mentalknot

[mentalknot]

First “Solo” Result?

The early years of my mathematics education introduced me to a strange “gut feeling” that comes about when a proof is correct.

I became accustomed to following it for my problem sets…

Just today, I felt it for a result of my own.

In less than 24 hours, I’ll present it to my mentors. Then, if all goes well, I’ll present it in my talk on Tuesday… in front of fellow undergrads and some of the leading mathematicians in my subfield.

I’m terrified, but I know the proof is there; I know how the steps should fall out. I feel confident in my intuition.

Now, all I have to do is write.

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It’s all real… I’m not “crazy” after all

When you enter “survival mode,” the world exists through an entirely new filter. You learn to expect the hard times, even crave them. You find a sick facade of comfort in the slipping assignments, the empty bank account, the fact that your brain seems to be “gradually shutting down.”

Quitting feels like a beautiful relief — I was more than ready to throw in the towel.

Then I went to a mathematics talk.

Five months later, I’m friends with the cohort; I’m doing research with their advisor, I’m experiencing things that I could have never imagined, even on my “healthiest days.” They say:

“Have you considered graduate school, let’s introduce you to potential advisors…”

Why do you believe in me?

“Come audit graduate courses at some of the best institutions; we’d love to have you”

But my transcript—

“You ought to stop applying to retail jobs, we’ll find you something that pays better — focus your mind on math”

I’m not even your student…

I don’t fully understand what they see. My nearsightedness extends far beyond physical eyesight, and I doubt any optometrist could correct such an ailment.

I work on math, and my mind clears. I see what my advisor was hinting at — the depth in combinatorics, geometry… just how far this project could extend.

I see the paper — I’ve just gotta prove the pieces.

And to think, this all happened because I chose to deal with my distress through attending math talks.

Because I found comfort in hearing how they discussed research ideas with ease, eventually wanting to join in and truly grasp each topic myself.

I never had a professional agenda.

I wanted to enjoy math for a little longer, however long I might’ve “had left” before becoming incapacitated.

And now I’m living a new life… one that feels right but terrifying in it’s own right. I’d still never call myself “smart,” but my mind does work.

I’m not dying.

And I want to be a mathematician.

[mentalknot]

“sometimes I feel concerned about my level of imposter syndrome, but then I remember that you exist… and I’m reminded of how much worse it could be.”

-my housemate

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I don’t understand what is happening to my life, and I don’t think I’ll have the background to deeply grasp it anytime soon…

so, I’ll focus on what I know: math.

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Dilemma and Math

Attended my second workshop/conference of the summer today, and saw a ton of familiar faces — from both the summer and mid-semester talks.

We enjoyed some lectures and old jokes. I’d missed them, so suddenly life felt comfortable again — maybe too much so…

As I sat with a new group of friends for lunch, a professor asked me about my funding setup for research — I confessed that I had none, quickly explaining that I understood the informality of the project, and that I didn’t feel resentment or annoyance at my mentor (he’s amazing).

However, I’m nearing broke and the part-time job search is coming up dry… I’m confident in my ability to “figure it out” — I always have… but when I’m stressed, I frequently fail to hold the truth close to my chest.

The professor looked concerned, and asked i’d told anyone else (namely my supervisor) about the situation… I tried to hint at it, but got scared.

She urged me to tell someone, and said she might ask around… I’m grateful but nervous. Academia is already in financial duress right now, and I don’t want to add to the burden.

Besides, I’m not a student at their institution. They owe me nothing. I just showed up at their research talks one day, and they let me hang around — even became my friends.

I don’t want to loose them.

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First Week of Research

It’s been a few days since I moved back to the city for my research, days filled with part-time job searching, lattice explorations, and chatter with department friends. My routine is still settling, and my apartment shower still requires a functional drain… but I’m housed!

When I stopped by the university to attend a lecture and grab some reception food, one of my friends noticed the oddity of my circumstances, asking “why aren’t you staying with your family at all this summer?” Caught.

I’ve long avoided the day where various truths of my situation would be revealed to research friends, enjoying the math and their company without expectation… but we’re good friends now, and connection/trust ought to be a good thing. I told him the rough summary, to which he listened kindly, changing nothing about our friendship afterwards.

We sat to work on some math, running into another friend and chatting about our summer projects… and funding troubles.

