Back To School!

Yesterday, along with millions of other Canadian parents, I sent my children back to school. I got a little teary. Honestly, it was a bit like kindergarten all over again. I sent them off believing they are ready, desperately hoping for good-fit teachers, and worrying about what MIGHT happen. I was looking forward to some peace and quiet, while already missing the time we’ve had together. But also, this year meant so much more than just the usual “back-to-school” excitement and anxiety that most families experience. This waving goodbye has been years in the making.

For one child in particular, this IS a bit like kindergarten. He’s been home for over three years. No school. No sports. Not much of anything, really. Not homeschooled, but unschooled. Just living his life. We have spent the last four years focused on connection and acceptance. We have given him space to figure out who he is, what he needs, and what he wants for his life. We have let HIM lead. It was scary, and unorthodox, and way outside of our comfort zone. But we could see that what we had been doing wasn’t working and we were ready to try something new.

Initially, we backed off out of desperation. We were in crisis, and we embraced the concept of “First, do no harm.” We needed space to regroup, to let his nervous system settle, and to rebuild a functioning family dynamic. We followed intuition and what I knew from an undergraduate honours thesis in Attachment Theory. We lowered demands and basically went back to infancy.

• Let him sleep when he’s tired.
• Feed him when he’s hungry.
• Help him maintain a comfortable temperature.
• Offer kindness and compassion and try to figure out what he needs when dysregulated.
• Meet whatever needs we can.
• Try to see the world through his eyes.

It turns out we are much better at this when our children are babies. I’m not sure why we lose the ability or willingness to take that perspective, but at some point, around the time our kids develop speech, we shift to expecting them to see the world from OUR perspective, instead of seeing it from theirs. Experts, teachers, family, friends, even well-meaning strangers encourage us to hold strong when our kids are struggling. We are told if we are consistent, they’ll come around. But firm, consistent boundaries had landed us in a pit, and we needed to go back and retrace our steps to see where we’d gone wrong.

It was hard work going back and having to put ourselves in his shoes. Our perception is that kids have good lives. They don’t have to work, or pay taxes, or have responsibilities, or serious worries. They get to play and go to activities that WE have to pay for and supervise and drive back and forth from. But as it turns out, that’s not really true. I mean, lots of kids have good lives, sure, just like many of us have good lives too. But they DO have to work… they just don’t get paid. They DO have responsibilities… just none that they chose. They DO worry – often because they have so little control over their lives. So much happens around kids that they don’t understand or aren’t consulted on. Meanwhile, they are expected to see the world from our perspective, do jobs that don’t feel important to them, and show gratitude for the activities that they do, even when they don’t feel like doing them. They are labeled as ungrateful, or lazy, or oppositional when they express an inability to do all the things they are expected to do, particularly if their expression isn’t tied up in a polite box with a pretty bow on top. Indeed for kids that really struggle, often the expression of their difficulty is rude, or inappropriate, or even violent, which just increases the tension between them and their caregivers.

It was hard to hear how much our child felt unheard and misunderstood. How he WANTED to be able to do the things everyone else could. How much shame and disappointment he carried. It was hard to learn that all of our efforts to help him learn and grow had made him feel rejected and unloved. That he had internalized the message, “If only you were more _____,” and believed himself to be broken and unworthy. Those were heart breaking messages. But we heard them, and we learned to do better.

We backed off and stopped asking him to do chores, cheerfully delivered food even when he was demanding and impolite, left him alone when he asked us to, and agreed to let him stop taking his medications. We held only one expectation – that we do a family activity together each day. We wanted him to know that we held connection above all other values. That he could choose not to shower, to eat by himself, to stay up half the night, but he could not choose to be excluded. He would always be part of our family.

Almost immediately, an incredible thing happened. Within days, his anger faded. Within weeks he started asking politely for things, thanking us for our care, and participating (mostly) willingly in daily family activity. It was an amazing shift. Where there had been conflict and anger, there was suddenly space to build positive relationships.

Over time, he shifted his waking hours later and spent an increasing amount of time on screens. It was hard to stand by and let this happen, but we were seeing such positive shifts in his demeanour that we held the course. I started researching alternative parenting styles, neurodivergence, and trauma, and eventually found resources that supported what we were doing.

In March of his grade 7 year, we pulled him out of school for a month. We hoped that fourteen school days (the maximum allowed without losing his spot in the gifted program) tacked on to Spring Break would give him time to figure out who he was when he wasn’t working so hard to fight the system. Then COVID happened, and no one went back after Spring Break. He took that spring off school completely. The next year, we attempted homeschooling, but it put pressure back on our fledgling relationship. Then I discovered the concept of unschooling, and we were off!

For three years, I have worked on my own understanding of how kids learn and thrive. As a seasoned teacher, it was eye-opening to be reminded that our system does not support what we know to be true about learning. Last spring I resigned from teaching, too disillusioned to continue to participate in a system I fear is hurting our children and our future. I discovered self-determination theory, and the concept that children need connection, autonomy, and competence.

As parents, we have steeled ourselves against the judgment of others, built community with those who understand our choices, and reveled in the seclusion that COVID brought. We worried about neglect, and the injustice of having one child in school and one out. We tried to balance the very different needs of our children, while embracing what we feel to be true for all kids – that self-determination is a powerful motivator. That kids do well when they can. That sticks and carrots are not necessary or helpful tools and that imposed consequences are highly overrated, if not downright dangerous. We re-imagined what COULD happen, instead of what “should.”

We watched our child struggle, mostly with his own internal demons, some of which we had helped put there. We loved him unconditionally and talked openly about different neurotypes, the randomness we were discovering in societal norms and expectations, and alternative paths to success. We stopped using consequences with both of our children, rather letting natural consequences play out and helping them navigate life on their own terms.

The more we got out of his way, the more he picked up of his own volition. Showering, oral care, fashion awareness, psychology, eating habits, and exercise – these all appeared on his radar. He picked up reading for pleasure and began to occasionally choose that over gaming. As he started to feel safer, he stopped avoiding life and his brain came back online. He resumed old passions and picked up new interests. His screen use became more and more multi-disciplinary and he would bring us videos and articles of interest on wide-ranging, mature topics. He began to be more flexible, and more open to new experiences. He even picked up a regular household chore.

And then, quite suddenly, he announced he was ready to go back to school. We went to Family Camp this summer, and he enjoyed his peer relationships so much that he determined he was ready for more. He was ready to try high school. I thought he might waver as the first day approached, but he was determined. His camp friends had started him on piano and he ran with that as distraction, using YouTube to teach himself while he waited anxiously for the start of school. He agreed to go out and buy supplies, went to appointments and tours, and picked out courses of interest. He practised his route to school and packed a school bag. He was nervous, for sure, but he went.

I waved goodbye as he careened out the driveway on his bicycle, a bit teary, but hoping for the best. Knowing that even if things don’t work out, this is a huge step forward, and trusting that, should we need it, we have the skills and confidence to find a new better-fit route for his future.