The Compatibility Crisis: Why Dyslexia Isn’t a Deficit — It’s a Design Problem

A few years ago, I recorded a piece with Podium.me called “The Pros and Cons of Dyslexia.” At the time, that framing felt normal. We talked about the struggle, the frustration, the reading difficulties, the spelling, the extra effort — and then, almost as a kind of consolation prize, we mentioned the creativity.

Looking back now, I think that framing was too small.

It still accepted the basic premise that dyslexia was mainly a weakness, softened slightly by a few useful strengths. It still assumed the “real” problem lived inside the person, and that the positives were there to compensate for the deficit.

I do not see it that way anymore.

A lively conversation unfolds as three colleagues share a moment of laughter during a casual meeting, with one holding a phone possibly recording the discussion.

As the founder of Divergent Thinking, and after years of work in neuroinclusion, neuroscience and lived experience, I now think many of the so-called “cons” of dyslexia are better understood as a compatibility problem.

Not because dyslexia never creates difficulty. It absolutely can. But because much of that difficulty comes from the clash between a dyslexic brain and systems built for a different type of mind.

That is not the same thing as deficit.

The original conversation is still here: The Pros and Cons of Dyslexia on SoundCloud

The old story: “You struggle, but at least you’re creative”

This is the version of dyslexia many people grow up with.

You are told:

• reading is harder for you

• spelling is harder for you

• writing may take longer

• processing text may be slower

• organisation may feel more effortful

Then, almost as a reassuring add-on, you hear that dyslexic people are often creative, big-picture thinkers or good at problem-solving.

There is truth in that. But the structure of the story is still damaging.

Because it suggests the core of dyslexia is still failure. The strengths are presented almost like compensation. As though the person has a flaw, but luckily comes with a few nice bonus features.

That is not how I would frame it now.

Dyslexia often becomes a problem at the point of contact

What I have come to understand is that dyslexia is often most painful not in isolation, but at the point where it meets the wrong environment.

A dyslexic mind may move through the world in a more visual, associative, pattern-based or big-picture way. But the world it enters — especially school and many workplaces — is still heavily built around:

• dense text

• sequential processing

• written recall

• speed

• spelling accuracy

• linear instruction

• heavy admin

• narrow measures of competence

When those two things collide, the result is friction.

That friction then gets named as failure.

But I do not think we ask often enough: failure according to what?

If someone struggles with a 40-page text-heavy report, is that proof of low ability — or proof that the interface is badly matched to how their brain works?

That is a very different question.

The issue is not only the brain. It is the interface

This is the analogy that makes the most sense to me now.

Imagine the dominant world is built for one cognitive operating system — one that prefers written instructions, step-by-step sequencing, neat admin, phonetic processing and linear forms of output.

Now imagine someone comes along with a different cognitive system — one that may be stronger in visual processing, conceptual thinking, systems thinking, pattern detection, storytelling or seeing the whole before the parts.

If the environment is only built for the first system, the second person will experience constant drag.

We tend to call that drag a learning difficulty.

But sometimes it is more accurate to call it a compatibility issue.

The environment is not neutral. The process is not neutral. The measure is not neutral. It is simply familiar.

That distinction matters a great deal.

What gets called a “deficit” is often just friction

This is the core of the argument for me.

A lot of what we call the “negative side” of dyslexia is really the experience of friction.

For example:

• slow reading in a text-heavy environment

• spelling errors in a system obsessed with written polish

• difficulty extracting information from cluttered documents

• fatigue from badly designed admin

• pressure in meetings built around note-taking and instant written recall

• overwhelm when instructions are vague, dense or overcomplicated

These are real difficulties. I am not minimising them.

But I do not think they always prove that something is inherently wrong with the person. Very often, they show us where a system is outdated, over-reliant on one mode of processing, or unnecessarily hostile to cognitive difference.

That is why I now think the word friction is more useful than the word deficit in so many cases.

Change the interface, and the “problem” often shrinks

This is where the conversation becomes practical.

If the difficulty is only inside the individual, then the only answer is support aimed at making them cope better.

But if a large part of the difficulty sits in the mismatch between person and environment, then changing the environment matters just as much.

For example:

• text-to-speech reduces reading friction

• speech-to-text reduces writing friction

• visual mapping reduces sequencing friction

• AI summaries reduce information overload

• clearer document design reduces cognitive strain

• better meeting structure reduces note-taking pressure

• less admin-heavy workflows reduce unnecessary drag

Once those things change, the “deficit” often stops looking quite so fixed.

That is why workplace needs assessments matter so much to me. They help identify where the real points of friction are — in workflow, communication, information design or expectation — and what practical changes would actually help.

The old measures of intelligence are looking increasingly outdated

This matters even more now than it did ten years ago.

We live in a world with:

• dictation tools

• AI summaries

• voice notes

• assistive tech

• visual planning software

• collaborative tools

• multiple ways to access and produce information

And yet many systems still behave as though fast reading, neat spelling and rapid written recall are the most legitimate ways to prove intelligence.

That does not make much sense anymore.

In many contexts, those old metrics are becoming less and less relevant to the work that actually matters. What often matters more now is:

• insight

• pattern recognition

• synthesis

• creativity

• problem-solving

• communication

• strategic thinking

• systems awareness

So the question becomes: why are we still treating older literacy-based performance measures as though they are neutral proxies for overall worth?

That is not only a dyslexia question. It is a design question.

I am less interested in “support” and more interested in neuro-design

This is probably the biggest shift in my own thinking.

There was a time when my focus was more on how to support dyslexic people within the world as it already existed.

That still matters. People need support now.

But I am increasingly interested in something bigger: neuro-design.

By that I mean designing systems, workplaces, education, communication and processes in ways that are compatible with different types of brains from the outset.

Not asking:

“How do we help the dyslexic person survive this outdated process?”

But asking:

“Why is the process still so outdated in the first place?”

That is a much more ambitious question.

It is also, I think, where the real future of neuroinclusion sits.

The real goal is not better coping. It is better compatibility

If I had to boil this reflection down, it would be this:

Dyslexia is often treated as though the person is the site of the problem.

I think much of the time the real issue sits in the relationship between the person and the system.

That does not mean every difficulty disappears if you redesign the environment. But it does mean many of the hardest parts are not inevitable truths about dyslexia itself. They are produced by friction with systems that were built too narrowly.

That is why I no longer find “pros and cons” a satisfying way of talking about dyslexia.

It is too flat.

Too moral.

Too deficit-led.

A more useful conversation asks:

• where is the friction?

• what is outdated?

• what is this person actually strong at?

• which difficulties are being intensified by bad design?

• what happens if we stop treating one cognitive style as the default human setting?

That is a far better conversation.

Final thought

I do not believe dyslexia is simply a weakness with a few compensating strengths attached.

I think it is a different cognitive style moving through a world that still over-rewards one particular kind of interface.

And when that interface creates repeated friction, the person gets labelled as the problem.

I no longer think that is good enough.

The real challenge is not just to support dyslexic people more kindly.

It is to redesign the environments that keep turning compatibility problems into identity problems.

That is the shift I care about now.

Not pity.

Not compensation.

Not “pros and cons”.

But better design for different minds.

To explore more of my work as the founder of Divergent Thinking, visit the blog or learn more about workplace needs assessments.