By Matthew Pons

For a good part of my life, mathematics has been a public safe space. Why did I need a safe space? In high school, I was bullied and made to feel unwelcome by most of my peers. I had transferred into the public school system in my county at the beginning of my first year of high school and after the first day, I knew it wasn’t a good fit. It was overwhelming moving from a school where I had had fewer than ten students in my class to a school with 300 students in my class. I was small for my age, had not gone through puberty, and I was easily intimidated. I connected better with my female classmates than my male classmates and was labeled by my male peers as “gay,” although I didn’t even know what that meant at the time. I grew up in a very religious home, and we didn’t speak of such things. The bullying was more than I could really handle, and I focused on keeping my head down. My voice seemed to be the thing that turned on the torment, so I basically went through four years of high school speaking as little as possible. Being called on by a teacher was terrifying, but I would manage to get the answers out. When I went to college, this same behavior persisted. I made it through most of my classes without ever speaking in class. Discussion classes were almost overwhelming for me. Presentations made me nauseous. What I finally realized was that I was the only one who still cared, and so I had to make a choice to learn how to be a confident speaker again.

Eventually, mathematics helped me find my voice. I had always found safety in the solitude of my studies, but as I moved into higher-level math courses, we were required to present more and for increasing periods of time. One of the first presentations I remember having to give was in my abstract algebra course. It was short, only ten minutes, and I prepared and prepared for that presentation like my life depended on it. I had to present a theorem on symmetric groups from an article in a journal. Not only did I have to give a presentation, but this was also my first interaction with such a high level of mathematics. In preparing for the presentation, I discovered that mathematicians like to skip details. Undaunted, I was able to fill in the gaps, and the pride I felt from that was exhilarating. During my presentation, I didn’t have to use my notes, and I presented at the board, writing like a whirlwind, and talking the whole time for well over my allotted 10 minutes. When I finished, my classmates were wide-eyed and stunned. I had never talked in class! My professor told me I did a great job and commended me for filling in the missing details. That was the first time I felt safe talking in a public space in almost a decade, and the feeling was addictive. As I analyzed it afterwards, what I realized was that it was my preparation that gave me the confidence to speak. I knew that I knew my material backwards and forwards. That is how I approach any presentation to this day. I rarely wing it because my nerves don’t allow it. As I’ve gotten older, I do allow myself to go off script more, but my core content is always well rehearsed.

So, mathematics became a public safe space for me in this way. I don’t feel comfortable speaking about most topics, but when it comes to math, I can do it. I know my value in that arena, and I am confident. I don’t mind hard questions, and I have no problem saying I don’t know something; that just gives me something to go and learn about. What I am most proud of is that almost every day I get up in front of people and use my voice. I teach with confidence, and I help my students see that it’s OK to be uncomfortable with public speaking, but there are ways to curb the nerves and ground yourself in confidence.

What has taken me longer to understand is how math has also become a personal safe space; it has only been in the last year that I have come to understand this facet of my relationship with mathematics. I’ve always enjoyed solving problems on my own or working on my own research projects apart from my collaborative ones. There has always been peace in that solitude for me. Some folks feel isolated by it, but it is empowering for me. Over the last year, I have really come to know and appreciate the power of this space.

Last April, my mother passed away rather unexpectedly. We were very close, and the loss was devastating. I had trouble focusing on anything for many weeks. Thankfully, my department colleagues and my dean helped me wrap up the spring semester. Then, I was faced with a summer and a fall sabbatical to live through. Being just a year into the COVID-19 pandemic at that point, my research had been neglected, and I decided to focus on that, as that is what sabbaticals are for! I had a few collaborative projects in the pipeline and some solo ones, so there was plenty to do, but I was worried about my ability to focus. I didn’t want to ignore my grief, but I didn’t know how to put it aside either.

What I discovered was that escaping into the abstract areas of my research gave me the space I needed to set my grief aside for lengths of time and pick it up again when I was ready to return to it. It was such a comfort that I really can’t put into words. Mathematics provides me a place to go when I need rest from the world we live in. It’s not avoidance. I know the troubles of life will be there when I return, but it’s a safe space for me.

I know that not everyone will connect with this idea. Many of our students have past traumas involving mathematics, as do many of our colleagues. But this is all the more reason why we have to do the diligent work to make space in the discipline for anyone who wants to join us, and cultivate spaces where we aren’t inflicting trauma on students. When students are dealing with math trauma, they can’t learn, and they feel disconnected from their classmates and teachers. If they feel safe, they seek help, are willing to ask and answer questions, and can even find joy and a place of belonging in the math community. I am grateful to my friends, mentors, and colleagues who have helped me find my voice and a home here, a safe space where I can thrive.