Leyna's Art Blog

There's an old tv trope I've seen play out many times over the years. 

An anxious woman, a calm and practical salt-of-the-earth type man.  She's pacing. He's sitting at a table with a sandwich. 

"How can you eat at a time like this?" she asks. 

He shrugs and points out that not eating isn't going to fix whatever problem they're facing. Then, for a laugh, he'll ask if they have any mustard. 

And the age old battle of the sexes wages on. 

Is she neurotic…

I was 45 when I learned that dispraxia had a name.

Forty.

Five.

And when I finally found out there was a term to describe my life long struggles with doing basic tasks I wondered why it had taken so long for me to discover it. Was it just not a thing in the 80s? Was it because we were a working class family trapped in the endless maze of HMOs that made seeing a specialist so impossible? Or was it because I was a quiet well behaved girl doing well at school and that…