A few days later, some professors and mentors from last summer kindly agreed to meet and discuss career advice/reconnect… guess I wasn’t too chaotic back then!

Everything feels so natural, so right. I’m grateful to be welcomed back, even “unofficially” for our project. The mathematicians invited me to workshops, dinners, and conferences… and I hope I don’t become too annoying or naive.

Again, I must refrain from these worries… and trust that these mathematicians are simply kind. I shall repay with good work in my research.

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Summer of Math

The professor and I spoke for around an hour and a half. He showed me various ways to extend the project and briefly described numerous other results that may or may not be related, but were interesting nonetheless. He was kind and patient with my naivety, and I intend to work hard as repayment.

I was admittedly nervous — I mentioned “if he’d be interested in working on the project” to which he remarked that thus result will be my own, but one he’s happy to advise me on.

I hope I didn’t seem entitled or expectant of anything from him, that my broken-handle bag and cracked cell-phone screen didn’t provide insight into the year I’d just escaped.

In that city, among those academics, I become someone new — I am temporarily free from ptsd. I am a woman who is self sufficient, who’s “got it together.” What’s more, I have many friends in the summer department now, and I have a potential paper or two on the horizon…

Everything feels right, almost uncannily right.

I feel comforted by a newfound intention to dedicate my life to mathematics.

I feel safe and normal among these more senior mathematicians… that is, when I’m able to disregard l my own age.

I feel confident in my ability to prove these conjectures, to make some of my own, to work semi-independently on a real project.

What I don’t understand is why they kept around a strange kid who showed up unannounced to seminar nine months ago… what do they see in my abilities? Are they simply kind?

Can people be solely that — kind?

These are questions I ought not dwell on. In fact, I ought to keep my head down and not question anything this summer… each sequence of events will progress naturally…

…and I could only fail by fighting whatever is occurring in my career right now.

Back to the lattices we go.

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Initially learning combinatorics through research seminar talks has made (finally) sitting down to read through textbooks a wild ride…

every few pages I’m like: “AYO I remember that absolute banger from the talk on month X, day Y.”

10/10… lowkey might recommend?

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Me: “I will not be mistaken for a graduate student at conferences this summer!”

Also me: *has been trained to introduce myself with: name, supervisor, and research interests… and feels more comfortable talking to profs*

And no… this is not “good.” An undergrad at professional conferences is “promising,” but a grad student with my undergraduate level of mathematical maturity is… just a “bad grad student” 😭 (let me have my youth)

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“How did you find your research specialty/network and get to know others in your field?”

Me: “Ah yes, I stumbled upon a lucky group of mentors and friends during the most diabolical crash out of my college life…”

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Math Research — an update

The professor and I will soon meet for coffee. We’ll meet at the same shop where I worked on my last project in mornings before his conference last summer. There’s tons to talk about, and tons more that I ought to prepare — in all, I’m just eager to sit down and chat about some math.

Housing came through at the final hour, and the place costs everything I have. It’s the nicest place I’ve lived in some time, and I’ll have the autonomy to start work earlier… and treatment — being broke and housed is far better than broke in a broken home, with no way out.

Furthermore, it seems that my college has grants for students from unsafe homes, that I can request small loans with no interest or fees — I’ll be starting off the summer with a bit of change in my pocket after all.

And what’s more, my current professor sat me down with unexpected care today, stating:

“I know you’re applying to be a financially independent student… if you need any help at all, I’m here as a resource.”

Over the span of 72 hours, my world completely changed… life became worth living… and I can finally focus on finals like a normal college student.

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Math Research... Once More?

If I've learned anything this semester, it's that I fail to be chill about anything... especially math.

I didn't expect that my friend's invite a math talk would spark multiple months of joyous combinatorial conversation. I didn't expect to meet a group of kind mathematicians, who welcomed a naive undergrad to their seminars, to their dinners, to the niche beauties of their research area.

I didn't expect those weekly seminars to slowly heal trust in my mind.

However, here we are. I've been exceptionally lucky -- more than one can suitably write. A few weeks ago, in a moment where I was fully ready to give up, drop out, and sign myself into a long-term facility (if they even exist anymore)... a professor offered me a lifeline:

"Reach out to my advisor, he's quite kind, and may have an idea of someone who's available to work with you for the summer."

Her advisor is the top person in his field -- there's no way he'd have the time of day for me... right?

