I should have failed my college Stats class - statistically speaking. If you crunched the numbers from my quizzes and labs and exams and midterms and finals, the numbers wouldn't exactly scream, "Congrats, you passed!!!!"
You see, math has never clicked for me.
Fortunately, my teachers picked up on this, and I was tested for learning disabilities/disorders.
When the results came back, I was told I had the following:
Dyscalculia: "Affects a person’s ability to understand numbers and learn math facts. Individuals with this type of Learning Disability may also have poor comprehension of math symbols, may struggle with memorizing and organizing numbers, have difficulty telling time, or have trouble with counting" (Learning Disabilities Association of America).
ADHD, Inattentive: "A disorder that makes it difficult for a person to pay attention and control impulsive behaviors. He or she may also be restless and almost constantly active" (National Institute of Mental Health).
I was retested later, and guess what? Those charming little results followed me into adulthood.
While my experience with ADHD is pretty manageable, my relationship with Dyscalculia has been much more challenging. This struggle was the most evident when I was required to take (and pass) a college math course before I graduated.
As a person whose math functioning sits at a 4th grade level (yes, seriously), the idea of taking a college math course was beyond daunting. So naturally, I put it off until the second semester of my senior year.
Let me be blunt: it was the worst.
I have never worked so hard to conceptualize and retain so little content.
To be honest, my prof probably should not have passed me - and I am forever grateful for his grace and kindness during a brutal semester (let's just say the odds were not in my favor #hungergames).
While I can't remember any of items on the syllabus - I left that course with some valuable life lessons.
1. Sharing your struggles can facilitate connection
I was fortunate to have a wonderful friend in my class. We sat next to each other, and it made the course much more bearable for both of us, as we shared a hatred for statistics.
My friend was always so sweet and understanding, so one day, after class, I told her about my disability.. My friend's eyes got pretty wide, and she told me she had the same one! It was the first time I had ever met someone who openly shared their experience with Dyscalculia.
Allowing yourself to be vulnerable has the potential to open doors - doors that will connect you with people who may be experiencing similar trials - doors that can provide understanding and companionship when it feels like no one gets you. My friend and I bonded over our shared disability - we studied together before tests, shared our strategies, pooled our note cards, and quizzed each other. Dyscalculia had always left me feeling pretty isolated during math classes, but thanks to my kind, wonderful friend, I felt much less alone.
Not only did the course help me connect with someone who shared my struggle - it brought me much closer to Mark. At the time of the class, Mark and I had just started dating.
At first, I was a little hesitant to share such a personal weakness with a person who I really wanted to impress. However, the day I told Mark about my math disability was the day I learned I'd hit the jackpot - it turns out, the kid minored in math just for fun (yes, for fun).
Mark sprung into action and accompanied me to the library for hours at a time - breaking down problems, brining me cookies, and reassuring me when I worried.
Asking for help is not something that comes naturally to me, but I have learned that evading assistance from others denies us the opportunity to be blessed by their unique abilities. Mark helped me so much, and it set the precedence for teamwork in our relationship. This demonstration of support and kindness reassured me pretty early into our relationship that Mark was the person I wanted my life in a very permanent way.
2. Sometimes it's easier to spot our pride when we're struggling
I don't know about you, but I occasionally care a little too much about what other people think about me. I don't necessarily have a desire to be liked, but I do want people to think I am a good person who is good at things.
I had never really thought of myself as a prideful person, but that's probably because, you know...PRIDE.
My statistics course made me painfully aware of my problem with pride.
I was annoyed by how much it bothered me when I was called on and couldn't provide an accurate answer. I was shocked by my desire to exclaim, "I swear I'm smart in my other classes!" every time my classmates saw me struggle through an equation on the whiteboard.
My entire life, I had tricked myself into thinking I was humble - but my statistics class taught me that self-deprecating jokes & brushing off compliments didn't qualify as humility - it was pride dressed like humility.
3. Always try your best
You know that line from that Coldplay song, "The Scientist" that goes, "When you try your best but you don't succeeeeeeeeeeeeed" ?
Well, imagine that song playing on a continuous loop for the entire semester.
I never got a test grade above a C- in my stats class.
No matter how many hours I studied.
No matter how many color-coded note cards I crafted.
But every time I finished a test, I left the room with peace of mind - I knew I'd given the task everything I had. As a person of faith, I find great comfort in knowing my identity and value are not linked to my performance.
Whether or not you are a spiritual person, there's a great freedom that you'll feel when you give something your all - even if it doesn't look pretty or impressive.
4. Grace is the greatest gift
Before I took the Statistics final, I crunched some numbers (LOL, and by that I mean Mark, my human calculator, crunched them for me).
Things did not look good...I would need a C on the final to pass the course.
I had never gotten a C on a stats exam. My brain was not able to compute the numbers or process and apply the content - my only shot was memorizing every step, every vocabulary word, and nailing every essay and multiple choice question to make up for the actual math problems. And even that was a stretch.
I was the last person to leave my final.
I think my professor saw the distress on my face. He asked how I thought it went, and I shook my head and told him, "I tried my best."
When I received my grade the next week - I had passed. I am still not sure if I should have passed that class (statistically). I think I had a professor who saw a student working really hard to pass a test they didn't have much business passing.
Here's my guess: I think my professor's grace was skewed by grace - and that's a gift I hope to pass along whenever I have a chance.
Here's to the lessons that outlast our grade point average.
Here is to absorbing character over content.
Here's to grace over grading.
Sincerely,
Kelly
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