The Unseen Layers: What We Didn’t Know

You are allowed to hold love and anger in the same hand.

I thought I had to know exactly what I was going to say before I started writing. I thought I needed a neat beginning, a clear through-line, a perfect closing sentence.

I didn’t.

When (my husband) and I first met, he was upfront about his dyslexia. He even encouraged me to look it up, which I did.

I found articles that talked about the common challenges—reversing numbers, letters, and reading comprehension. It seemed straightforward, and I felt prepared.

But nowhere in those resources did it mention the potential impact on intimate relationships.

There was nothing about how dyslexia might influence communication, emotional processing, or the subtle dynamics of a partnership.

I didn’t realize how these unseen layers—combined with our own histories—would shape our journey.

I had married my high school sweetheart at 21 and faced the trauma of that relationship ending in betrayal. Then, in my next relationship, I struggled to stay for the sake of my children, even when it didn’t feel right.

By the time I met (him), I thought I knew what to look for. I thought I had learned enough about myself and my patterns.

But neurodiversity adds another layer. And when it’s compounded by the busyness of life, childhood trauma, and the pace of just surviving—it’s easy for things to go unnoticed.

On the surface, everything looked fine. (He) is successful, articulate, well-liked. But over time, I began to sense something wasn’t lining up.

This post is for anyone who’s ever felt that quiet confusion—the sense that something’s off, but you can’t name it.

It’s not always a lack of love. Sometimes, it’s a lack of language. A lack of understanding. And an invisible difference that no one ever taught you how to see.