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I was 45 when I learned that dispraxia had a name.

Forty.

Five.

And when I finally found out there was a term to describe my life long struggles with doing basic tasks I wondered why it had taken so long for me to discover it. Was it just not a thing in the 80s? Was it because we were a working class family trapped in the endless maze of HMOs that made seeing a specialist so impossible? Or was it because I was a quiet well behaved girl doing well at school and that…