never the right time / never the right way

home educating the neurodivergent way is just different

I look forward to Thursdays.

Thursday is my unofficial gathering with fellow home-educating parents, where we sit for two hours and talk about everything and anything while our children are at the forest school nearby. It’s my favourite day of the week because, in that very short space of time, I feel considerably less alone, less different, and less judgmental of myself. When I’m there I feel like I’ve finally found my people, after what felt like a long time wandering in the ‘what the hell am I doing?’ world that took over.

I have told one or two of the other mothers about my child’s specific neurodivergence and my own, but most of them don’t know yet. Or maybe they do, I’m not sure.

picture of my youngest who joined us there one day

Since our diagnosis, I don’t jump into telling people about it as soon as we meet. There is a subtle delicateness to doing it in my own experience. It’s similar to when I was a teenager making new friends, and I would have to tell them about my mother’s death eventually.

There is a right time and place, and a certain level of safety with someone needed to be present.

Yet in these moments with these women, I feel no need to mention it.

We are all as we are in those couple of hours, joined by an invisible thread woven between us. Gathering how women have always gathered. Under the trees, children running around, topics of all matters discussed. Laughs and gasps and everything in between.

It is settling for my nervous system for another reason too.

In that space for those few hours, I know my daughter is safe and she is okay and able to be herself. That is something priceless. I know there in those hours she is running around and happy with her friends and is supported by the leaders who guide her and other children around nature. That is not something that comes easy.

Parents of neurodivergent children will know this kind of work - the work we put in to just show up some days, or accept that it was going to be a day at home because we wouldn’t be able to make it.

It took over a year of trying each week to make this space happen today. So I smile knowing that we managed to get here.

Another mum has her child sitting next to her on YouTube and also has an older child in the group. I know she gets it too - sometimes there are children who just can’t and won’t do the things that everyone else does.

We adjust our lives to that.

I love that here in this space the forest school leader knows this too. She lets the boy on YouTube wander in and out of the camp when he wants to (without paying), without judgment. Maybe one day he will be able to go in there without a parent, but for now they go slow.

As we sit there our children wander in and out of the open door forest camp and they touch in with the parents, have a chat, and go back again. It’s like the beautiful cycle of attachment circle I found many years back¹, where babies and young children come to the resource and safety of their parent then go back out to explore the world, often looking back to see everything is okay.

I know mum is there behind me, so it will all be okay.

But here it’s being done with much older primary age children returning to their parents to say hello then running back off with the group to explore.

It makes me wonder why schools can’t have rooms for parents to co-work or socialise in, and their children can come and go to touch base with their parents in the day. Why does it have to be all or nothing?

In amongst conversation, there are often discussions of curriculums and projects, lessons and collage exams. Some of the older and more experienced mothers discuss their experiences of many years and the less experienced sit in awe and wonder at how some mothers can homeschool up to 7 of their children all the way through to university.

I love to sit there and listen to these stories of success, yet often think about how little I have done with my children this week. This month, this year.

I do my best to remember our situation, is different.

Believe me, in the 7 years, I’ve tried it all. Waldorf, Montessori, Classical, traditional, Twinkl, you name it.

Poetry tea time - so boring I was told.

Jolly Phonics - too babyish.

mini blackboards, mini white boards, Singapore Math, Teach your Monster to Read, Monster Math, cute monster letter everything and all the workbooks, all the programs and names…

Who cares what it’s called - if it’s not what my child wants to do, then it’s just not happening. And why should she need to really?

I mention that to the parents and they laugh.

But I mean it - I really mean it.

I begin to wonder what have we been up to the past few years? (acknowledging we did move country, move house several times, and start life and friendships all over again)

What ‘evidential learning’ can I show for these years when someone asks me what curriculum do you use?

Some days we watch TV for hours.

Some days our main lesson is the soft play.

Some days we research random animals for hours and then never talk about them ever again.

Some days we make homemade playdoh and fail badly at it.

Some days we learn one tricky word and nothing else and play Lego instead.

Some days we learn about herbs and be witches and make messy potions.

Some days we obsess over multiplication and do no math for 3 months.

Some days it’s only handstands until there are sore heads and lots of laughs, and then daily dance parties to Calvin Harris without having read a single book that week.

Some days there are well-planned, cute cutout lessons set up on the kitchen table, that after 5 minutes are put in the bin because it was just too much of a demand.

Often there is no strength left and doors are slammed and headaches are gained and tears are overflowing and I remember how we have tried too hard that day. That week.

How I expected too much of ‘simple’ tasks, and we go right back to the beginning of everything, with weighted blankets, headphones and squiggy toys on hand.

There are days where I think too much and I break - what’s the point? What’s the point of even trying?

Those are the tough days.

But not today.

Today is one of those good days. One of those where it’s all worth it.

Unschooling - self-directed living - doing our own thing. All those little silly days we have had is our curriculum.

Thursday is the day I’m glad I stayed true to my gut and never sent my daughter to school after nursery and I got all those strange looks from the professionals.

It’s a day where the sun is shining and I’m laughing with women I love, and my daughter is deep in play with her best friends and it’s all working out as I wished it had.

Here it feels like a million miles away from the restraints of a curriculum that would have sent us all over the edge.

But I remember the good intentions of everyone here in the group sharing their knowledge and experiences, and I pocket some of it for a rainy (or very hot) day in Dubai where everyone feels super settled and a suggestion of a new game/book/activity might be okay to try out.

Our situation is our own. As is everyones else’s.

But Thursday is the day when it feels like we are all very similar for just short moment.

So I soak it all up and breathe out - ready to take on whatever is next in this journey that we have so wildly chosen to take.

x

1. https://www.circleofsecurityinternational.com/circle-of-security-model/what-is-the-circle-of-security/ - I love this circle of attachment video