I Swear I'm Not Stupid. I'm Just Slow.

This post was written by Marissa F., Williams College class of 2020, with help from Nate Kornell

“When I say go, flip your paper over and begin…. Ready?... Go!”

34-28=? 17+59=? 8*12=? 79+22=? 65-57=? 6*7=?

Remember those elementary school quizzes? I do. I dreaded these “Mad Minute” tests in fourth and fifth grade. We had one minute to answer as many questions as we could, and while some of my peers would finish their sheet, half of my page would still be blank. I remember feeling so dumb when I could not finish. I knew all the answers. I was just so slow.

Fortunately, my deficits were apparent to the adults in my life. In the summer before fourth grade, to gain entry to my elementary school, I had to take an intelligence test called the WISC. I dug up the test results recently and even then, the tester pointed out my difficulties: “Response style was somewhat slow and effortful on non-verbal tasks and… processing speed represents an area of relative weakness.”

The Author, Marissa F.

Source: Marissa F.

In fourth grade, my teacher suggested I get more thoroughly tested for a learning disability. I refused. I did not want any special treatment. Help was for other people. I thought that if I just tried harder, it would eventually click. Getting tested sounded like yelling “I’m stupid” to the world. I could do the math. I could read and understand the books assigned for class. It just took me a while, so I did not see the problem.

Starting in middle school, I was required to complete an Impact Test (a test used to detect concussions that relies heavily on processing speed and working memory) because I was an athlete. My first test, which measured me at a healthy baseline, was flagged by the computer. I was so slow, the scoring system thought that I was intentionally flunking the test so that if I got any concussions during the season, they would go undetected.

None of these difficulties showed on my report cards. I always received good grades, and my teachers always saw that I was working hard, so these occurrences just seemed irrelevant. Still, in high school, my parents realized that something had to be done. I was never able to finish tests in the time allotted. I was spending twice the time that I should on my homework. My friends would finish the same assignment in fraction of the time. This fact was not new, but high school just had more work in general and the tests were harder, which amplified the problem to the point where even I got frustrated.

So, in March ,2013, during my freshman year of high school, I grudgingly took the tests that people had been telling me to complete for years. Afterwards, I was informed that I had “slow processing speeds” and how that qualified me for extended time on my tests and exams in school. That was all I knew until December, 2019, when I read the full report, six years after completing the tests.

Smart but slow

On the Weschler Individual Achievement Test-Third edition (WIAT-III), I ranked in the 16th percentile on the processing speed metric. On the math fluency subtests of the WIAT-III—which are very similar to the Mad Minutes (Burns, 2010)—I ranked in the 16th, 30th, and 39th percentiles for addition, subtraction, and multiplication, respectively. On two tests that required rapid response times (Boston Naming Test and Comprehensive Test of Phonological Processing [CTOPP]), the diagnostician remarked that I “lacked automaticity” in my responses. Specifically, when asked to rapidly name numbers, letters, colors, and objects on the CTOPP, I performed in the 9th, 5th, 9th, and 1st percentiles, respectively, meaning I had extremely slow response times compared to my peers. These scores were not a huge surprise, but at the same time I had never known just how severe my deficits were. I thought I hadn’t needed to be tested; these scores told me I had.

There were bigger surprises as well. Prior to reading the report, I was unaware that I also “[demonstrated] mild weaknesses in language (retrieval, rapid naming), rote memory, and working memory” as well as showed difficulties with some important precursors to the writing process. In a way, I felt validated by learning this information regarding writing because I have always struggled with the writing process and I hate every second of it (including right now). Writing has been the most excruciating part of my college career. I still have a difficult time gathering my thoughts, and I can never fully articulate what I want to say. Until now, I have always taken these difficulties as signs that I am simply not a good writer, but now I have some clarity as to why it is so hard for me.

