Writing (Groups) Across the Curriculum

Posted on November 9, 2015 by smalec

Two years ago, I met my new colleagues at my previous institution at our very thorough new faculty orientation. Together, we learned the details of everything from the faculty governance structure to the learning management system. We got to know each other a little bit during those two days, and at the end I got everyone’s email addresses and set up a Google group so we could all stay in touch.

What grew out of those first two days ended up being pretty remarkable. While we certainly used this email list to organize social gatherings, one member also used it to start a small group dedicated to supporting our academic writing. She, a historian, had been a part of such groups before, and shared her experiences with how they helped provide accountability for the goal setting I’d mentioned a few posts ago.

Some groups she’d been in met to share their progress towards their goals, and some met to provide a block of quiet writing time where, hopefully, you’d be too embarrassed to check Facebook when you were supposed to be writing. We ended up forming both.

She asked for some funding from the Provost’s office to get us all a couple of books on successful academic publishing, which she received in addition to some money for refreshments. I’m embarrassed to say I haven’t even cracked either book – Getting it Published by William Germano, and Writing Your Journal Article in 12 Weeks by Wendy Laura Belcher – but I found the time spent with others invaluable, even though there wasn’t a single other mathematician in the bunch.

We met monthly to check in with each other. We shared our successes with grants and publications, our frustrations with students (and faculty and administrators), and our plans for the future. We helped each other navigate the decades of politics that formed the undercurrents of campus interactions, and those who were on the tenure track started meeting over the summer to put their promotion binders together. When I was on the job market, they gave me more and better advice than I’d ever gotten about how to navigate the hiring process. I went from not knowing a soul in town to having a crucial support network in less than a year.

Smaller groups of us met weekly for writing time. A psychologist and I shared our Tuesday afternoons for a couple of semesters in the quiet (and snack-filled) Center for Teaching and Learning. It didn’t matter that we didn’t know anything about each other’s research; we just needed accountability for a few hours, outside our offices and with no excuses. Like an academic gym buddy.

So of course I wanted to catch lightning in a bottle again when I started this job. We’re a much smaller school, so we had a smaller incoming cohort, but again I got email addresses and made another Google group.

The Hood new faculty writing group pretends to act naturally while being photographed

The Hood new faculty writing group pretends to act naturally while being photographed

It took a few weeks to get going, but now we meet every Thursday afternoon for a mix of socializing, snacks, informal progress reports, and quiet writing time (and occasional dinner and drinks afterwards). No two of us share a research area or even a department, but we share in the joy of publishing and the agony of grading. And most amazingly, every week, we all manage to get a little writing done. We’re even doing a Thanksgiving potluck for anybody else who’s staying in town.

I haven’t asked for funding for our little group yet, but I plan to soon. Another group member is also a fan of the National Center for Faculty Development and Diversity, and we’re going to work on Making the Ask for the Faculty Success Program together. And when it comes time to start working on our pre-tenure review binders, we’ll help each other put it all together.

While there’s no part of academic life that any of us individually have down pat yet, collectively we’ve almost got our act together. And apparently word has gotten out that this year’s cohort of new faculty is organized and came out of the gate swinging, which people are more than happy to give me credit for. Even though all I did was make a Google group and reserve a conference room once a week.

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I’ve got my mindset on you, growth.

Posted on November 2, 2015 by Beth Malmskog

Last week Sara brought up growth mindset as an important part of talking to students dealing math anxiety and insecurity. When I first heard the phrase a few months ago, I thought it was maybe some hokey visualization mantra for aspiring CEOSs. However, I am now convinced that growth mindset is not hokey at all—it is a non-trivial concept that can really affect our students’ chances of success in mathematics, especially students from underrepresented groups. The idea is simply this: our mathematical abilities, and more generally other qualities like intelligence or character, are not fixed but may instead be developed through effort. If we believe this, we will be more successful at math (and other things) than if we don’t.

Dr. Carol Dweck is a former Stanford researcher who has done a lot of work in this area.  Dweck’s research shows that a person’s mindset can have a huge impact on their success, particularly in mathematics. She and her collaborators found that a growth or fixed mindset was a predictor of math grades for 7th graders, and that achievement was greater if students were taught that their abilities are not fixed and could be increased with hard work. There are important social justice implications for this research. Women and other underrepresented groups in math and science may have the mindset that their abilities in math are inherently lower because of gender or other predetermined factors. Researchers have now shown that even that idea can undermine the performance of these individuals and make them less likely to succeed in math.  Those of us who care about diversity and equal opportunity in math, science, economics, and all other areas need to pay attention to these studies.

Recent research shows that math anxiety is contagious; in particular that it can be passed from parents to children, not genetically but when anxious parents help their children with homework. The fact that math anxiety is learned is incredibly hopeful news, because it means there are ways to break this cycle and release people from math anxiety.  A recent study about bedtime math makes me excited that there are tools for parents to engage with their children about math in a positive, anxiety-free way, that actually help kids do better at math. Growth mindset, the theory goes, is another part of the equation.  This mindset reduces anxiety because making mistakes does not reflect upon your underlying fixed qualities as a person—it is just part of the learning process.

