I’ve often wondered why I return to certain films like a moth to a flame. Why do stories about “difficult” classrooms and “lost” students give me such a visceral sense of safety?

Before I knew the word Dyslexia, I was someone who felt “glitched.” I didn’t know why the letters danced or why the world felt like a language I couldn’t speak. But I had a teacher. Her name literally translates in English to Mrs. Little Luck, NO KIDDING.

She stayed with me an hour after school, every single day, because her own daughter faced the same struggle. Watching these films isn’t just entertainment, it’s a psychological autopsy of the hope she gave me.

The Psychology of the “Mentor” Cinema:

– Freedom Writers (2007): A study on Narrative Therapy. It proves that writing your own story is the only way to stop the world from writing it for you. This film taught me that my “glitch” was actually my voice, as an author.

5th time watching

– Dangerous Minds (1995): A lesson in Authentic Authority. You cannot teach a mind until you have captured the heart through raw, unfiltered respect. It reminds me of the fierce way Mrs. Little Luck defended my potential.

4th time watching

– Stand and Deliver (1988): The ultimate breakdown of The Pygmalion Effect. When a mentor expects greatness, the brain finds a way to overcome its perceived “deficits.” Reading was my mountain, but she was my oxygen.

3rd time watching

– Coach Carter (2005): An exploration of Boundaries as Love. The realization that someone holding you to a higher standard is the ultimate form of psychological validation. She never let me quit because she knew I wasn’t “broken,” just differently wired.

3rd time watching

– Dead Poets Society (1989): A tribute to Individualism vs. Conformity. The moment a student realizes that “Carpe Diem” applies even to those of us who read the words a little slower than the rest.

2nd time watching

Today, as I rewatched these movies I realized that I am living proof and a witness to the fact that one person can be the bridge between a “label” and a future.

A Personal Reflection

I used to think I loved these movies because of the story. Now I realize I love them because I was one of those kids. Mrs. Little Luck didn’t just teach me to read, she taught me that I existed.

Because of all this, I’m out here helping kids with dyslexia, but let’s not get it twisted: half the time I’m just looking for a tiny ally who won’t judge me when I still have to double-check; maybe triple, sometimes quadra-check; my writing before I hit ‘send’ on a professional email. Or when I read them a story and I stumble over certain words.

Yeah, it’s still hard for me to read out loud. I usually need to scan a row before speaking it, and I have to be so intentional about my breathing; if I’m not careful, I literally run out of air and start feeling dizzy. Pauses aren’t just punctuation for me, they are my oxygen.

Also, it’s like my brain has a mind of its own: if one word looks even remotely like another, my internal ‘Visual Autocorrect’ kicks in and picks the most likely option before my eyes even finish scanning the letters. I’ll be reading ‘core’ and my brain confidently shouts ‘whore’ just because they share the same ‘vibe.’ It’s a constant battle between what’s actually on the page and the creative guesses my mind makes to fill the gaps.

I survived Mrs. Little Luck’s overtime sessions, but I’m pretty sure the letters are still gaslighting me. At this point, my relationship with the alphabet is a toxic long-distance tragedy: I keep trying to make it work, and the alphabet keeps ghosting my brain.

Public speaking tip: Always double-check your pronunciation. I once tried to explain the ‘core concept’ of a project, but my brain’s visual autocorrect glitched, and I confidently announced the ‘whore concept’ instead. Let’s just say the room got very quiet, very fast.