Rosemary Richings’ Stumbling Through Space and Time
Rosemary Richings is possibly the world’s most prominent dyspraxia advocate and writer. In 2022 she published her book Stumbling Through Space and Time: Living with Dyspraxia. As someone who writes about my own lived experience of dyspraxia, I was fascinated to read about Rosemary’s experience of DCD. How much of her story would chime with my daughter’s and mine? Which of her DCD symptoms would I relate to?
The answer: quite a lot – but not everything.
The experiences that mirrored my own
Dance
Rosemary describes how dance was something she struggled with. This resonated with me. As I’ve described before, I have a visceral response to the idea of dancing – let alone doing it!
Driving
Rosemary described a “paralyzing fear of getting behind the wheel”. This was one of the sentences I underlined as I read her book. I too have a fear of driving. The idea of grasping all the tools while simultaneously judging space, moving lanes, and judging other drivers’ movements sounds like my idea of hell. In fact, it was my peers’ rush to drive when we reached late adolescence that confirmed for me that my brain worked very differently to theirs. At the time, it was a real ‘othering’ experience.
Cycling
Rosemary described in Stumbling her difficulties safely navigating high-traffic areas. This is something that I can relate to both from my experience and my daughter’s. Unlike Rosemary’s experience, neither of us had any trouble learning the mechanics of riding a bike but we both share her dislike of high-traffic areas. I love cycling, in fact – but off-road. I’m always a little apprehensive on busy roads.
Handwriting
Rosemary’s difficulties with handwriting made a crucial point for me: that two people can experience the same broad dyspraxic difficulty but at different grades of severity.
As I wrote in a recent blog about dyspraxic handwriting, both my daughter and I can write neatly when we have the luxury of time, but both struggle when under pressure. Rosemary’s challenges, however, are on a whole other level: the pain she described was way beyond my experience. I experience discomfort when writing for extended periods of time – as does my daughter – but nothing like that described by Rosemary.
Scissors
Using scissors is another example of fine motor skills with which we both struggle. But whereas I find scissors difficult to manipulate and struggle to cut straight, Rosemary experiences pain. As with handwriting, Rosemary’s higher grade of difficulty made me appreciate the different experiences that two dyspraxics can have with the same difficulty.
Feeling excluded from peers
On a broader level, I related to Rosemary’s descriptions of feeling excluded. The sense that others can effortlessly do things that I can’t is something that has run through my life; it’s one of the key emotional aspects of DCD – particularly during adolescence and early adulthood where peer inclusion is such a vital psychological need.
In my post The dyspraxic lad and his DIY dad, I described the contrast between my dad’s superb DIY skills and my position at the polar extreme. Rosemary’s descriptions of exclusion made me think back to how useless I was (am!) with a hammer and nails.
Dyspraxia as a disability
I’ve previously written about DCD as a disabling disorder. My perception in recent years has been that many people with neurodivergent conditions reject the thought of their neuodivergence as a ‘disability’ or ‘disorder’, instead interpreting it purely as a difference.
It was explicit, however, that Rosemary sees dyspraxia as a disability. Furthermore, she sees it as a condition that deserves the same ‘hierarchical status’ as visible, physical disabilities.
Lack of awareness
Speaking of hierarchies, Rosemary echoes my own perception that dyspraxia does not get the same attention or recognition as some other neurodivergent conditions. I have previously argued that DCD is the ‘poor relation’ of neurodivergence. I have even argued that autism, ADHD and dyslexia have become the default vocabulary for neurodiversity, while dyspraxia – like Tourette’s and dyscalculia – remains relatively obscure.
Stress and exhaustion
One of the lines in Stumbling that caught my attention was “Often, my dyspraxic brain is at its worst when I experience stress or exhaustion”. I couldn’t relate more.
I’ve mentioned in previous blogs that I feel tired most evenings – sometimes exhausted – and have compensated in recent years by reducing the amount of socialising I do in the evenings. I described in my post about using the pause button during a quiz show how my verbal processing time can be starkly different in the evenings.
Running
One aspect that took me a little by surprise was Rosemary’s description of her love of running: “When I run, I feel super powerful because from the start to the finish line I feel like… just for a second, the disability I’ve had since birth doesn’t exist. And man… the endorphins! The endorphins are great!”
I get the endorphins reference. Running feels great – both during and after.
For me, however, one of the key aspects with running is that it's a form of exercise that places far less visual-spatial demand on the dyspraxic brain. I can enjoy it without having to do much processing.
Where our experiences diverge
So, yes, many of Rosemary’s experiences chimed with me, either in full or part.
There were, however, some unexpected differences.
Navigation
I don’t share Rosemary’s difficulties with interpreting left or right – far from it, in fact. Nor her difficulty with compass directions. If anything, I’d say I’m unusually tuned in to north, south, east and west. Maybe a result of my love of geography. I was also struck by how Rosemary navigates by remembering tiny visual landmarks, which I thought was a fascinating solution.
