Member since August 2025
As the author of Mississippi Rising: The Story of How the Last Became First in Literacy Growth, Leta Palmiter brings a powerful message of hope, reform, and results in the fight for literacy equity. A nationally recognized leader in structured literacy, Leta has transformed classrooms, empowered parents, and inspired communities with her unwavering belief that reading is a human right.
Leta is the Founder and Executive Director of the Illuminations Center for Dyslexia, a nonprofit dedicated to helping children and families thrive with dyslexia through therapy, education, and advocacy.
She is also the creator of Vertical Take-Off Reading (VTO), an AI-powered literacy platform that personalizes decodable reading practice—meeting students where they are and accelerating their journey to mastery.
Watching a child finally read a word they’ve struggled with for weeks. Seeing a parent’s shoulders drop when they realize their child isn’t broken—just misunderstood. Knowing that something I built—whether it’s a nonprofit program, an edtech tool, or a new system—made life easier for someone who’s been told “no” too many times. At my core, I’m a systems-thinker with a fighter’s heart. I smile when I find a way through the red tape, rewrite the rules, and create something that actually works for the people who need it most. That moment when the impossible becomes possible—that’s what lights me up.
One of my favorite students—brilliant, gifted, off-the-charts IQ—came into my office with his mom years ago. He could read anything. A speed reader. But he couldn’t write a simple sentence. And it was breaking him.
We got to work.
Every session, he’d slump in with that scowl and mutter under his breath, “It’s not fair I have to come here. This is so dumb.” I’d smile and say nothing, because I knew what was coming.
Then as he left each day, same stance, same scowl—but different words:
"It’s not fair I can’t come here every day."
That’s the shift. That’s the moment you know it’s working. I watched that child grow into himself—build skills, confidence, and clarity. He broke every barrier we threw at him. Now he’s in college, thriving—and still trying to decide what exactly he’s going to accomplish… because when you’re that brilliant, choosing just one path might be the hardest part.
Every story I’ve ever told—the real ones, the ones that matter—start with this: I got mad.
I took a job I wasn’t qualified for. I needed a job, and the school needed a Special Education teacher. That should’ve been a red flag. But I passed a test and was deemed “qualified.” That made me mad. So I decided: if I was going to do this, I was going to do it well. I set out to become a great special educator.
Then I met students—bright, thoughtful, brilliant kids—who couldn’t read. And I realized I had no idea how to teach them. That made me mad.
So I earned a degree in dyslexia therapy. I learned how to teach them to read. But when I was told I couldn’t use what I’d learned in my own classroom? I got mad again.
So I walked away—and I founded a nonprofit.
Helping families felt right. It felt like justice. But when those families couldn’t afford services, I got mad again. I wrote grants. I pushed for schools to offer more. And they did. We grew.
But we needed help. Why didn’t every teacher know structured literacy? That made me mad. So I started teaching teachers. Then I needed more training myself—so I went back to school. Again.
And here's what I’ve learned through it all:
I’m a lifelong learner, yes. But I’m also a relentless advocate. I build systems, I fight for kids, and I don’t quit. Because reading is a human right.
This is the way.
Breaking Barrier: Topics include: Helping Content Area Teachers Feel at Home with Literacy! From Frustration to Flourishing: Practical Home Support for Dyslexia Teaching Older Readers-Not only Possible but Powerful
Upgrade Your SkillsOne of my favorite students—brilliant, gifted, off-the-charts IQ—came into my office with his mom years ago. He could read anything. A speed reader. But he couldn’t write a simple sentence. And it was breaking him.
We got to work.
Every session, he’d slump in with that scowl and mutter under his breath, “It’s not fair I have to come here. This is so dumb.” I’d smile and say nothing, because I knew what was coming.
Then as he left each day, same stance, same scowl—but different words:
"It’s not fair I can’t come here every day."
That’s the shift. That’s the moment you know it’s working. I watched that child grow into himself—build skills, confidence, and clarity. He broke every barrier we threw at him. Now he’s in college, thriving—and still trying to decide what exactly he’s going to accomplish… because when you’re that brilliant, choosing just one path might be the hardest part.
Every story I’ve ever told—the real ones, the ones that matter—start with this: I got mad.
I took a job I wasn’t qualified for. I needed a job, and the school needed a Special Education teacher. That should’ve been a red flag. But I passed a test and was deemed “qualified.” That made me mad. So I decided: if I was going to do this, I was going to do it well. I set out to become a great special educator.
Then I met students—bright, thoughtful, brilliant kids—who couldn’t read. And I realized I had no idea how to teach them. That made me mad.
So I earned a degree in dyslexia therapy. I learned how to teach them to read. But when I was told I couldn’t use what I’d learned in my own classroom? I got mad again.
So I walked away—and I founded a nonprofit.
Helping families felt right. It felt like justice. But when those families couldn’t afford services, I got mad again. I wrote grants. I pushed for schools to offer more. And they did. We grew.
But we needed help. Why didn’t every teacher know structured literacy? That made me mad. So I started teaching teachers. Then I needed more training myself—so I went back to school. Again.
And here's what I’ve learned through it all:
I’m a lifelong learner, yes. But I’m also a relentless advocate. I build systems, I fight for kids, and I don’t quit. Because reading is a human right.
This is the way.