Chapter 1: A Personal Journey with Mathematics

Mathematics was never my forte during my school years. As a British student, I often questioned how quadratic equations and Venn diagrams were relevant to my everyday life. The harder I tried to solve problems, the more my mind convinced me of my inadequacy, leading to increased frustration and a further inability to find solutions.

At the age of 13, my family relocated from London to Sheffield at the end of May. This move required my younger brother and me to enroll in a new school for the last few weeks of the academic year. Coincidentally, this was also exam week— a critical time that would determine our placement for the upcoming GCSEs, akin to a high school diploma. On day two of my new school, I found myself in a math exam that was far superior to my previous school, yet I could barely answer any questions.

Two weeks later, we sat in class as the results were announced. The teacher read each name aloud, and being at the bottom of the list meant I would hear my results last. My form teacher approached me, her expression reminiscent of someone preparing to deliver bad news.

“Um, has anyone discussed your exam results with you, Rebecca?” she inquired.

I shook my head, perplexed as to why anyone would, especially given her apprehensive demeanor in front of the entire class.

“Um, you received 3%,” she revealed.

A collective gasp filled the room as my classmates turned to stare at the new girl who struggled with mathematics. Embarrassed, I nodded in acknowledgment, attempting to disregard the snickers that followed.

Naturally, I was placed in the lowest math group, yet I managed to pass the exam two years later with a grade B, which brought me great satisfaction.

I can appreciate the appeal of mathematics—it offers a single correct answer and a logical route to reach that conclusion. This certainty provides comfort and a sense of achievement. Society often teaches us that being right is commendable, while being wrong is shameful. The satisfaction of being correct can be intoxicating.

However, it is easy to apply this desire for correctness to areas of life that allow for nuance and varying perspectives. Opening ourselves to the idea that our viewpoint may not be the only one can be surprisingly challenging. Different religious beliefs, child-rearing philosophies, and task approaches all illustrate this complexity.

As outlined in Stephen Covey’s book, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, the sixth habit is to “Seek first to understand, and then to be understood.”

Instead of immediately declaring, “No, you’re wrong,” consider rephrasing it to:

“I perceive it differently, but I’d love to hear more about your perspective.”

Make an effort to listen until you can articulate the other person's viewpoint as well as they can. This ensures they feel acknowledged and understood. Only then should you share your perspective— framing it as one of many possible viewpoints, rather than the definitive answer. By relinquishing the urge to be right, you invite growth through the acknowledgment and respect for diverse perspectives.

This reflection has motivated me to revisit my studies in mathematics. While it feels gratifying to be correct, it can be even more rewarding to deepen our connections by allowing ourselves the freedom to be wrong.