française des Associations de Dys — To find support, resources and accounts from other families facing the same challenges.
- INSERM (Institut National de la Santé et de la Recherche Médicale) — To understand the scientific basis of dysorthographia and advances in research.
- MDPH (Maison Départementale des Personnes Handicapées) — To learn about your rights, the school adjustments available (PAP, PAI) and the support on offer in your area.
