I Math Differently

Oomph. This article is personal.

Growing up, I was an A student. I even completed third and fourth grade at the same time, so I wasn’t held back a grade when I moved to the United States. I didn’t even work at my max, and I still did well.

Except in chemistry. I worked very hard and only got a C+. I understood the concepts but struggled with the basic calculations. I stopped pursuing math beyond algebra.

In university, I earned A’s in both statistics classes, but I had to work harder than everyone else. I understood the concepts and knew when to use each statistic. The basic arithmetic was where I struggled. So I ran every calculation several times on a calculator, and whichever answer showed up more than once must have been the right one, right?

At work, I felt five minutes behind everyone else in any conversation built on numbers. When there was a visual, I could catch up. Without one, it felt like following a conversation in a foreign language I only half spoke.

I also had some weird patterns: still needing to count things out, using a calculator to figure out tips, being chronically early or late to appointments, and struggling to follow dance steps.

I felt deep shame about this and believed I was intellectually inferior. Never mind the evidence otherwise, or that I excelled in many areas of life. I let this one thing define me. As a GenXer, I didn’t tell anyone. I created systems to survive and to cover it up.

It wasn’t until conversations with my sisters that I realized I math differently. Numbers don’t quite line up with quantities for me. I know, weird.

Naming It

Although I’m undiagnosed, I am 100% positive I have a learning difference called dyscalculia (dis-kal-KYOO-lee-uh). It shows up as difficulty processing numerical information, learning arithmetic facts, and performing calculations (APA).

In daily life, it means struggling with almost anything that involves arithmetic: making plans, estimating travel time, following recipes, and so much more. It touches just about every area of my life. Unless it’s the Electric Slide, you won’t catch me doing a line dance at a wedding. It takes me a long time to learn the steps.

Having a name for it helped me understand myself. For a long time I still didn’t tell anyone, but I could finally research strategies to help me get along. The shame decreased, but it didn’t cease.

Speaking Up

Over time, I began to tell the people closest to me. That gave me the courage to tell a few others.

At work, I started to say, “I math differently.” I asked for slides with numerical data ahead of meetings so I could process them, and I asked for time to get back to people on decisions when I needed it. In grad school, I knew myself well enough to hire a former CFO as a tutor for my Strategic Financial Analysis class.

Scaffolding, Structures, and Support.

Somewhere between 3% and 7% of people have dyscalculia (Scientific American, 2024). Knowing that, I’m much more open about it now. I want to make it less weird to disclose. I want people to understand that this is not an issue of intelligence, but a learning difference.

If you see yourself in this, know that there is support, and there are strategies that help:

• Use calculators. No shame in that.
• Give yourself extra time to double-check your work, get places, and make decisions.
• Rely on your support system. Once my colleagues knew, they could help me.
• Use AI. It has been a godsend for crunching numbers and creating visuals that help me understand data.
• Seek support from qualified professionals who can assess and guide you.

If you lead people, you can help too:

• Make it safe for people to disclose learning differences.
• Make visuals a team norm whenever you present data.
• Send data-heavy material ahead of meetings so everyone can digest it and come ready for a productive discussion.

I’m still finding my way through this. We can do it together.