He offered me a problem, asked if I had any ideas of conjectures or results on further generalizations...

I spent three weeks, poured over his books, papers, and any related works I could find in the field. Outside math, my grandmother had a health scare, then my housing fell through for May.

I clung to the question like it was my only comfort -- it was.

Eventually, as I continued to worry about "accidently ghosting" the kind professor, the ideas fell right in front of me. I wrote rough notes in LaTeX, summarized in an email... and replied to the professor.

He offered to meet.

Had I conjectured well? I trust my own ideas... rather I don't trust myself as the sender. Nonetheless, I must now prepare for our chat. He asked for my note sheet as well... which was... organized to my own liking, so I'm cleaning some things.

I still have no idea where I'll be living for one month after finals, where I'll make money (feels rude to ask in the current political climate...), but I know one thing...

If I work with him, I'll be around mathematicians who I've come to trust and care about -- I'll have a home in every emotional sense... and I'll have math... math that makes me feel sane...

When I worked on his problem... my mind felt truly free, truly functional, truly happy... for the first time in 10 years.

Here's to hoping I don't fall on my face once more.

[mentalknot]

The happier I become, the more scary life seems.

I’ve come to love combinatorics: working to understand talks at seminar a little more each week, discovering all the pockets of mathematics where combinatorial methods prove useful, and interacting with the people of the field — who are the kindest mathematicians I know.

So, when I suddenly needed a job/research for the summer… I reached out to them. I was lucky to find a kind mentor reply and give me a question, which I’ve poured over for two weeks. I’m nervous that I should’ve replied ages ago, but wanted to supply a good answer.

I ought to be excited, ecstatic… and I am! However, I can’t help but fear the reaction of my new combinatorics friends if they find out all that really goes on in my life outside seminar.

I want to remain the quiet undergraduate student, the one who shows curiosity and expects no extra favors/effort from the others in the group — a passer-by, forgotten by others outside those 4-5 hours each week.

I don’t want them to learn that I scramble to find a home every five weeks, that they’ve felt like family to in recent months, that going to seminar has been the sole thing that keeps me going in the worst moments…

I don’t want them to feel manipulated… like they have an obligation to help. I am not their student, their colleague, or “real family.”

I am simply grateful for the math and conversation… I don’t have any need to be seen.

Really, I’m just terrified of losing them…

[mentalknot]

The tableaux have won,

I no longer feel young,

but still… we’re having fun.

I extremely sorry to those who suffered through reading this…

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Light at the End of the Tunnel?

Turns out, it was never generalized anxiety… it was PTSD. Miraculously, a simple relabeling of my condition has granted me the strength to push forward — to heal.

For generalized anxiety, my case was unique and severe… I was beginning to loose faith in my future as a mathematician.

For PTSD, my case is quite mild, and subsequently: quite treatable — my therapist, whom I’ve known for years, is trained aptly.

If I can firm up housing and a source of income for the summer, calming my quality of life, I’ll qualify for EMDR… a specialized treatment with an 80-90% success rate.

Soon, I’ll be free to focus solely on math, and less fixated on prepping for the “faux disintegration” of my 20-year-old mind.

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I’ll always be amazed by the kindness of combinatorialists. Despite my lack of background eight months ago, they welcomed me to their seminars, taking time to explain various concepts.

I was terrified of my own mind, and they assured me that I was not ill, rather dealing with naïve creativity/intuition. They shared stories of historical mathematicians, of eccentric philosophers, and slowly… I felt calm again.

They’ll never know how much these conversations helped me, how the term “academic family” meant the world, given recent events in my personal life.

I hope to repay their kindness by engagement and helping in any way I can, and I intend to pass along their lessons to younger students when I’m able.

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One year… and counting!

(tw: mental health)

A year ago today, I stared out the narrow window of an ambulance as math classes and friends faded from view.

Tonight, I smile at a fresh set of graph theory problems from the math department lounge, dreaming of a wonderful summer of research.

A year ago tomorrow, I woke to an unfamiliar hospital bed and fear for my future as a student.

Tommorow, I will wake in my mathematically vibrant dorm room, running off to enjoy a weeks-worth of classes… and for the first time in my college career, I’ll look forward to celebrating pi day!

Long-term recovery is tough, but possible. And I’m grateful for every part of the journey.