Late Bloomer: What Ehlers-Danlos Never Taught My Teachers Why I Was Never the Problem I Wasn’t Stupid. I Was Tired.

I didn’t learn to read or write properly until I was fourteen.

That sentence usually lands like a dropped plate. It crashes through people’s expectations. Some respond with sympathy, others with disbelief. A few try to hide their surprise with tight-lipped smiles. But here’s the thing: it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It wasn’t because I wasn’t trying. And it definitely wasn’t because I wasn’t bright. I was simply overlooked, over-explained, and under-supported—all while living in a body that was quietly falling apart.

I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), a connective tissue disorder that affects the body in deeply inconvenient and often invisible ways (NHS, 2022). As a child, that meant chronic pain, exhaustion that felt like drowning, and fine motor challenges that made writing not just hard, but punishing. No one connected the dots. I was just the kid who fidgeted, zoned out, or failed to keep up. And as far as the system was concerned, that made me the problem.

What No One Saw

Imagine trying to concentrate while every joint in your body feels unstable. Your fingers cramp from holding a pencil. Your neck aches from sitting upright. You’re too tired to care about the alphabet. That was my reality. Every lesson felt like a marathon I hadn’t trained for. I spent years masking how lost I was, perfecting the art of looking busy, copying rather than creating. And when that didn’t work, I got used to being called behind, with zero expectations.

But the issue wasn’t inside my head. It was in my joints, in my muscles, in my autonomic nervous system. My body was struggling with a hundred background tasks that most people never have to think about—like staying upright in a chair or keeping my hand steady enough to write a word. No one thought to ask whether physical disability could affect learning (Tinkle et al., 2017).

Mislabelled and Misunderstood

Over the years, I picked up all sorts of labels: lazy, difficult, distracted. Some teachers thought I was oppositional. Others assumed I just needed more discipline. But the truth is, the assumptions came faster because my family are Romanian Gypsies. What I really needed was rest, support, and someone who could look past the performance of learning—and the bias toward a family and culture that was very different in the 1980s. The effort it took just to survive a school day was immense, but I had no way to explain why.

I wasn’t a problem child. I was a child with problems—the kind no one wanted to name. Especially not if those problems came with a body that looked "normal enough."

When It Finally Clicked

Something shifted around age 25. Maybe it was because puberty was in my rear-view mirror and I realised that information and education were vital tools—powerful ways to navigate the world. Maybe it was the right person saying the right thing at the right time. Or maybe it was just that the constant white noise of pain and fatigue dulled just long enough for the light to get in.

Whatever the reason, that was the year I fell in love with language. Words stopped being foreign and started to feel like home. Reading wasn’t a battleground anymore. Writing became a way to reclaim what had been missed. Not because I was suddenly smarter—but because, for the first time, I had space to breathe. That shift led me to be the first person in my family to go to college, then on to university.

The Link No One Talks About

Since then, I’ve learned I’m not alone. A lot of people with EDS report delayed milestones, difficulties with handwriting, or overlapping neurodivergent traits (Castori et al., 2012). Conditions like ADHD, autism, and dysgraphia are more common than the textbooks admit (Demmler et al., 2019). Add in sensory issues, chronic fatigue, and trauma from being repeatedly dismissed, and it’s no wonder many of us grow up thinking we’re broken.

There’s also growing recognition of comorbidities in EDS such as:

• ADHD (Bulbena et al., 2017)

• Autism Spectrum Conditions (Cederlöf et al., 2016)

• Dysgraphia and fine motor impairments (Celli et al., 2021)

These overlaps may not be universally accepted yet, but they are increasingly recognised by researchers and patient communities alike.

To the Late Bloomers

If you’re someone who didn’t learn "on time"—whatever that means—you are not a failure. You are not slow. You are not behind. You are moving at the speed of survival, and that’s a pace most people will never understand.

I learned to read at 14. I’ve been writing my own story ever since. And I’ll tell you this: the world is a better place when more of us get the chance to pick up the pen—especially those who’ve spent years being told they never would.

And if you're just starting that journey now—whether you're a kid fighting to be understood, or an adult who still flinches at the word "slow"—there’s support out there. Start with organisations like:

• The Ehlers-Danlos Society

• Understood.org, which offers tools for learning and attention issues

• ADDitude Magazine for neurodivergent resources

• Autistica for research and support related to autism

These platforms don’t just offer resources—they offer language. And sometimes, that’s all it takes to reframe a life.

You are not alone. You are not late. You are blooming—exactly on time.