The Great and Terrible Burden of Homeschooling

Almost every time I tell someone with kids in school that I manage both career and homeschooling, the first thing out of their mouths is usually a gasp, and some variation of "I could never do that" or "I just don't know how you do it."

Sure, I've taken the unconventional path of the largely self-employed perpetual job-changer (my resume looks more like a millennial's - despite my GenX pedigree). But overall, I've consistently been able to create the career I want for myself - on my own terms, and all the while homeschooling for the last 4 years.

The assumption, I think, is that my day is a juggling act between getting work stuff done and the demanding, tedious work everyone else does to manage their kids' success in school. In this context, the reaction makes perfect sense. I feel a little bit like the Wizard of Oz... if you lift up the curtain, behind my supposed feat of impossible parenting bravery, lies a simple, hidden truth:

I don't do a heck of a lot to educate or entertain her.

If Ms. H were a typically-educated 3rd grader, this would be a time in her life where she'd need my constant care and attention to navigate through her life. Help with homework. Spelling and multiplication drills. Piano practice. Soccer practice. School projects. Book reports. Recitals. Games. Plays.

It's not that I don't manage her time at all -- I make sure she's up in the morning (at least when she has a class to go to), I get her to the classes she picked for herself, I make her lunches (she could probably do this, but I enjoy it), and try to make sure her teeth don't rot out of her head. But I'm also realizing that this year, more than ever, Ms. H doesn't need my help very often.

When you strip away drilling 8x7, or twice-weekly soccer practice, or practice tests, or mandatory piano lessons, or anything you decide your child *must* do to succeed in life, the parenting picture changes radically. It becomes about allowing free play, nurturing independence, and helping your child discover her own passions.

Childhood, at its core, is a path to discovering one's self-sufficiency. One that must be largely walked alone. It is a windy path, sometimes rocky, often steep. And there's a fine line between holding your child's hand so they can scrabble up a particularly treacherous section of the trail, and blocking their way because you're afraid they won't make it up there -- unless you carry them.


I've been wondering something lately --

What if the way we micro-manage our children has more to do with what we need as parents than it does with preparing our children for the future?

My life as a parent might sound very relaxing and simple, but honestly? It is nerve-wracking when your child stops needing you constantly! When I compare Ms. H last year to Ms. H this year, I realize this must be what empty nesters feel. I'm experiencing it with my 9 year old... because, really, at 9 most kids are very capable of living their own lives, of pursuing their own interests. They are already taking that path to independence - if the path is clear.

The big parenting lesson for me in all of this is that I don't need to create make-work for my child so that I can feel important. I don't need to initiate power struggles about what fills her day so that my needs get met. I have that temptation - that need to create situations or tasks where she needs me, even if what she needs is to be cajoled or yelled at to do what is "good" for her. Sometimes I think that it's me who will take ANY kind of attention, positive or negative.

But if I step back and let her life happen on her terms, I realize that she reaches out when she needs me. She navigates that ebb and flow of independence/dependence beautifully. She reaches out for my help with her microbiology class, plays chess with a friend, reads her neurobiology textbook, and retreats to her room to learn more about Pokemon and Minecraft. I have a mental catalogue of which of these activities are "learning" and which are "play". She makes no such distinctions. She just knows her own needs, her own passions, her own moods.

Where does this leave me? Slightly uncomfortable. Unable to hide from my own life, unable to ignore my own passions. Realizing that the only way I can cultivate her love of learning is to model my own. Having no excuse. Unable to subsume my needs into hers.

How many parents give up on their dreams? Trade them away for homework and recitals and multiplication drills? It's a convenient way to let go of your dreams - to convince yourself that your child needs so much from you, requires so much of your time and attention, that you have no time for your own self, your own needs. It makes lots of sense in the early years, but less and less as time goes on. But it's more comfortable that way. I believe our whole society is more comfortable that way. It's make-work for kids, and make-work for parents. Our children's schedules and our education system's idea of standards and "achievements" keep us looped together in a meaningless power struggle that prevents both parent and child from discovering their own passions and talents.

What would it look like if we just let go?

If this idea makes you uncomfortable, I want to point out that letting go happens eventually, whether we like it or not. I don't want to speak too soon, but I have a sneaking suspicion that Ms. H's teen years will not be filled with sullen rebellion, the way mine were. I imagine that, on this track, she will be a fully realized adult by the time she is 15 or 16. Which is how most of human history has viewed the teenager. In fact, cultures that have no concept of adolescence have almost no teenage rebellion to speak of. Adolescence is simply the beginning of adult life.

Except in our society, we don't let that happen. Psychologist Robert Epstein found that American teens were subjected to "more than 10 times as many restrictions as mainstream adults, twice as many restrictions as active-duty U.S. Marines, and even twice as many as incarcerated felons." It's almost as if we're desperately trying to prevent them from growing up. If we lifted up that curtain, what would we find? What unmet need is that infantilization of kids and teens filling for parents?

Ms. H may be woefully underprepared to jump through the hoops of high school AP classes. If you put her under the harsh restrictions most teens are subjected to, she would rear up like a wild horse in protest. But I'd give her a high probability of success in managing her own business, making herself dinner, or managing her bank account. Even if she had to start doing it tomorrow.

The great and terrible burden of homeschooling is this:

There's nothing I can do but get out of her way.

It's shockingly similar to what great leadership looks like.

Liz Snyder

Firebrand Leadership

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