Rethinking the Stories Data Tells

When Weaknesses are Quantified

At twenty years old, I sat in a small office while professionals explained me back to myself through charts, percentile scores, clinical observations, and pages of carefully worded conclusions. 

There were numbers for everything. Numbers for communication. Numbers for social interaction. Numbers for adaptive functioning. Some of the scores were below the 1st percentile. Truthfully, I didn't even know it was possible to score below the 1st percentile, but apparently I'm living proof that anything is possible.

The phrase "extremely low" appeared over and over again throughout the reports. 

As someone who understands statistcs (...to an extent), I knew exactly what those numbers meant mathematically. What I was not prepared for was what they would mean emotionally. 

Once data becomes attached to your personality, your relationships, your communication, or the way you move through the world, it stops feeling neutral very quickly. 

“Once data becomes attached to your personality, your relationships, your communication, or the way you move through the world, it stops feeling neutral very quickly.”

For instance, I would probably score low in my ability to play the flute (I have never been a flutist), but that low score feels very different than a low score in social communication. One feels like a skill you have not learned yet and the other feels like a judgment about who you are as a person. 

At the time, I already knew I was struggling with some things. I already knew I felt different from other people in ways I could not fully explain. But I walked into that assessment still believing I was capable, intelligent, and hardworking. 

I walked out wondering if maybe I had been wrong with myself the entire time. 

When Data Becomes Identity

The hardest part of the reports was not simply the diagnosis itself. In many ways, having an explanation for my experiences brought relief. What devastated me was the way the reports seemed to transform every part of me into evidence of deficiency. 

The reports described me as having: 

• "poorly integrated verbal and nonverbal communication,"

• "minimal facial expressions,"

• "difficulty understanding and responding to social interactions,"

• and "clinically significant deficits in social communication."

Some of the scores atached to those conclusions were also described as "extremely low." 

If anything, I'm consistent.

At twenty years old, reading those phrases felt less like receiving information and more like reading an obituary for the person I thought I was going to become. 

"At twenty years old, reading those phrases felt less like receiving information and more like reading an obituary for the person I thought I was going to become." 

What made it even harder was that the reports often felt so certain. The language sounded objective, clinical, and factual. However, looking back now, I realize that observations and interpretations are not the same thing. 

People interpret data.

People interpret behavior.

People interpret social interactions. 

And interpretations are never completely neutral. 

“People interpret data.

People interpret behavior.

People interpret social interactions.”

Context Matters More Than Reports Admit

One interpretation stated that I preferred "question-answer formatted conversations rather than open-ended conversations."

But the entire assessment itself was structured around direct questioning. It was a formal medical environment where clinicians asked questions and I answered them. Most doctor's appointments work this way.

Another section noted that when clinicians shared personal information or personal interests, I often did not ask follow-up questions and instead returned to the original topic. 

From the reports perspective, this demonstrated deficits in reciprocal conversation.

From my perspective, I was trying to respect professional boundaries in a medical setting. I was trying to determine what level of personal engagement was expected or appropriate with clinicians evaluating me. If I had been more personal or emotionally inquisitive, I suspect that could have been interpreted negatively too. 

That experience taught me something important: behavior does not exist outside of context. 

"Behavior does not exist outside of context."

When context disappears, difference can quickly become pathologized. 

I also look back now and question how much some of the testing was actually measuring what it claimed to measure (validity). Many tasks involved listening to long verbal scenarios and responding immediately, but I know recognize how much attention difficulties and limited working memory likely impacted my performance.

At the time, I often struggled not because I could not understand the situation, but because I literally could not retain all of the verbal information long enough to formulate a response. I remember multiple moments where I simply answered "I don't know" because I had already lost pieces of the scenario in my head. 

The questions were read aloud to me, but I was not allowed to read them myself (trust me, I asked). 

So sometimes I wonder: were those tasks measuring social reasoning? Or were they measuring my ability to hold information in my head long enough to respond?

The answer feels more complicated than the reports made it seem. 

When Strengths Become Symptoms

One of the strangest parts of rereading the reports now is noticing how often strengths were reframed as problems. 

