Dyslexia has never felt like a weakness, says architect Robert Cox, who has found that being forced to express concepts more visually has proved something of a gift
When people think of dyslexia, they often imagine it might be a roadblock to certain career paths. It’s quite easy to see why when you imagine the struggles with reading and writing in a professional context and the frustration of working twice as hard to understand things that seem so simple to others. While that’s certainly part of my experience, for me, dyslexia has never felt like a weakness. It’s simply the way my mind works, and I’ve found my way around it, often by using pencil and paper.
Growing up, school wasn’t easy. Exams were brutal. I had to read questions three or four times to decipher what was being asked. This continued into university, where the amount of reading and writing could have been overwhelming. But my dyslexia didn’t derail me because of the strength of my drawings. I could pour into those sketches more than I ever could into words. While I struggled to process academic text, I found freedom in creativity and a way to express complex concepts in a more visual way. This has also been incredibly useful for clients, who respond to the drawings in a far more emotional way than to written proposals.
From an early age, I knew I could explain myself better through drawing than through any essay or written assignment. I’d considered becoming a lawyer but the sheer volume of reading and writing was intimidating. On the other hand, art, drawing and, most importantly, architecture made sense to me. It wasn’t about spelling, grammar or sentence structure. It was about seeing and imagining and then expressing those ideas through visual descriptions in pencil.
I never saw dyslexia as a flaw but rather as a different way of thinking. Instead of banging my head against the wall trying to fit into a mould I wasn’t built for, I found an exit. Drawing became my toolbox. In my world, writing is too singular, too linear. Drawing, on the other hand, allows me to communicate in layers, dimensions, and space. It’s a way of speaking without words, and it suits me perfectly. That’s the beauty of architecture; it’s visual and tangible.
This is not to say I didn’t feel the weight of dyslexia when I was starting my career. When I was applying for jobs, my biggest fear wasn’t whether I was qualified enough but whether the person reading my application would zero in on a spelling mistake and disregard my CV. I used to imagine potential employers going over my emails with a red pen, circling every typo. It could have been demoralising.
Instead, I focused on what I did best. Every sketch, every drawing, every design was an opportunity to showcase my strength. When words felt unavailable, my drawings spoke volumes. And over time, I stopped worrying so much about what people might think of my spelling or grammar. I realised that what mattered most was the creativity and skill I brought to the table.
Looking back on my evolution as an architect, my dyslexia has actually been something of a gift. It made me work harder to develop my visual language. And in architecture, that’s such a valuable asset.
So, for anyone with dyslexia or any other learning difference, my advice is to never let it define you or limit your ambitions. Find your way of doing things. For me, that was drawing, and it’s taken me further than I ever imagined. Architecture is a field that thrives on creativity, innovation and imagination, and those are gifts upon which the rigid rules of spelling and grammar have no bearing.