A Diagnosis Is a Starting Line: Jessie Rudin on Dyslexia and Assistive Technology

A Diagnosis I Didn’t Understand Yet

When I was in second grade, I was diagnosed with dyslexia. At the time, I had no idea what dyslexia was or how much it would shape the course of my life. My mom had noticed signs for years. As soon as I started holding books and learning to read, she recognized that something was different and pushed for testing.

As a child, I didn’t fully understand what the diagnosis meant. All I knew was that I struggled with things that seemed to come naturally to everyone else. What I didn’t know then was that this diagnosis would eventually become the blueprint for my entire career.

After my diagnosis, I began receiving outside support for reading and writing. Several times a week, I worked with a tutor named Arlene using the Orton-Gillingham approach, a multisensory method specifically designed for individuals with dyslexia. 

Through focused instruction in reading, writing, and spelling, I began developing skills that transformed my learning experience. Looking back, that support changed the trajectory of my education and gave me the foundation I needed to succeed.

Even with that support, school was not easy. I needed a lot of help, and accepting that help often required vulnerability. I had to put myself in situations that terrified me. I made mistakes in front of my classmates. I struggled through reading assignments. I worried about being teased for something I couldn’t control.

I was the student counting ahead in the textbook to figure out which passage I might be asked to read aloud. I was the student who begged teachers not to call on me to present in front of the class. I knew what it felt like to need help but not want to ask for it. Eventually, I learned how to advocate for myself, but that journey was far from easy.

Facing the Fear of Public Speaking

One of the biggest challenges came during high school. Every senior was required to deliver a speech to the entire upper school and faculty — more than 500 people. 

I spent months trying to think of a way out of it. I begged my teacher, my dean, and anyone else who might excuse me from speaking.

To this day, I still mix up words and occasionally mispronounce them. Public speaking only amplified those challenges for me. In my mind, standing in front of 500 people meant inevitable failure.

During a practice presentation in front of a class of only about 20 students, my fears became reality. About a quarter of the way through my speech, I started mixing up words and mispronouncing them.

I froze. 

Embarrassment overwhelmed me, and I began to cry.

I wanted to disappear.

Instead, my teacher encouraged me to stay up there and finish. Through tears and frustration, I made it to the end. When I stepped down, she reminded me of something important: I had failed publicly, recovered, and finished anyway. 

That lesson stayed with me.

When the day of the actual speech arrived, I walked onto that stage and delivered it. 

Was it perfect? Probably not. 

Did I make mistakes? Almost certainly. 

But I did it. And that mattered more than perfection ever could.

 

Learning to Advocate for Myself

Throughout my childhood, my mom introduced me to assistive technology and taught me how to advocate for myself. 

At Minneapolis Jewish Day School, I gradually learned how to explain my needs to teachers. I requested extra time on tests because assistive technology needed additional time to read questions to me. I asked for copies of notes in advance. I learned how to explain my accommodations and why they mattered.

What I didn’t realize until years later was that while I was learning to advocate for myself, my mom was advocating behind the scenes as well. She was teaching me how to find my own voice.

Assistive technology became a critical part of my independence. Screen readers, reading software, and other tools allowed me to complete assignments, take tests, and participate in school more independently. Later, those same skills carried into college and eventually into my professional life.

I also learned that accommodations are not favors — they are rights.

When I received triple time on the ACT and SAT, some people saw that as an advantage. What they didn’t see was that tasks often took me two or three times longer than my peers. Accommodations weren’t giving me an edge; they were leveling the playing field. They allowed me to demonstrate what I knew without being limited by the mechanics of reading and writing.

As I moved through my education, I became increasingly certain that I wanted to help people facing challenges similar to my own.

 

Finding My Path to Assistive Technology

I attended Drake University, where I earned a Bachelor’s degree in Elementary Education with concentrations in Strategist I and II, specializing in Mild/Moderate Disabilities and Behavioral Disabilities/Learning Disabilities, serving students from kindergarten through twelfth grade.

