Math demons: a Spath Comic
I never used to think I had Math anxiety, but Pre-calculus was lurking, ready to pounce and prove me wrong.
Sure, I’d had anxious moments with math in my K-12 experience, but nothing stands out in my memory, except the concept of fractions, and, since I was homeschooled in a nurturing environment, the experience was not one that left a lasting mark of anxiety. Once fractions finally made sense, I did well in Math, and even passed college-level Calculus my senior year, ensuring I was forever excused from Math classes for the rest of my college career.
Though my specialties in college and after were Language and Fine Arts, I still found my understanding of Math sufficient enough to help others, and I have professionally helped people with it for some time. It wasn’t until I took on a couple of Pre-calculus students last year that I began to find holes in my Math ability. With that discovery, came the terrible realization: Math has a special way of making you feel utterly worthless when you don’t get it. And I just did not get certain aspects of sinusoidal functions, no matter how many YouTube videos I watched or textbooks I read.
My feeling of worthlessness was compounded because I am damned talented at learning: if I don’t know something, I usually pick it up quickly. So, at first, it was ok that I didn’t fully understand sine, cosine and tangent equations. I reckoned, with a little research, I’d get it. But, clearly, my research was not good enough, because a colleague overheard me trying to explain an aspect of sinusoidal functions to a student, and it was obvious enough to him that I needed help — which in itself was embarrassing for me because I’m supposed to be the professional, doggonit!
But even after what seemed like a good explanation from my colleague, I still didn’t get it, and that part was THE. WORST. I was given a perfectly rational and personalized explanation of a concept, and I just could not wrap my head around it. My brain went foggy, my heart-rate shot up, and I tapped into such a well of shame that it drowned my desire to be honest and say, “I don’t understand.” He asked me if I got it, all I could say was, “Yes.” Years of telling my students to say something when they don’t understand, I could not do it myself. I was humbled, embarrassed and ashamed, and so thankful I had to rush off to another commitment.
As I have taken some time to process what happened, a whole new well has has begun to open up in me, one that is becoming deeper than my shame-well: compassion. Real, solid, compassion. Starting with myself. This is what lead to this comic. It’s me processing my Math-shame, which may be a better term than Math-anxiety, and sharing it because I know others can relate. And it allows me to laugh at the absurdity of the pressure I put on myself to understand everything, perfectly, right away.
Someday, I’ll get sinusoidal functions. In the meantime, I’ll be quicker to not take myself so seriously when Math-shame strikes, and, when I recognize it in myself or my students, to slow down, and to encourage us all to laugh at our Math demons.
Somehow, I think that is the surest way to overcome them.
Note: for an excellent discussion on this topic, check out Physics Educator and Ph.D, Brad Moser’s, Podcast episode: “Math Shame and Anxiety”