The reports described me as: 

• "an intelligent and driven young woman,"

• highly motivated,

• deeply interested in reasearch,

• and someone who was self-educated going into the assessment. 

But those same qualities were also interpreted through a deficit lens. 

• My deep focus became "restricted interests."

• My analytical thinking became rigidity.

• My attention to detail became impairment.

• My literal thinking became evidence of social difficulty.

Even strengths often felt like they came with an invisible "but."

• She is intelligent, but...

• She is motivated, but...

• She is knowledgeable, but...

Over time, that kind of framing sends a subtle but devastating message: Your strengths matter less than your deficits. 

"Your strengths matter less than your deficits."

That message sticks with people. Especially when they are young. Especially when they are already struggling with self-esteem. And especially when adutls are presenting those conclusions as facts. 

The Irony of It All

What hurts most looking back is realizing that many of the same traits framed as impairments are now some of the biggest reasons I am successful.

The literal thinking that was pathologized helps me write mathematical proofs carefully and avoid making unsubstantiated claims. 

The intense focus once described as "restricted" is part of why I maintained a 4.0 GPA in mathematics, a rigorous and cumulative discipline. 

The deep interest in understanding systems, patterns, and concepts became the foundation for my success in higher-level mathematics.

The persistence that developed from years of struggling quietly is now one of the reasons professors describe me as driven, enthusiastic, and resilient. 

The same attention to detail that once seemed socially "incorrect" helps me tutor students patiently, explain concepts multiple ways, and notice where misunderstandings happen. 

The reports described deficits.

What they could not predict was now those same traits would later become strengths in environments where they were actually valued. 

"The reports described deficits.

What they could not predict was now those same traits would later become strengths in environments where they were actually valued."

I did not become successful because I erased my neurodivergence or learned how to perfectly imitate everyone around me.

I became successful because I found environments where my way of thinking was an asset instead of a problem. 

"I became successful because I found environments where my way of thinking was an asset instead of a problem."

The Stories We Tell Students Matter

As I move into education, I think about the stories adults tell students about themselves because students listen. 

A student who repeatedly hears:

• deficient,

• behind,

• impaired,

• extremely low,

• struggling,

• inappropriate,

• delayed,

will eventually begin to absorb those words into their identity.

I know this because I did.

After those assessments, I genuinely questioned whether I would ever succeed professionally. I questioned whether I would graduate college. I questioned whether I would ever belong anywhere. 

What changed my self-perception was not "fixing" who I was. 

What changed me was finally being surrounded by people who saw more in me than deficits. 

• Professors who valued my enthusiasm.

• Mentors who believed in my ideas.

• Students who trusted me enough to ask questions.

• Teachers who saw potential instead of limitation. 

Slowly, I started to realize something the reports didn't: the way I think was not inherently wrong. 

Different? Yes.

Sometimes difficult? Absolutely. 

But also capable of producing incredible strengths when given the right environment. 

Rethinking the Stories Data Tells

I am not arguing that assessments are useless or that struggles should be ignored. I am arguing that human beings are too complex to be reduced to a list of deficits. 

Data can describe patterns.

It can identify support needs. 

It can help people betteer understand themselves. 

But data can also be used to tell stories and when those stories are framed entirely around weakness, limitation, and deviation from "normal," they can profoundly shape how someone understands their own worth. 

• Especially when that person is young.

• Especially when they are already struggling with self-esteem.

• Especially when they are desperately trying to understand who they are. 

So I think we need to rethink not only what we measure, but also:

• how we interpret it,

• how we communicate it,

• and what stories we allow that data to tell about people. 

Because somewhere right now there is a student sitting in an office, classroom, or meeting hearing adults describe everything they struggle with while silently wondering if they are still allowd to have a future afterward. 

And I want those students to know: 

• You are more than the worst thing a report can say about you.

• You are more than a percentile score.

• You are more than the deficits other people notice first. 

You are more than the worst thing a report can say about you.

You are more than a percentile score.

You are more than the deficits other people notice first. 

Most importantly, sometimes the very traits the world tries hardest to "fix" become the same traits that allow you to thrive. All it takes is finding a place where you are valued for who you are instead of who you aren't.