My experiences as a student shaped the educator and advocate I wanted to become. I understood firsthand what it felt like to struggle, to need accommodations, and to feel misunderstood. 

Those experiences strengthened my commitment to supporting students and individuals who might not yet know how to advocate for themselves.

During college, a series of internships helped guide me toward Assistive Technology as a career. Experiences with organizations such as Wasatch Adaptive Sports, the National Ability Center in Utah, and later Easterseals Iowa opened my eyes to the incredible impact assistive technology could have on a person’s independence and quality of life.

Every step of my educational and professional journey was leading me toward becoming the person I wish I had known when I was a second grader struggling to read.

 

What Assistive Technology Really Means

When people hear the term “Assistive Technology,” they often think only of computers or high-tech devices. Many even confuse it with information technology (IT). In reality, assistive technology is much broader.

Assistive technology includes anything that helps a person do something they otherwise couldn’t do — or couldn’t do as easily.

Sometimes that means sophisticated technology such as eye-gaze systems that allow individuals to communicate using only their eyes. Other times, it’s something as simple as a weighted utensil that helps a stroke survivor eat independently, a jar opener that assists someone with limited hand strength, or a customized grip created through 3D printing.

I’ve seen reading and writing tools help individuals with learning disabilities gain confidence and independence, just as similar tools helped me years ago. I’ve watched clients realize they can once again perform tasks they thought they had lost forever. 

Those moments are powerful.

Assistive technology is becoming more visible and more accepted in schools, workplaces, and communities. Devices that once made people feel different or embarrassed are now empowering individuals to participate fully in life. 

These tools should never be hidden under desks or used only when no one is watching. They are tools of independence, confidence, and opportunity.

During my internship at Easterseals Iowa, I quickly realized I had found where I belonged.

I loved helping people discover solutions that restored their independence. I loved seeing the moment when a client realized, “I can do this myself.” That spark — the return of confidence and autonomy — is why I do this work.

What started as an internship became a full-time career, and I genuinely love what I do.

Throughout my work, I have met people who remind me of myself as a seven-year-old child. I understand the frustration, the self-doubt, and the challenges they are facing because I have lived them. The difference is that today’s technology offers possibilities that simply weren’t as available when I was growing up.

Because of my own lived experience, I can sit across from someone and honestly say, “I’ve been there. I understand.”

As a child, my learning disability often made me feel isolated. 

Dyslexia isn’t visible. People couldn’t always see the challenges I faced. 

While I was fortunate to know others with dyslexia, I rarely encountered professionals who truly understood the experience from a personal perspective.

That’s why lived experience matters.

There is tremendous power in having a practitioner, educator, or support professional who has walked a similar path. It helps normalize challenges, reduce stigma, and build trust. It transforms assistive technology from something people merely study into something they genuinely understand.

 

A Diagnosis Is a Starting Line

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that a diagnosis is not a roadblock.

It’s a starting line.

A diagnosis provides information. It gives people a place to begin. 

Accommodations and assistive technology are not shortcuts, and they are not cheating. They are access. They create opportunities for people to demonstrate their abilities and participate fully in school, work, and life.

Self-advocacy is also a skill. Like learning to read, ride a bike, or use an assistive device, it can be taught and strengthened over time.

For anyone struggling with tasks they wish they could do independently — or for anyone who knows someone who could benefit from assistive technology — I encourage you to reach out. At Easterseals Iowa, we are committed to helping people find solutions, build confidence, and reclaim independence.

When I look back at the second grader who was just beginning to understand what dyslexia meant, I realize something important: many of the struggles that felt overwhelming at the time became some of my greatest teachers.

They taught me resilience.

They taught me empathy.

They taught me compassion.

I still face challenges today, but I have learned to adapt, to advocate for myself, and to embrace different ways of doing things. Success isn’t always about overcoming a disability. Sometimes it’s about finding the right tools, supports, and strategies to move forward.

I became an Assistive Technology Specialist because someone helped me first.

Now, it’s my turn to help others.