I finished my test early, went over it three times with the calculator, and now I'm home. I think I did okay. I started to panic when I wasn't sure how to figure out the first two questions, but I just skipped over them and went on to things I did know, and I figured out how to solve the first two after getting into the groove a little bit.
I think I can trace my mathphobia back to second grade. We had a subtraction worksheet, and I breezed through it. The teacher went around the room, having each student answer a question. I figured out which problem would be mine, so I would be sure to answer quickly (I was a huge dork in elementary school, major suck up teacher's pet type - although it was always sincere - I adored my teachers. You would have hated me, most likely).
So the teacher, Mrs. Johannsen, got to me, and I answered confidently. And she said "That's incorrect, Mr. Snider, can you answer the question?" And I stood up and told her that *she* must have the wrong answer, because it was not possible for *me* to be wrong. And then, the horrible, sinking, puking feeling that descended on me as I redid the problem and realized I was wrong. That was a horrible moment. Thus, my fear of math was born.
I've made a lot of progress on the subject of being wrong. I can say it with ease, which is good, because with the freaking brainiacs I live with, I have to say it more frequently than I would like.