My Lost Toddlerhood

For as long as I can remember, something set me apart from other people. I became the oddball. Teachers wrote in my school reports that I “seemed to lead an intense inner life.” I often drifted out of conversations, losing minutes. Words dissolved before I could grasp their meaning. People repeated themselves. I pretended to follow along so I wouldn’t look stupid. It wasn’t shyness. It was a kind of dissociation that made ordinary interaction feel like wading through fog. My split self goes back to my toddlerhood. My book Mirror Image Shattered tells the whole story. My Aural Dyslexia No One Could See I seemed to suffer a form of dyslexia, but in listening — an aural processing disorder. Music lyrics slipped past me. Spoken words tangled up. I asked Mum for a hearing test, convinced my hearing had gone awry. She whispered, “Would you like some sweets?” I answered instantly “Yes please!”. She smiled and assured me there was nothing wrong with my hearing. Okay, so my hearing was fine. ...

No relationship compares to that of identical twins. I often felt sorry for ‘singles’. How lonely they must feel. I sensed a private wavelength only two identical minds can detect. Eve and I often didn’t need words. We understood each other’s moods, fears, and ideas— a mirrored experience. Life as a Mirror Image Twin But twinhood is not the magical telepathy as portrayed in films. We never ‘heard’ each other’s voices in our heads. Instead, our parallel wiring and shared childhood meant we made similar connections to things. Our closeness was real but grounded by living side‑by‑side. Despite what others saw, I always felt different from Eve. That was her name - Eve. I was the driving force — the one inventing games and solving problems. I was the tomboy interested in meteorology and science in jeans and T-shirts. Eve crocheted, macraméd, and read agony‑aunt columns. She embraced growing up and boyfriends; I clung to childhood. She was my counterpoint, my resilience, and my life‑raft. Wi...