The Weight of Getting It Right

I found an old notebook today from our early days of home education. There amongst my scribbled notes I could see pages and pages of research. The unanswered questions I had. Lists of random websites that I obviously hoped would come in handy. Maths apps - oh so many maths apps! And lots of ideas of things I could do with the kids.

Looking back through those pages, I feel mixed emotions. I'm transported back to that time, a time when I felt very out of control and that notebook felt like a lifeline.

I remember the strong need to find the things that would help me help the children. I was now officially in charge of their education and the weight of that responsibility felt crushing. I felt I needed to be their teacher, to cover the curriculum and to ensure they learnt everything they needed to have a good life. That's a tough gig. No wonder every day felt heavy. Looking back I see a mum who is lost and simply trying her best in a situation that is completely new.

If I'm honest, I was exhausted. I remember vividly the overwhelming thoughts that consumed me: if I didn't get this right, my children's lives were going to be over. I had to find the answers. And if I did, everything would be OK. We would be OK. If I just fixed it and took away everyone's pain and all their worries, then we would be OK. And I needed us to be OK because in my mind that's when I could rest.

But it's a huge burden to take on everyone else's happiness. Thinking about it now, I don't think it's even possible. But back then, that didn't matter. It became my fixation.

The sad thing is most of what's scribbled in my notebook never got used. My kids weren't interested in any of it. I can smile now as I share this story with you but at the time I felt crushed. I'm reminded of the disappointment I felt when I showed my children a well-researched app only for them to show no interest. Didn't they know how long it had taken me to find that? How many people I'd asked in the Facebook groups? How many websites I'd looked at? All the reviews I'd read?

The panic. What will we do now? I have to teach them and they have to learn.

More panic. And it all led to more research to find the thing. The thing that would make everything OK.

What I failed to notice, whilst I was stressing and researching, was all the fabulous learning that was taking place right before my eyes.

Whilst I was researching, my boys were playing, reading, inventing and creating.

I remember dragging the boys away from things they were doing to do what I felt they needed to do.

"Stop reading that book and come and do some maths."

"Stop designing your own newspaper, we're going to analyse this poem."

Writing those words now makes me cringe.

The kids started to stay out of my way. And I don't blame them. Back then my idea of what learning looks like was based on my own schooled experience and the current traditional schooling approach. I hadn't actually considered what learning was or what it might look like for my children.

I thought I was following their interests. Everything they showed an interest in, I would pounce on it like a ninja. Poor kids! But actually, I was following my need for them to learn, and to learn in the traditional sense. Led by the adult, covering all the important things and making sure we could show evidence of what we'd done. Bring on the worksheets!

I never took a moment to imagine what it must have been like for my children. My waking hours were consumed by wanting to help, yet I was focused on what I needed to do in order to feel more comfortable and in control. It's exhausting trying to control something that was never meant to be controlled.

My boys have never completed a single worksheet. But they have grown rare trees, designed websites, given presentations, run half marathons, made friends, climbed mountains, raised chickens, built businesses and read many, many books.

It took me a long time to let go of that notebook. To stop researching. To stop looking for the right answers.

To trust that learning was happening even when I couldn't see it. Even when I couldn't measure it.

I wish I could go back and tell that version of me: You're making it harder than it needs to be. They're already learning. You just can't see it yet because you're too busy looking for the "right" way.

There is no right way. There's just your way. Your family's way.

And the sooner you trust that, the sooner everyone - including you - gets to breathe again.