My Homeschool 'WHY'

I recently had a day when I forgot my why. It’s been nearly 12 years since I started homeschooling, and sometimes, the familiarity of our days leads me to forget why I chose to homeschool in the first place.
 
My daughter was born with a disability. Her early years were full of doctors, hospitals and therapists. As she neared school age, I started looking towards school. With no suitable school in our local area, my husband and I drove 40 minutes to meet with the teachers of a school that I thought would be the perfect fit.
 
After the meeting, I sat in my car, head slumped on the steering wheel and sobbed. “I’m sorry. I know you really wanted this,” my husband said.
 
“We’ll homeschool!” I half-yelled through tears, my eyes firmly fixed on the school gate. I’ll show them! I’ll show everyone! This was my why.

 

 

Often, the reason we start something isn’t the reason we continue. As my second daughter reached school age, we started to get a lot of questions: Well, yes, it makes sense to homeschool Olive, but surely Alice needs to go to school?
 
But did she? I remember one day hearing fits of laughter. Outside, my daughters had grabbed the sprinkler, thrown it over the trampoline net and were covered head to toe in dishwashing liquid, slipping and sliding, barely able to keep their footing. I thought, this is why I homeschool: their friendship. Their bond.
 
And so Alice never started school.

 

 

As my girls grew, we had our wobbles, but the voice that once yelled in defiance eventually quietened, and a new sense of peace and purpose started to emerge. Our days slowed, and my mind slowed. The years passed, and my why grew again.
 
It was a bright blue sky kind of day. We were off to the museum. Just as I’d bought our tickets, a busload of school kids arrived, very excited for their day out. My eldest daughter, not liking the crowd or the noise, wanted to go home. “It’s ok,” I remember saying, “they won’t be here long. We’ll go in when they leave.” Half an hour later, they were gone.
 
After we had soaked up all we could at the museum, I sat outside looking at the cloudless sky while my daughters did cartwheels across the grass. I thought to myself, this is why I homeschool: time.
 
Before I knew it, 10 years had passed. My daughters were now teenagers. I barely thought of school and what their age-equivalent peers would be doing. As the years went on, it just became less and less relevant to our lives.
 
I lost touch with friends with kids at school. I could no longer connect with their lived experience of school stress and bullying. It was hard letting go of old friends, but I built a new community around me, one of belonging and acceptance. Whenever I was feeling lost or overwhelmed, there was someone who understood and supported me. My why grew again to include connection and community. Not just for my daughters but also for me.

 

 

And so here I am today. My daughters are 16 and 14. Olive, the girl who paediatricians once told me might never run, ride a bike or learn to swim, who psychologists told me was ‘clinically’ delayed, who teachers told me was not suitable for their school, is a confident, funny, creative, independent, and capable young person. I know it doesn’t matter what people once told me. I do occasionally wonder, though, how different her life might have been.
 
Tomorrow, she has an interview for entry into TAFE.
 
This is why I homeschool. What’s your why?