Photo by Bernd Dittrich
It would usually start the same way.
A student would raise their hand, look at me with frustrated eyes, and say those five words every math teacher dreads:
“I just don’t get it.”
It seriously happened almost daily – every summer, in every summer school math class I ever taught.
And I understood – because “I don’t get it” felt true. It felt like a full sentence.
But it didn’t give me anything to work with.
Eventually, I started offering this metaphor:
Let’s say two people walk into a mechanic’s shop.
One says, “My car’s making a weird noise.”
The other says, “I have a nail in my tire.”
Who do you think the mechanic helps first?
Most likely? The person with the nail. Yes it’s easier and probably quicker, but it’s also clear. The mechanic knows what to do. Patch the tire. Move on.
The other car? The mechanic will probably have to take a test drive. Ask some questions. Do a little trial and error. The fix might be simple – but finding the fix takes time.
So I’d tell my students: “if you want better help in math, try to figure out where the nail is.
What did you understand? Where did it go sideways? What exactly isn’t clicking?
The more you can tell me, the more I can help.”
Now, I realize not many of you readers are in a math class, but here’s my point for YOU.
We often go to our teacher, the mechanic, our boss, our spouse, or even Heavenly Father with some version of those same 5 words: “I just don’t get it.”
And it feels like a fair thing to say. Like an honest signal of frustration.
But if we’re really honest – it’s often the safe thing to say.
When we want help – with any problem, from anyone (our teacher, the mechanic, our boss, our spouse, or even Heavenly Father) the more TRUE information we can give, the better.
It feels safer to say “I just don’t get it” than to say,
“I don’t think I’m smart enough for this.”
Or “I’m scared this won’t work.”
Or “I’m afraid of what you think of me.”
Or “I feel like I’ll never understand this.”
Or “I keep telling myself I’m failing.”
Naming what’s actually wrong makes things really, really …. real.
And it’s much riskier than just throwing up our hands.
In a weird way, vagueness (“I just don’t get it!”) feels like protection.
But clarity and progress begin when we’re willing to say that harder thing out loud. Naming it is often what cracks things wide open.
The math kid who tells me “I lost track right after you started talking about multiplying by the reciprocal” is the one who’s ready to get unstuck.
When we can start telling the truth:
“This is what I know”
“This is what I’ve tried”
“This is where I’m stuck”
“This is what my brain is telling me”
“This is what I’m really afraid of,”
we allow real help to be possible.
I can’t wait to see what happens when you say what’s really going on out loud.
And if you need someone to say it to – I’d be honored to be part of your mechanic team.
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