Bumping into objects
When someone is diagnosed with autism, they are given a severity ranking of mild, moderate or severe. This isn’t the case with DCD. I wonder whether if there was, Rosemary would be categorised as experiencing more severe difficulties.
I bump into things more than most people, but Rosemary described how she constantly bumps into things. This, combined with the pain she described with fine motor skills, suggested to me that she had a much harder time of it than I have.
This, of course, raises a vital point: dyspraxia exists on a spectrum.
Early childhood experiences
Rosemary described difficulties with early milestones, including reading, writing and maths. In contrast, these were areas of great strength for me.
Rosemary described how her diagnosis came early. I got the impression her symptoms were very obviously visible from a young age. In contrast, I wasn’t diagnosed until 35.
Sensory processing
Rosemary referred on many occasions to her challenges with sensory processing, which reminded me of accounts I’ve read of autistic experiences. I don’t experience sensory-processing difficulties at all.
Alternative education / IEP / accommodations
Some elements of Rosemary’s education experience were alien to mine. She had an individual education plan (IEP) and several accommodations, including being able to type instead of handwrite.
Maybe this is partly attributable to Rosemary growing up in an era of slightly more awareness – I’m about ten years older. My education provision was standard English state-school fare, with no accommodations whatsoever.
That said, I would have loved some of the accommodations she described. As I described in a blog post about handwriting pain during my A Level exams, I would have loved the opportunity to type. My daughter’s diagnostician has recommended a word processor for her extended-writing exams, so maybe this is becoming a standard accommodation for those with dyspraxia. A step towards a more neuroinclusive education system.
Two features I hadn't encountered before
Stimming
I was well aware that stimming is associated with autism, but had never before read of it associated with someone with DCD – other than with those who are both dyspraxic and autistic.
Navigating by tiny visual landmarks
I found Rosemary’s navigation technique utterly fascinating. It’s left me curoius: is this an idiosyncracy of hers, or is it common amongst dyspraxics?
This was one of my favourite things about reading Stumbling: the reminders that lived experience isn't a diagnostic checklist.
The parts that made me think most deeply
While the symptom examples were fascinating, the passages of the book that resonated most strongly of all were the psychological and social aspects.
Knowing why
“For as long as I remember, knowing exactly why I will face certain challenges has taken stress and uncertainty out of the equation.”
Here Rosemary made me reflect on my own, very late, diagnosis at 35. For decades I wondered why I felt different, wondered why I’d struggled all my life with basic skills that others took for granted. When I was finally diagnosed, 11 years ago, I felt a tremendous sense of relief.
Repeated instructions
“I always feel at my most self-conscious when I realize that this is the twentieth time that someone has repeated crucial instructions. Very few people react with anything else besides impatience, and that’s when I feel extremely disabled.”
This hit me like a sledgehammer. Every word rings true. That sense of otherness, of worthlessness, of being an inconvenience.
Gender expectations
Rosemary described feeling excluded from female gender expectations. I related to this. For me, it was an inability to do a lot of masculine tasks that left me feeling excluded.
What struck me was that gender expectations can turn an ordinary dyspraxic difficulty into something more psychologically loaded. It's one thing to struggle with a practical task. It's another to feel that you're failing at something you're supposedly meant to be innately good at.
“A large chunk of the world seemed inaccessible to me.”
This, I’m sure, is a quote that many – most? – neurodivergents will relate to.
For Rosemary, she’s become a well-known figure, developed a successful career, and has achieved far more than might have been predicted when she was, say, 5 or 6 years old.
So many aspects of a normal British male life have felt inaccessible to me – from driving a car to putting up a shelf to playing 11-a-side football confidently. That said, I’ve excelled in other areas. Academically, musically, career-wise.
Dyspraxia can restrict what you can do – but it doesn’t have to restrict the whole you.
So, how much did I recognise myself?
Reading Rosemary's book was rather like looking into a mirror that had been angled slightly differently. I recognised myself in a large proportion of what I read.
I recognised:
the physical awkwardness;
handwriting difficulties;
visual-spatial challenges;
fatigue;
stress making everything worse;
feeling different from peers;
the frustration of other people's lack of understanding;
the sense that dyspraxia can be genuinely disabling;
the joy of running;
the importance of accommodations.
But I didn't recognise:
Rosemary’s sensory experiences;
her stimming;
her directional difficulties;
her early educational difficulties;
some of her more profound physical challenges.
Reading Stumbling Through Space and Time has reinforced something I've increasingly come to believe through writing this site: there are common principles, but no single dyspraxic experience.
And finally…
The value of Stumbling Through Space and Time has been validating my own experiences, reminding me that others have experienced many similar frustrations, while also reminding me that every dyspraxic will have a unique symptomatic fingerprint.
The more neurodivergent people tell their stories – share their lived experience – the more opportunities there are for someone else to recognise themselves in one of them.
That's ultimately why I created Dyspraxic Dad. Not because my experience is the experience of DCD, but because it's an experience of it. And perhaps some of it will chime with someone else – diagnostically, practically, or emotionally.