I learned about growth mindset this fall, talking with a colleague, and then in a little more depth at a great workshop I attended on Math Circles. Once again, I’m a bit late to the party—growth mindset has been in the news for several years. In any case, after coming into contact with these studies, I felt an actual responsibility to present the idea to my students. If I hadn’t heard anything about the implications of growth mindset, I certainly couldn’t expect that they had. And if just being told that abilities were not fixed could help them succeed, how could I not tell them that? Plus I am selfish—I want to teach students who feel that they can take responsibility for their own learning, and are less afraid of making mistakes! Who are less defensive and like to be challenged. Yes! Sign me up.

The day that I returned from the Math Circles conference, I had a talk with both of my classes about the question of fixed versus plastic intelligence and mathematical abilities. I asked them to vote on whether intelligence was fixed or could be changed through effort. Most thought it was fixed. Then I asked them the same question about mathematical ability. Even more of them thought that mathematical ability was fixed.

This disparity was weird to me: how can math ability be fixed if intelligence is not?  But nobody reading this blog will be surprised to hear about people putting mathematics in a special, frightening, alien category.  How this math fear began I have no idea. It could be related to our culture’s entwining of mathematics and genius, and then to our weird ideas about genius.  That is a whole different blog post, though.

After the vote, I talked to my students about the abilities of our brains to form new connections and the implications of growth mindset. I posted links to Dr. Dweck’s TED talk and two written pieces on the class website. The students were engaged in the discussion, asking me many questions I couldn’t answer. My current students are mostly Biology majors (I teach two sections of Biocalculus), so they were really interested in how the studies were designed, and different types of intelligence. Despite my lack of full knowledge on the subject, I had the sense that attitudes shifted that day. A student sent me an email that night thanking me. Later, when we talked about it in my office, she said nobody had ever discussed with her with the possibility that intelligence or mathematical ability could be changed. She was struggling, but this gave her the sense that if she worked hard, she would get it. Damn. Exactly what Dr. Dweck claimed! Awesome.

I am thoroughly convinced that a growth mindset is helpful to students. What else can I be doing to foster this attitude in my classroom? Is talking about it once enough? What parts of my teaching are already in line with this philosophy, and what should I be on the look out for? One important aspect of encouraging growth mindset seems to be praising effort instead of intelligence. This is something I’m really trying to keep in mind this semester. Of course, I always encouraged students who asked questions in class, whatever they asked, but now I make a point that this is part of the hard work of learning. Another great idea from Maricela Montoy-Wilson is to “normalize the struggle”.  Make it clear that struggling is not failure–it’s the right way to learn.  This semester I have made a special effort to discuss what a credit hour means and how much time they should expect to put in to the class to succeed.  I also point out that they shouldn’t be discouraged if they can’t breeze through the homework—that work is really how they are learning. You’re supposed to struggle, it doesn’t mean you’re dumb or doing something wrong. Struggle is learning.

Another recommendation I read for bringing growth mindset into the classroom was to explicitly welcome mistakes, and to share your own mistakes and experiences with developing your abilities through effort.  Mistakes, got that covered.  I will also tell my students about my lengthy and ongoing battle to learn to play the accordion.  I had what might be called “music anxiety” for many years: although I really love music, for a long time I thought that I was inherently unable to play an instrument or sing. Like, I would panic if I was pressured to sing along with something or do anything remotely musical in public. About 5 years ago I decided that fear was major dead weight in my life and I resolved to learn to play at least a little, no matter how long it took. I got an accordion and took some lessons and it was really slow going at first, but now I can play some songs pretty well. I even sing along. I love it! Now I can’t believe I waited until I was 30? Why don’t we really talk about this earlier in life?

This photo illustrates growth mindset overcoming serious music anxiety. It also illustrates three mathematicians (Amy Ksir, me, and Renzo Cavalieri) playing Christmas Carols on accordions in public. I know, you wish you were there, or that I at least had sound for you...

This photo illustrates growth mindset overcoming serious music anxiety. It also illustrates three mathematicians (Amy Ksir, me, and Renzo Cavalieri) playing Christmas Carols on accordions in public. I know, you wish you were there, or that I at least had sound for you…

In fact, my accordion story is something that I already tell—I talk about how math is like sports, or like music, something you have to practice, and tell them that I know it is hard. I tell my students the same thing my best professors told me: You can do this, you just have to challenge yourself, put in the effort, and work through the discomfort of confusion. The research on growth mindset is really just a supplement to what many math teachers and professors have been saying all along.  Now there is science saying the same thing, and that believing in this possibility alone can make a big difference.

I’m really curious to hear from people who have also been thinking about this. Have you incorporated growth mindset into your courses or thinking about your own math life? Did you already know a lot about it, or is it relatively new to you, too? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

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Math Therapy for the Unqualified

Posted on October 26, 2015 by smalec

I’m sure you can all relate: while making small talk with a stranger, eventually they’ll ask what you do. “Professor” is never a sufficient answer – they want to know what subject. And once you say “math,” the potentially interesting part of the conversation is immediately over. Maybe it’s that I’ve got a nonthreatening face and a Midwestern female inability to tell people to stop talking to me, but nine times out of ten I’ll get to hear all about every traumatic mathematical experience this stranger has ever had. And boy, do they have a lot of ’em.

