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My mother was an artist, my father was a scientist. I could never decide which of these I really am. Probably because I’m both. I wish more people viewed themselves this way. In teaching mathematics, “I was never good at math” is the most common phrase any person says to me when they find out what I do. Heartbreaking, folks. Absolutely heartbreaking. Why limit yourself? That’s a rhetorical question, because I believe it’s a combination of our societal views on mathematics as a discipline and a socially acceptable “failure” to be “bad” at math that results in this perspective. Mathematics teachers all over are trying their best to combat this view. I think there’s something deeper at the core here, though.

I read somewhere, long ago – so I’m sorry there’s no citation, that from a psychological standpoint, humans like to categorize things. So, for example, when people meet me and learn I teach math – now I’m in the categories of “teacher” and “math-person.” Too many categories and it sort of overloads the system… I do that to people a lot. Our brains like order (even if you’re saying “not mine!” In your head right now. Your brain has a sense of order no matter how disorganized it feels.) Categories allow for order (but I am chaos and I will destroy your catalog! Muahahaha… Like the quote “Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” nobody puts S. in a box.) However, this extends beyond my conversations with individuals because people categorize themselves.

Why would you want to put yourself in a box?! Are you Schrödinger’s cat? No. That’s a bad reference to make my point because the cat is both alive and dead simultaneously, which is really more of what I want you to accept about yourself rather than reject. While yes, there are extremes upon which we will never be “good” at something, why must we limit ourselves by these assertions? I am bad at basketball, but if a friend wanted to play with me I would play and I would have fun, too. Sure, I’ll never play professionally, but I can dabble with the dribble, get caught taking a shot, or laugh hysterically at myself when I miss the entire hoop and backboard as the ball goes off into the forest wonderland (maybe I could find Fae there?) I wish we could think of math this way, too. Honestly, I wish we treated everything that way: find the joy in it, regardless of how “good” you are at it.

We are products of our parents. No matter how hard we try to become different, more, or better than they were. I cannot lie because my mom lived honestly, even when it was abrasive (but most of the time it was kind.) I actually struggle to understand intentional lying, but with my age I realized that people often lie without realizing it themselves. Sometimes our reality shifts and we think we’re telling the truth even when we’re not. The mind gets messier with age, I think. There are too many memories, too much knowledge, and the system starts to overload. The thoughts and experiences blur and blend to form a fuzzy reality that we sometimes believe is crystal clear, even when it isn’t. Like “rose-colored glasses”, but more like prescription glasses because we may not realize the prescription has changed over time until it gets too fuzzy to see things we used to see clearly.

Additionally, our memories rewrite each time we review them. It’s not like pulling a book off the shelf and then putting it back. It’s downloaded and then uploaded with the new context from the most recent download. (Thankfully, because those of us with PTSD use this process to recover and heal from our traumas!) So, our realities shift from more than just the overload, they also shift based on the current perspectives of our experience. Fascinating, right?! So, the greatest abuse of my father is founded in precisely such an override. There are things about ourselves that we almost cannot face – for my dad, that was always fault. To be at fault was a fate worse than death because it would have made him bad, in his eyes. I tried to explain to him that even good people can do bad things, but his perspective was fixed. These things that we cannot face define us in ways that shape our perspective. See, I will always feel at fault, because I see the perspectives and pain of those around me. I understand their pain, and I want to fix it. I know that my father couldn’t accept the fault in his actions, and that was the core that caused the behavior that ended our relationship. He’s still not ready to face that and make a change, and maybe he never will be. However, this has shaped his experience of events so drastically that his narrative of what happened shifted over time. Memories change as we revisit them and the present perspective is imprinted onto the memory as it is uploaded into storage. We all must remember this, because it is a downfall.

See, I mentioned that my life is dark. So, my narrative shifts similarly to my dad’s. Only, I am always somehow abused in my relationships. I was abused so much as a child, that the abuse inevitably comes. Either because I am bad at picking romantic partnerships, or because I create the environment of my abuse within relationships – I honestly don’t know, because memories are fuzzier than we want to believe. All I can do is work to change. Work to heal. Keep in my mind the knowledge that I suffered a lot of abuse, and not to assume it or go looking for it. Use reality checks, phone a friend, and question my feelings without the potential abuser involved. Sometimes I’m so used to being abused that I let it go too far, but likewise; sometimes I’m so used to being abused that I expect it. I think this is a key piece to finding peace. The perspective and healing is necessary. (Think about it: what is something about yourself that you almost cannot face? That is where you’ll find your growth.)

A good time for a story… my favorite story about my mom:

The company my mom worked for went on a ski trip with the families of the employees. There were two houses that were rented and the people were divided between the two houses. I was in the house full of kids and parents of those kids. I think I may have been the oldest, and tasked with making sure things didn’t get out of hand? It’s also entirely possible that I was just isolating myself. Not sure. Anyway, the adults had all gone over to the other house, ostensibly to party their asses off while the kids were sleeping (I think they were drinking – so I’m exaggerating.) The adults decided to play a prank on the other house because the other house had less people and twice as many bathrooms – they stole all the toilet paper out of the house. I was a ridiculous nerd, so I think I was still up doing homework or reading when they all came back boisterously laughing. I remember sitting on the couch as all the (drunk?) adults were laughing around the kitchen and dining area.

Shortly thereafter the phone rang, which caused a lot of commotion, and my mom answered it. “Hello?” Some of the other adults were like “is it them?” in whispers “don’t tell them!” stifled laughter, etc. My mom gets a look on her face like a sweet 4-year old who just got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to *long pause* “… Uh, no – um, yeah. We stole your toilet paper. Sorry, we’ll bring it back.” Some of the other adults exclaimed that she ruined it, some of them were mildly frustrated, one of them came up and patted her on the shoulder. My mom didn’t lie in that moment, and it’s a critical memory of mine because it reminds me why I don’t lie. Yes, it was a prank and no one got hurt. But, it’s also sort of cruel to remove all the toilet paper from a house – imagine being one of those people and needing toilet paper: not cool. Some of you are laughing right now, that’s okay. It’s a funny image, but it’s not funny to be in that position. I think that’s the reason I would do exactly as my mom did – admit it, apologize, and repair (give them toilet paper!)

Remember folks, give the people what they want: toilet paper!

Much love, -S.