Page 61 of Steel Beauty

The tension loosens a bit, but the heaviness remains.Someday, I think to myself. Maybe someday. But not today.

Dr. Whitfield shifts in his chair, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. “Let’s talk about the family business. How’s that going?”

Another knot tightens in my chest, frustration settling in. “The hotel business isn’t what I want to do with my life. But I don’t want to let my family down either. They expect me to step up now that rugby is over for me.”

My parents don’t get it. They don’t understand what rugby was to me. It wasn’t just a job—it was my identity, my purpose. And then, in an instant, it was gone. Ripped away from me without warning.

Now, as the eldest son, all eyes are on me to take over the family business. My father’s ready to retire, and everyone assumes I’ll slide flawlessly into the role of president as if it’s the obvious next step. But it’s not.

I can’t bury everything I’ve lost and pretend this is what I want.

“They think I can handle it, but the truth is I’m drowning.” The admission hits me hard, and I glance up, meeting Dr. Whitfield’s steady gaze. “I don’t want to let them down, but every day feels like I’m pushing a boulder uphill.”

“What makes it feel that way?”

“My dyslexia.” The confession is heavy, as if saying it out loud gives it more power. “In rugby, it didn’t matter. On the field, I could hide it. But not in the business world. It’s impossible to avoid. I had to hire an assistant to read and respond to emails. Without help, it would take me all day to get through them.”

Hiding it feels like a job in and of itself. I know people think I’m lazy because I hand off simple tasks like asking someone to read an email out loud. They have no idea how much effort it takes for me to keep up.

But the worst part isn’t what they think. It’s what I feel. Stupid. Weak. Like a kid who never learned how to read properly, stuck pretending I’ve got it all together when the truth is I don’t. Not even close.

“Alex, dyslexia isn’t a weakness. It’s a challenge, yes, but it’s not a reflection of your intelligence or worth. You’ve spent your whole life excelling in an environment that didn’t depend on reading—an environment where you thrived. That’s no small thing. The skills that made you successful in rugby—resilience, problem-solving, leadership—can apply to your work now. You just need to approach it differently.”

Dr. Whitfield pauses, giving me a moment to let his words sink in.

“It’s not about hiding your dyslexia. It’s about managing it in a way that works for you. There’s no shame in using tools or relying on others for help. Real leadership isn’t about doing everything yourself. And trust me, the people around you don’t think you’re lazy. In fact, they’d probably respect you even more if you let them know what you’re dealing with.”

Respect me more? Maybe in theory. But the reality is different. Letting people know about my dyslexia isn’t an option. I’ve seen what happens when you give others that kind of power over you—they twist it, use it against you. They make you feel small, broken, incompetent.

I’ve fought too hard to build the life I have, to carve out respect in a world that doesn’t leave room for flaws. I’m not about to hand someone a weapon they could use to tear it all down. Some things are better left in the dark.

Dr. Whitfield’s expression softens, his question turning more personal. “How have you been managing the depression and anxiety?”

“Better, thanks to Charleston, but both are still there. It hasn’t been as heavy lately, but I feel it lurking beneath the surface.”

“Like it’s not gone but waiting for the right moment to rear its ugly head?”

“Exactly. Sometimes the anxiety blindsides me, especially at the office.” My words falter, heavy with my next thought. “What if I can’t get past this?”

“You’re not supposed to conquer it all at once, Alex. Life doesn’t come with a perfect plan. It’s not about avoiding mistakes. It’s about how you recover from them. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s okay not to have all the answers right now.”

“Easier said than done.”

Dr. Whitfield offers a small, reassuring smile. “It is. But the goal isn’t perfection, Alex. It’s about finding ways to manage the pressure before it becomes too much. One step at a time. And there’s an idea I’ve been wanting to suggest—canine therapy.”

I raise a brow, half surprised. “You think I need a dog?”

“A dog could help more than you realize. They have a way of providing a calming presence, especially on tough days.”

I consider it for a moment. “I like dogs a lot, but with everything going on, I don’t think I have the time for one.”

Dr. Whitfield nods, not pushing the matter. “That’s fair. It doesn’t have to be right now, but it’s something to think about for the future. In the meantime, focus on the positives—like your time with this new woman in your life. Take it one day at a time. You don’t have to solve everything all at once.”

The simplicity of his words strikes a chord. One day at a time feels manageable, even if the bigger picture still looms uncertain.

“We should also talk about setting some boundaries with your family. It might relieve some of the pressure you’re feeling. Expectations are much easier to manage when they’re not running your life.”

Easy for him to say. “Your mum isn’t a spicy Samoan woman.”

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