Eventually, after tenure, I’d like to write a pop math book for these people. They’re (usually) not stupid by a long shot; successful in their field despite their past difficulties with calculus or statistics or algebra. Many of them are ashamed of their mathematical failings and have a strong urge to someday revisit mathematics and try to overcome their old obstacles.  They just want someone to assure them that yes, math is hard sometimes, but you don’t have to be a wizard to learn it. Persistence is enough for most people, and if they didn’t have the grit when they were 18, they’ve probably got it now.

This math therapy is a little dull, but it’s easy to put up with, and (mercifully) over quickly. But this isn’t the kind that I want to devote the bulk of this article to. The other kind – the kind to scared, anxious students – is much more serious, and with terrifying consequences. I’ve been trying to write this post in my head for at least a month now, and I’m still not sure my ideas are fully-formed. But this work and these thoughts have been taking up a pretty big chunk of my mental energy lately, and I hope others can contribute to and benefit from this post.

Since my very first days working in the tutoring lab in graduate school, students have asked me for as many pep talks during office hours as actual mathematical answers. Sometimes it goes beyond light encouragement and into discussions of seriously heady issues. Depression and anxiety are endemic in our students, but many are secretly dealing with deaths in the family, difficulty with their relationships, identity issues, chronic illnesses or disabilities, financial problems, domestic abuse, and suicide.

I never realized what a charmed life I led as an undergraduate until my students started pouring their guts out in my office.

Mid-semester student survival kit?

Mid-semester student survival kit?

We’re a little past the mid-semester mark now, and I’ve had a good half-dozen come by with some kind of distress or another. Most of them are just pushing up against the limits of what their previous study habits (or lack thereof) can handle. Some just want to vent, some want help. This is when I break out all the growth mindset talk I can, and offer tissues and pamphlets from the counseling center when appropriate. But I’m never sure that what I’m doing is actually helpful. So I went looking for resources.

There’s not a lot out there for faculty on how to deal with students in crisis. While I was first pondering this post, a great Vitae article came out called, simply, “We Are Not Prepared for Students in Distress,” by Katie Rose Guest Pryal. Her article gives advice from a former professor and dean who is also trained in counseling. Two main themes are “Be Gentle With Yourself” and “Know Who to Ask for Help”, which, coincidentally, are also numbers 2 and 5 in the Top Ten Things I’m Terrible At. I’ve probably re-read this weekly since it came out.

In researching more on the topic, I found another post from my new favorite blog, Tenure She Wrote. The post, called “I’m Your Professor, Not Your Therapist,” is from another new faculty member who, like me, is not naturally comfortable with other people’s tears. The comment section is a wealth of tips, from the simple (keep tissues in your office) to the complex (don’t burn yourself out trying to help your students emotionally). Also: beware of crocodile tears!

The comments on that article also treat something I’d never really thought about, namely that female faculty bear more of a burden in this arena. We’re expected to be caring and nurturing, therefore more students come to us, where we feel more pressured to help them – to the detriment of our research programs. To my knowledge, there’s nowhere in my tenure dossier to list the number of tears dried or anxieties eased, and I need to remember that when students start getting too needy.

All this was complicated enough, but then a ProPublica article, “When Students Become Patients, Privacy Suffers,” came out last week. The first half of it describes a 21-year-old student who was briefly hospitalized for mental health issues after seeking help from her campus counseling center. The center notified her parents, even though her record noted a “broken relationship” with them. Her parents flew down to campus, where the student felt pressured by the school to go home. There, her family prevented her from continuing therapy. She ultimately graduated, but was only allowed to return to school if accompanied by her parents. The school was trying to do what was best, but for students from a toxic home, I can’t imagine a worse ordeal.

I’ve pushed dozens of students towards on-campus counseling centers over the years, and many of them are terrified that their families will find out. Going to therapy may be on the level of a regular dental cleaning for some, but for others it’s the equivalent of being thrown into the stocks in the town square. School counseling facilities are the only option for students who can’t afford private treatment, or who don’t want their parents to see that they’ve used their health insurance. I thought FERPA meant the worst that could happen is that they use up their allotted sessions too quickly. Now I’m not so comfortable.

I’ve asked around campus for more help. I want specific guidelines about when I’m required to report a student’s issues to the school. I also want the counseling center’s policy on reporting health issues to students’ parents without their permission. I’d like a list of best practices for teaching students on the autism spectrum. And possibly most critically, I’d like to know what to do when I suspect a student might be a danger to themselves or others.

This column will likely be the first of many over the next few years. One of the reasons I love my job is that I like helping people, especially with math. I like seeing students overcome their anxieties. I like trying to be the person who I would have wanted to talk to when I was younger. I’m glad my students see me as a resource both for their classwork and for how to be a grown up without going crazy. But I need to make sure that I’m actually a force for good in their lives, that my advice is valid. And more importantly, I need to not focus on their problems at the expense of my tenure obligations.

 

 

 

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