It always felt with our adopted twins, we were on the back-foot going into school. Then with our boy, it wasn’t long before the walls crumbled down. And despite feeling on the treadmill of relying on school, we’d meet daring home-educating parents who’d stepped out of the cultural norm. They presented us with a different option; slower, gentler, more holistic. “But would this be realistic for us?” my husband would contest. A sense of, ‘It’s okay if you’re a well-attached, neurotypical child, but to take full responsibility for a kid who rages and pushes back, what would this romantic walk of homeschooling look like for you?! Definitely not reciting William Wordsworth around the rustic garden table!’

Taking the plunge

But as the same school issues persisted, my husband would make his own brave step to trust in my vision. I reluctantly called the school ‘SENCO’ and relayed our decision. She was saddened; she’d seen him happy playing football with friends. There was a grief for me too. I wanted my boy to have this tangible place of belonging. But I reminded myself of the bigger picture; playdates that fell apart, toileting needs, an exhausted boy who needed breathing space. It felt right as I de-registered him. We’d FINALLY taken the plunge! I’d like to say I breathed a sigh of relief, but I didn’t! I hit Amazon Prime, ordered a Romans activity book and some maths stickers.

IKEA breakfasts

Our first day of home ed was lonely. We dropped our boy’s twin sister off at school. Where should we go?! We went to IKEA. I bought a plant. Then to the IKEA cafe. Their breakfasts are an alright deal. We quietly ate. Then I got out our Romans Activity Book. He looked at me like, ‘why the hell are you getting that out?!’ Telling me it was boring. “But you can stick sandals and swords on these cute naked Roman cartoon soldiers,” I’d eagerly encourage. He didn’t care for such pastimes.

I freaked out! I’d pushed for home education and felt the weight of this now on my shoulders. What if he’d never learn to read, write, pass exams…?? I’d be stuck with a forty-year-old lazy illiterate man scrounging off us in our retirement. I bumped into my husband’s friend enjoying the same breakfast deal with his toddlers. I told him it was day one of home ed. He was inspired. I wanted to cry!

In those first few months I found it hard to give up schooling principles. I would force a pen into his hand. He’d resist. I took him to museums, posting photos on the family WhatsApp to assure them we were learning. But in reality, I’d wander around disorientated, I never took an interest in the bronze age or Chinese pottery. But rather, give me some clay and I’d create. I guess, that’s what we were to do. We’d been handed some fresh wet clay, and were in the season of re-moulding away. I needed to lay down the academic game of ‘catch-up’, the proving ourselves to folk and the like, and to instead learn our own hidden ‘mother-son’ language to just BE.

Finding a groove

This took time. He’d have days lying exhausted on the sofa. Or want to endlessly bounce with me on the trampoline. I wanted rest and not be everything to my child. I let him watch TV. And as time went on, we started finding places and rhythms. We found a warm pool, and I reveled in watching him learn to swim. We played board games in cafes. And as I drove around, I’d listen to him sing. So different to those car journeys where he’d silently knock his head on the way to school.

The Thursday Crew

I’d find a people too, the ‘Thursday Crew’. A handful of families who gathered in a church friend’s bungalow in the countryside. She had a constant supply of baby animals; puppies, mice, ducklings. The kids would be enveloped into this wonderfully untamed existence. My boy was shy at first, but in time, he’d find his way. Learning Minecraft and having friends to bounce with on the trampoline. I’d sit at the kitchen table, sip on tea and feel kindred spirits with this precious new community.

There would be moments of seeing rage flare up with my child, but I felt safe. The parents passed no judgement, but a curiosity in wondering around the complexities of parenting kids with ‘early life trauma’. I felt listened to, seen, believed. 

My boy also started occupational therapy. He was diagnosed with ‘sensory processing disorder’   She’d let his hands squish playdough, and we watched him fly high on a swing. My beautiful boy, who was given this space to freely explore the world again. 

The Venn diagram

I had moments of doubt. I sat in an ‘Educational Health Care Plan’ meeting with an Educational Psychiatrist and her team. She had a fancy presentation, with a colourful Venn diagram. Overlapping circles with areas of development; social, sensory, academic. But this diagram grated on me, sensory was given a tiny circle, while the academic a big fat aggressive one. Why so?! Because knowing your timetables trumps being aware of your bodily functions?! 

So, where are we now….My boy is making progress in his toileting, but I believe this has come through letting go of that mighty fine circle of academia. Trusting that in time, it’ll come. It already is, he absorbs words from Monopoly, and has begun drawing the most wonderful maps. His learning may not be the linear measurable path our schooling system likes to impose on us, but with a web of support and creative thinking, we are stubbornly committed to seeing him thrive!

And so, as things began to settle with my boy, his twin sister’s thriving begun to tug away on our hearts. She’d been winging it at school, but her emotions and body are crying out for more. We are caught in the impossible dilemma of not knowing what next.
The twins have an extremely tumultuous relationship; how much more will we have to give? What risks are we prepared to take? We recognise the inevitable second leap will come. And maybe one day, I’ll be able to share on the utter wildness and redemption of home educating our wavy twins.
But for now, I’m very much caught up in the waviness! And I’m very much hoping that despite the cost, despite the complete bewilderment from many, it’ll be SO worth the ride and my beautiful two will discover themselves and flourish. 

This is Part 2 of a 2-part series.

This post was written and illustrated by Meg Wicks — a home educating parent and member of the Streams community. Meg writes under a pseudonym to protect her family’s privacy in adoption.