Walking in the Woods – Our Journey with Dyscalculia
Walking between the tall pines and thick forest brush, my friend and I followed the winding dirt trail through the woods, discussing our children’s particular school situations. Both of us were parenting a child who didn’t fit in the school system in the same way as maybe the more average child would.
We trailed behind her small children, squeezing in a thought or two as we balanced being far enough away so their little ears wouldn’t pick up our conversation, but close enough so we could keep our eyes on their little bundled-up bodies running through the woods.
It was an emotionally heavy conversation. My friend’s child was in a difficult place with school, and they were struggling just to make school bearable. School was incredibly stressful and not working, but there was no clear way forward.
After a quiet moment, my friend suddenly said, “Your daughter seems so confident and well-adjusted - even in her situation.”
What she meant by, “her situation” was that my daughter has a math learning disability known as dyscalculia.
Her observation made me pause internally, while my feet moved along the muddy trail. A light rain was beginning to fall.
A brief moment of time-travel overtook my mind. I remembered all the moments of anxiety, bewilderment, and struggle that we had faced over the past few years in connection to my daughter’s learning disability .
During those years, confusion was prevalent. How could a bright child who was curious and loved learning, be in tears every week because she couldn’t get past the two times tables on the speed math tests, no matter how hard she tried? It was especially confusing because her teacher communicated that our daughter was working ten times harder than the other students. Our daughter was confused too. I remember the day she asked me, through tears, “Why can’t I get them, Mommy? Am I stupid?”
One moment was especially clear in my mind when my daughter was distraught over math flashcards, shaking and curled up in a fetal position, while I sat next to her, frustrated by her inability to grasp and retain what seemed like simple math facts.
Nervous nail-biting and severe exhaustion from school was an every-day occurrence. Her shoulders drooped as she dragged herself across the pavement to the car at the end of each day, “Mommy, please take me home.”
Later, when we finally received a learning disability diagnosis, it helped to know what was going on. But loneliness filled me as I struggled to find anyone who knew much about dyscalculia, much less anyone who could help us navigate school and life with it.
Grief and sadness would often creep in, taunting me to burst into tears in places like school meetings or in conversation with a friend. It was sad to see our daughter feeling discouraged and overwhelmed. It was hard to accept that dyscalculia impacted so much of our lives.
All these moments flashed through my mind with my friend’s comment. Snippets of moments that were anything BUT confidence and well-adjustment.
But my friend was right. Despite what we were up against, our daughter was doing well. Just three years later, we found ourselves in a different place entirely. She was thriving and growing. Anxiety, for all of us, had greatly diminished. We were in a hopeful place full of more understanding, and a common language to communicate around this difficulty. We had embarked on a new, more hopeful path.
That flash-back gave me a new perspective, and I could see just how far we had come from those difficult days. The resources, support, and the understanding we gained had drastically impacted the trajectory of our journey, our daughter’s confidence, and our family life.
That moment confirmed a passion to reach out to other struggling families, and share all that we had discovered, so they too could come to a place of much more ease, confidence, and connection.
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