Mum and Dad never noticed I was failing, but I don't blame them. They had five children and a busy household, and I hid it well. I muddled through primary school, but within months of starting secondary education I'd been moved into a class for "slow" kids. As far as I was concerned, that was where I belonged, but I still felt ashamed.

I ignored my new classmates and told old friends I'd been moved up to a higher class. Groups of them would walk past the window, arms linked, and I'd duck my head. Keeping my head down became a habit.

At 14, I realised things weren't going to get better. I'd soon leave school unqualified and unemployable. Everyone would know I was stupid. Unable to confide in family or friends, I ran away from home.

Job prospects for homeless teenage girls are limited enough, but not being able to read created challenges in even the most menial work. As a waitress, I'd pretend to be hard of hearing and get customers to point at the menu, then I'd secretly mark it with a pen.

But it didn't take long for another opportunity to present itself. You really don't need to be able to read and write in order to pout in front of a camera. Taking off my clothes for magazines paid the rent and opened new doors. I started mixing with people who had money - rock stars, businessmen, MPs. I'd get taken to expensive restaurants.

Menus had been my enemy when working as a waitress; now that I was a diner in London's top restaurants, they posed just as much of a threat. I learned to wave them away and ask my date to order for me.

The London A-Z was a mystery, tube maps incomprehensible. If I had to meet someone, I'd repeat the street name to myself until I found a cab. Even then I'd often mispronounce it, accept the driver's interpretation from embarrassment and end up on the wrong side of town. I added an hour and a half to every journey time.

I avoided situations where I'd have to sign my name. Bills were paid at the post office, in cash. If I had to fill in an application form, I'd take it into the street and ask a passerby for help.

There was no one I could confide in. Having rubbed shoulders with confident, well-spoken people for years, I walked and talked as one of them, but the strong, assertive woman they saw was a charade. If a horoscope was passed around in a group, I'd say it was bad luck to read your own. If someone suggested a trip to the theatre, I'd find an excuse not to go. I was convinced my friends would turn their backs on me if they found out the truth.

The turning point came with the birth of my daughter, Henrietta. How could I expect her to thrive if I wasn't able to help her with homework? Who would read her bedtime stories, if not me? I was 29, and couldn't even recite the alphabet.

I enrolled on an evening course but kept it secret from my friends. The childish vocabulary of those early lessons revived the humiliated schoolgirl in me. Reading in front of the class, I felt more exposed than I ever had while naked in a studio. When I reached a word I didn't know, I'd feign a coughing fit.

Gradually, I started to gain what felt like a whole new sense. Within a year, I was able to stand in front of my classmates and deliver a presentation about the works of William Blake. I shook uncontrollably throughout. Fear does that, but so does exhilaration.

After that first year, I told my friends what I'd been up to. The relief was acute; like letting out a breath I'd been holding for years. I realised how lonely I'd always been. Finally, I was able to be myself.

At college I was diagnosed dyslexic, but misplaced pride had been my biggest problem. Rather than ask for help, I hid. I'm not hiding any more. Show me a wine menu and I'll mispronounce the names loud and proud.

Today, my confidence is real, and I feel in control of everything I do. I run a guest house, work as a photographer and am about to complete a degree in psychology and sociology.

I look for different qualities in men now. People with money often don't have much else going for them. I read voraciously - there's so much catching up to do - but keep returning to Blake. "And by came an Angel who had a bright key/And he open'd the coffins & set them all free." That's what happened to me: I was set free.

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