Why I Homeschool

When people ask me why I homeschool, I hesitate. Do I give the short answer, or the real one? I always want to give the real answer, but I learned a long time ago most people don’t have the patience to weather my long, granular explanations for things. Fair enough.

But I still want to answer the question, if only for myself. So here goes:

Homeschooling was not the plan. I looked forward to the day I could send my kids off to school and have time for myself again. I’m a creative person who thrives on long, uninterrupted stretches of solitude and focus.

But I sent my oldest to preschool when she was three and a half years old, and she did not do well. My sweet, bright, sensitive kid came home a different child. She was fried, angry, and constantly sick—recovering just long enough to catch the next thing.

I wanted to believe it was normal, or just an adjustment period, but then the teachers at her school started telling me she was bad when I’d pick her up for the day. Well-meaning people said things like, “she’s the most sensitive child I’ve ever known.”

But she wasn’t the most sensitive child I had ever known.

I’m a highly sensitive person (HSP), and I saw it in my daughter too. When I was a kid, I couldn’t stand the sound of chewing, for example, or the way certain clothes felt on my body. If one shoe was tighter than the other, I was having a bad day.

I wasn’t aware any of this was a thing until my early teens. That’s when my mom sent me to a therapist to figure out why I was so difficult to live with. She handed me Dr. Elaine Aron’s The Highly Sensitive Person and taught me coping methods that helped make life bearable.

By then, I’d already internalized the belief that my family thought I was cruel. Spoiler: I wasn’t, but I did struggle with my inability to control anything about my environment, which manifested in antisocial ways.

Knowing my reactions offended people added a layer of confusion I’m still unpacking. I knew I didn’t feel or think the things I was accused of, but nobody else seemed to be struggling like I was, and therefore nobody was inclined to accommodate me.

And then there was school. I was a bright kid who learned quickly, but when I hit grade school, I started to struggle. I was overwhelmed all the time and coped by retreating into imaginary worlds instead of paying attention in class.

Eventually, my parents started filling in the gaps at home. Math flash cards, long-division lessons, and trips to the bookstore became routine, and I began neurofeedback therapy for what was thought to be ADHD.

These things helped, but I still felt defective. I thought this despite plenty of external reinforcement to the contrary, and despite the fact that I was expected to perform well in school. I equated feeling different with being dumb, and it wasn’t until I was a sophomore in high school that I began to challenge my assumptions when one of my teachers insisted I move into advanced classes. I was surprised to find them easier and more engaging.

So why do I homeschool? By the time I became a parent, I could spot nervous-system overload from a mile away, and once I saw the same sensitivities in my daughter that I’d battled as a kid, the choice made itself. I knew I’d keep my kids at home, at least through their formative years.

My oldest is now ten, and she’s endlessly curious, imaginative, and chatty about her interests and ideas. We do core curriculum at home and take certain classes like music or PE at a charter school where running around and playing with other kids makes sense. At home, we follow rabbit holes in the quiet, where we can focus.

Exactly what I wanted for my kids—and what I once needed myself.