Step into my home on any given day, and you’ll likely notice something unusual: words written on walls, scribbles on appliances, and letters scattered across surfaces that were never meant to be notebooks. To some, it might look like mischief or a mess. But to me, it’s a window into Marcus’s world.
Marcus, my son on the autism spectrum, has hyperlexia—a condition where children show an advanced ability to read and write, often before they can communicate effectively with speech. While Marcus has not mastered verbal communication, his writing gives me a rare and precious glimpse into what is going on in his mind.
Hyperlexia is both a gift and a challenge. Marcus can recognize and write words far beyond what most 5-year-olds can. Yet, he struggles to use language in everyday conversation. Instead of telling me how he feels or what he wants, Marcus writes.
Sometimes the words make me laugh, and other times they stop me in my tracks. He once wrote “poo” and “pee” right on the toilet seat. On the TV, he wrote “TV.” On the fireplace, he scrawled “fire” and “danger.”
To many, these might look like naughty scribbles. But to me, they are proof. Proof that Marcus understands. Proof that he notices and labels his world. Proof that even when he doesn’t use his voice, he is communicating clearly in his own way.
I’ll admit something: I am guilty of letting him write on walls, furniture, and even appliances. Most parents would rush to stop it, hand their child paper, and scold them for “making a mess.”
But for me, these words aren’t just scribbles. They are Marcus reaching out, saying, “Here’s what I see. Here’s what I know. Here’s what I want to say, even if I can’t say it out loud.” Every letter is communication, every phrase a piece of his inner world.
Seeing his words—even in places they don’t belong—reminds me that my son has a voice. It may not come through his mouth, but it flows through his pen.
Of course, I know he can’t write on walls forever. Part of my role as his mom is to guide him toward more appropriate ways to express himself—like notebooks, chalkboards, whiteboards, or tablets. We’re slowly transitioning, giving him his own spaces to write freely without damaging the home.
But I remind myself daily: the goal isn’t to silence his way of communicating—it’s to honor it. To create safe spaces where Marcus feels free to share what’s inside him, without shame.
Marcus’s writing reminds me that communication comes in many forms. Some children talk, others sign, some use devices, and some—like Marcus—write.
When I step back from frustration and look deeper, I see the truth: my son understands his world more than people give him credit for. His words—whether on paper, walls, or furniture—are his way of saying: “I’m here. I see. I know.”
When I see Marcus’s words spread across my home, I no longer just see ink. I see a boy with thoughts, awareness, and intelligence that can’t always come out in speech. I see a child who may not yet say “I’m tired” or “I love you” with his voice, but who shows me daily that he understands his surroundings.
Yes, my walls tell a story. They tell the story of a child with hyperlexia who uses writing as his bridge to the world. And they remind me—and hopefully remind you—that communication isn’t always spoken. Sometimes, it’s written in places you least expect.
If your child has hyperlexia or shows similar behaviors, here are a few practical ways to support them:
My name is Charlene Pinnock**, and I’m the founder of *WeAre Autism*—a platform I created out of love for my son Marcus, who is on the autism spectrum. As a mother, advocate, and writer, I share educational articles based on my lived experiences, cultural background, and the everyday lessons I learn while raising a neurodivergent child. My goal is to support and empower other parents and caregivers, especially within the Jamaican community, by offering real stories, practical tips, and encouragement. You're not alone on this journey—and if no one else says it, I will: you're doing an amazing job.
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