I also was surprised to find out that the diagnostician applied a label to my symptoms: Learning Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (using the DSM-IV-TR). In other words, my deficits were not isolated to one area of learning, so the diagnostician could not give me a specific diagnosis. Based on the overall results of my testing, the diagnostician concluded that “these weaknesses may compromise Marissa’s ability to demonstrate the full extent of her knowledge or understanding on confrontation (i.e. on tests, when called upon in class) and/or her ability to elaborate fully on her verbal responses (including written language expression).” Due to my wide range in scores, the diagnostician did not want to put too much faith in my full-scale IQ score because she felt that “it would not adequately reflect the variability in [my] performance.”

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My problem was “Not Otherwise Specified,” but it was specific in one sense: It all related to processing speed. On tests that allowed me to take my time, I did well. I performed in the 92nd, 87th, and 99th percentiles on the spelling, sentence composition, and numerical operations subtests of the WIAT-III. I include these scores not as an attempt to prove my intelligence, but to show what a wide range in scores one single individual can have, and to show that these tests might not be perfect predictors of intelligence.

In general, kids can have average intelligence even if they demonstrate deficits in processing speed and working memory (Giofre & Cornoldi, 2015). Further, these discrepancies are not always captured in intelligence tests. The learning disorder population is a very heterogeneous group (Toffalini, Giofre, & Cornoldi, 2017), and, as a result, intelligence tests may not be entirely applicable to children with learning disorders.

Accepting help

As a result of these conclusions, the diagnostician recommended that I get extended time on my tests and exams and that my teachers be cognizant of my deficits with respect to written assignments and learning rote information. However, my younger self was still vehemently against getting this help. I hated having to take my exams in separate rooms and having extra meetings with my teachers.

I hated to ask for help because I wanted to be able to do it all by myself. Looking back, I realize that this mindset ultimately hurt me. I hated help, but I needed it. I could not reach my full potential without help. It was like running in a race and being the only one facing a headwind. Trying to gut it out might be noble, but it really is not fair and you just cannot do as well.

While having this label helps to explain my difficulties and provides some insight into the way I learn, it does not fix my deficits. There is no real treatment, and there is no easy way for me to make myself think faster or more efficiently. Also, now that I know the full extent of my disabilities, I cannot stop thinking about them in all my academic subjects this semester. This tradeoff—regarding the pros and cons of the labels—has been debated in the greater context of learning disorders. On one hand, the label provides an explanation for the deficits. On the other hand, the child might be thought of as less intelligent and therefore held to lower standards, which can lead to self-esteem issues (Lauchlan & Boyle, 2007). The latter situation is exactly what my younger self feared the most. I did not want to be the stupid kid in the class that needed help because, in my case, I saw asking for help as a failure.

Like many students with learning disabilities, I struggle at times, but I can excel given the right opportunities (i.e. the help or extra time that I resisted). My intelligence cannot be captured by a single number. Tests like the WIAT-III are helpful because they can “[provide] domain-specific coverage in every required academic area specified by [the Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act of 2004 (IDEA 2004)] for identifying a learning disability” (Burns, 2010). In this way, there is a clear connection between this test and diagnosis of learning disabilities, which then allows for access to interventions that will aid in their learning. On the other hand, using intelligence tests as a method of ranking students and evaluating their overall intelligence might add unnecessary stress to the lives of students who receive lower rankings, especially considering there is a significant comorbidity of learning disorders with anxiety disorders (Goker et al., 2014; Johnson, 2005).

My biggest fear was that my peers would think I was stupid because I needed help. Looking back, I see this mindset as 100% wrong and 100% normal. On the first day of school, kids are always told to ask for help. At the time, everyone is like “yeah, yeah. Whatever, we have heard this all before.” That was my attitude.

What I learned

I have a message for all the kids who are living through the same doubts and fears that I did. If you want to succeed, get help. Asking for help doesn't show weakness, it takes strength. Think of it like cardio training: You might hate it but it’s a gut check thing, and you have to do it to win.

I say this because now, finally, I think I get how important, and hard, it is to ask for help (Kornell, 2011). Some might say that I got a leg up because of my accommodations, but I really do believe that they just help to even out the playing field for me when I compete with my peers. It doesn't really matter that I do not have a super-high IQ. I am proud of how well I did at Williams College despite my “deficits.”