Disclaimer:
the words below are merely my opinion on our story, and
not meant as judgment or criticism on anyone whose parental choices
have led them down a different path. I completely acknowledge that
what feels right and works for us, may not be right for another
family. And sometimes, what feels right and works for us changes
depending on where we are in our life journey… and that’s
ok.
My
kids are 13 and 11 respectively. Since each of them were about four,
they have been in and out of private, public, and home schooling like
an indecisive kitty with a newly installed a cat flap. Before this
age we consciously chose to never use daycare when they were babies,
instead juggling our schedules so that either their Dad or I were
available to nurture them: it didn’t feel right to have these
babies and then hand them over for 8-9 hours a day to someone else to
raise. When they were about four, each of them seemed to need
something else in their lives as they grew into independent little
social beings, so we enrolled them into publicly funded pre-school.
Even then we picked one further away than we needed to because –
among other things – we preferred their philosophy. When it came
time to enter the schooling system full time we went with Steiner
Education as we felt it was a more gentle approach to learning which
offered a home-like environment: both kids were able to start on a
part time basis too, which I felt eased the transition to school
life; there were no uniforms; and learning through play and daily
rhythms was openly encouraged. When one wasn’t at school they were
with us or another family member. When they were both at school, they
had each other for support.
Then
in 2013, a crisis of being somehow saw us packed up and travelling
the country for 12 months, and so commenced our somersault into the
world of home education or homeschooling (as it’s commonly termed –
I personally prefer the term home education, because really it is
NOTHING like school!). So successful was this year, that we observed
our kids not just coping but thriving without school, and we decided
to keep them home when our year of travel was complete.
2014
saw us journey into remote Northern Territory to immerse ourselves
into Indigenous communities to live and work and eventually we
decided (along with the kids) to try the local community school first
part time and then full time to try to immerse the kids more wholly
into the culture and practices of the communities. 2015 saw us
journey back to home ed as we travelled south through the centre and
home to the east coast of Australia before settling in the north
again in 2016, where the kids went back to school out of necessity –
we were both working full time for various reasons: he needed to for
his mental health, and I needed to so we had somewhere to live! The school we chose placed the kids together
in a composite class to ease the transition from home education to
school life (they would have each other for support: despite their
volatile love/hate relationship as per any sibling relationship, love does always
win), and this continued throughout the next school year. The kids
flourished, made heaps of mates, and generally proved to us that home
education, and their thus far unorthodox upbringing and life
experience not only hadn't caused them any harm but had actually
given them a fantastic grounding for school and general life.
And
so here we are in 2018. My boy started High School this year. For the
first time since we’d flitted back into the education system, the kids
were separated and this time it was not because one of them was with
us. Even though they were at the same school, they were not
allowed to see each other during the day as the high school kids are
not allowed to fraternize with the primary school kids. Most of my
boy’s good mates from his previous years in a composite class
stayed behind in primary school along with his sister.
At
first the changes were subtle. It was difficult to put a finger on
it. An ear ache here. A vomiting bug there. A little defiance from a
previously harmonious and cooperative boy. Then the outbursts
started. Tantrums. Yelling. Threats. Clenched fists. An increased
frequency in conflict. My kid was changing. My sweet gentle boy, the
most social, gentle and loving kid I know (this is not just the words
of a doting mother, this kid has always been different in his ability
to empathise and show compassion) became angry, defiant, and
aggressive. After each melt down, a story began to unfold. He’d
been made feel insecure or unsafe at school that day. He’d been
laughed at. He’d been mocked. Every, single, outburst.
I
was losing my boy.
We
came up with plans: what he could do or say when incidents occurred
at school; how to keep a diary of what was going on as evidence; who
to go to when something had occurred. We gave him mental health days
off at home. We had meetings with the deputy principal. It is
important to note there that this is not a story of a school that did
not do enough to try and fix the situation. Students and parents were
spoken to (as is my understanding), students were given suspension
for this and other unsocial behaviour, my boy was listened to and
supported by the deputy. But it still didn’t stop. It just became
more subtle: teasing him for using headphones in class when he found
their unruly behaviour too much; eye rolling; face pulling; mocking;
and the awful knee push – you know that thing where they knee you
behind your locked knee almost causing you to fall? That thing.
I
don’t think he knew what to do other than what he’d already
tried. And when he came home each day to his safe place where he knew
he was loved and accepted, he let it out. Kids don’t always know
how to express these big emotions, even high school kids don’t
always understand how they’re feeling, what they’re experiencing.
They just know that mum and dad and sister are safe, and out it
comes. It took quite a while to realise what was going on.
In
the back ground I was having my own crisis in health and mental
wellbeing. I think all of us were. The nomadic family who had always
had a parent available for the kids, who valued home education,
family time, being outdoors, and values over money had wound up as
two parents working full time, house living, consumerism driven
robots. We worked and schooled, we ate, we screened. We were tired.
We had no time for the things we value as a family. I call it
house-life. It slowly kills us.
One
day I decided it was enough. I couldn’t sit by and let this be our
life anymore. We get one chance at this life. One chance to raise
these kids right. One chance to show them that there is a better way.
And it’s such a short time – it’s so cliched but soon they will
be flown from the nest, always welcome back of course but gosh we
hope that while we have them we can teach and role model to them the
skills they need to live a true and happy and authentic life.
What
is forcing us to all live a house-life where we are all miserable and
none of us living true to ourselves and values teaching them? What
does living a life dictated by “shoulds” (should have a nice
house, should have a fancy car, should work full time, should go to
school, should should should) teach them? What value is there in a
mother who is so dog tired from her job that she isn’t really
present when she is home? What security does it provide a child when
they don’t know if their mum will be there when they wake in the
morning, because she might be called out to work? What does it teach
them about their own self worth when parents prioritise an employer,
a mortgage, paying off a car, or consumerism over being truly present
with their child? What does it tell a child when their parent values
these things over their own mental health?
And
why should a child be forced to socialise with arseholes? Really, why
should he? I don’t. I’d rather they learned to walk away from
these kind of people. I’d rather they chose themselves over
pleasing the crowd. And just quietly, it is time I lead by example
and walked away from these kinds of people too. No matter how vulnerable it makes me feel.
So
I decided enough. Enough of this house-life. Enough of this
work-life. Enough of this school-life. Enough of the
consumerist-life. One morning I stood up and I said no more. My
boy’s mental health is worth more than any benefit he would get
from being in school. My boy’s mental health is not worth risking
because society says he should be in school. My boy’s mental health
is not worth risking because society says we should live in a house,
and work, and consume. Enough is enough.
That
same morning I went into his room and I told him he didn’t have to
go to school any more if he didn’t want to. He chose not to, and
you know what?
I
have my boy back.
This
is the first step toward taking back our authentic life: we are making
changes. Baby step by baby step. We’re done with this house-life.
It will be a slow process, but it is happening; the Arthur’s are
reclaiming themselves one piece at a time.
Watch
this space.
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