I just finished doing my taxes.  By doing, I mean filling out the detailed, 27-page “Tax Organizer” my accountant gives me every year. She makes all the complicated decisions for me. My only task is to record my earnings and expenses in the spaces provided. That’s it.  The calculations are basic—nothing more than simple addition–yet the whole process makes my head spin.

I’m what you’d call “math-challenged.” If I had to go up against a grade school child in an arithmetic competition, I’m pretty sure the fifth-grader would win.

How much computational anxiety do I have? So much that as an undergraduate psychology major, I decided not to take the then optional but strongly recommended Statistics 101. (Nowadays not only is Statistics mandatory for psych majors, but in some universities, so is Calculus, as my even more math-challenged daughter discovered when she was majoring in psychology). My advisor urged me to reconsider because the course was a prerequisite for admission to graduate programs in clinical psychology. But I held fast, insisting that I didn’t need statistics because I wasn’t planning to go on for a Ph.D. Hah.

Of course, I eventually did have to take Statistics—five graduate courses worth. And, being a conscientious student as well as an excellent memorizer, I somehow even managed to get As without understanding (or retaining) a single concept.

My aversion to numbers, coupled with my rather casual approach to keeping records, makes the whole tax preparation process an ordeal for me. My chest tightens, and I feel lightheaded. After ten minutes of sorting through receipts, I have to leave my kitchen table workstation in search of a snack to fortify me. Needless to say, nothing changes. The papers are still staring at me when I get back.

As it’s been famously said, there are only two certainties in life. One of them is taxes. So I have no choice but to confront my math phobia and do it anyway. Which, come to think of it, is a good approach for tackling any anxiety-inducing situation even when the IRS isn’t involved.