Last updated on November 26, 2023
Podcast 0100, Season 6, Episode 10; 18 April 2023
Recording Number 100! Of course, it’s about education because that’s what dominates my life. Specifically, this is a reflection on reaching the end of our homeschooling experience.
Transcript
Welcome to Perspectives on Neurodiversity, a podcast dedicated to challenging myths and assumptions about Neurodiverse life. I am your host, Christopher Scott Wyatt, speaking as The Autistic Me.
Before I begin the planned script, I want to acknowledge those who have emailed or messaged asking if my family and I are okay. To say we’ve had some adventures is an understatement. For now, I need some time to process everything and get myself back on track physically and emotionally. Life is like that. Not everything ends up on the blog or is mentioned on the podcast. Thank you to those who have expressed concern. We’re fine now.
I prepared my notes for this episode on April 2, 2023, World Autism Awareness Day. I’ll spare everyone my usual rant on autism awareness and acceptance. Instead, this episode sticks to daily life, which is exhausting enough.
This is my 100th recording for the podcast, a number I had doubts about reaching. I still wonder how many more podcast episodes I’ll manage to record, edit, and share with the world.
As with posts to the blog, I haven’t managed to release podcast episodes on a regular schedule. Life has a way of interrupting side projects. If I were paid to write posts and produce podcast episodes, I’d probably run myself ragged to maintain a schedule. When a task is a job, I tend to do whatever it takes to meet deadlines, even if I damage my health in the process.
My wife and daughters will attest that my health hasn’t been what it should be, with stress taking a toll. I’m trying to balance my days, prioritizing my duties as a parent above all else.
We really wanted this school year to be different. Instead, we’re ending it with both girls at home. One is struggling to reach grade level and the other is racing ahead of many of her peers. Too often, I find myself comparing the girls, which is unfair to both.
Homeschooling takes a lot of my time — more than I anticipated when the pandemic ushered in virtual learning three years ago. Teaching two grade levels for two Neurodiverse daughters has taken a toll on me.
Homeschooling consumes far more than 50 hours a week. The weekly podcast became twice-monthly and then monthly as I focused most of my energy on homeschooling. I spend eight to twelve hours each weekend preparing for the next week of lessons.
We know that’s not the experience of other homeschooling families. We’re not like other families. “Free range” learning, unschooling, deschooling, and variations on Maria Montessori’s philosophy don’t work for one oppositional child and one highly anxious child with obsessive-compulsive disorder.
Children who have been in the foster care system and through the adoption process don’t have the same sense of security other children often have. If we had raised the girls from birth, without the years of legal uncertainty, they’d know we’re always here to support them. They’d be less risk-averse. They’d trust us to love them no matter what.
When your formative years were spent caring for yourselves emotionally and feeling like the adults might abandon you, school presents a lot of emotional challenges. Education practices themselves can be traumatic.
The dream of “normal” persists. Susan and I have every hope that the girls will be in classrooms this fall, not at home.
The youngest actively resists any activity she suspects might be educational. The oldest suffers meltdowns if there isn’t a daily schedule with clear times for subjects. I’m too organized for one and too flexible for the other. The only way Anne finishes her work is if an adult sits across from her for hours on end. We’ve tried to reduce the monitoring only to find her in closets, pantries, and her sister’s room.
An illustration of Anne’s personality is how she approaches games. If she can’t easily win a game, she won’t play it. Anything difficult or challenging causes her to stop trying. She fears failing so much that she stops trying new academic skills.
Physical skills? No problem. She taught herself to ice skate, for example. Riding a bike? She kept at it until she was cruising along. What Anne fears are those tasks that require using her mind more than her body.
“Every child has intrinsic motivation! They’re all curious!” We’ve heard it.
We have tried extrinsic motivation while searching for Anne’s intrinsic tipping point. I dislike behaviorism, yet parenting seems to always slip into moments of rewards for desired outcomes. Progress charts didn’t work. Sticker books? No luck.
Unfortunately, Anne’s one consistent motivation is food, and that’s not good at all. Remember, she breaks into the pantry when not monitored. We don’t want to contribute to her unhealthy habits.
But, since her passion is food, I have tried to use cooking to teach her about academic subjects. Anne lasts about ten minutes before she wanders away from the kitchen. I thought for sure she’d love making cookies. She doesn’t quite finish helping. I’ll take what I can, I suppose.
Anne also loves rocks. We’ve bought her a lot of books about rocks and actual rocks. We also purchased a rock tumbler for her. Surely, she’d want to learn the names of the rocks. Maybe we could talk about how rocks are formed.
Nope. Anne likes to hold the rocks and look at the rocks, but she has little interest in learning about them. I just don’t understand how she can’t be curious about the things she clearly enjoys.
Anne struggles with reading, writing, and math. I’ve wondered how much those challenges drain her desire to learn. In a household of readers, she feels isolated. Her dyslexia and dysgraphia add to her anxiety. She asks for lots of hugs and reassurances during the morning lessons. Public schools don’t do hugs, especially in the post-pandemic era. Anne needs to feel wanted. Sometimes, she acts out to be noticed.
Years after being adopted, Anne still thinks of herself as in charge and alone. She’s the person she relied on, since the adults neglected her before she was in foster care. Then, the foster-adopt process taught her that nothing was certain, so she has trouble believing everything will be okay day to day. The pandemic time hasn’t wiped out her fear of being abandoned.
Her needs haven’t aligned with public education, but we’re hoping she’ll be ready this fall. We are working with her to prepare for the transition back to school. For Anne, this means reinforcing that Mom and Dad will help her with homework. We will always be looking forward to hearing about her day. For Anne to succeed in school, she will need to know that she’s not on her own, even if we’re not there.
Anne requires monitoring and encouragement to her schoolwork. In complete contrast, Leigh struggles to slow down, relax, and take breaks. We have to monitor Leigh so she won’t burn out. Leigh’s obsessive perfectionism is no healthier than Anne’s oppositional behaviors.
Leigh likes to work at her desk or in Susan’s office. Every 30 minutes or so, we ask her how she’s doing. We remind her to take breaks and move around.
If anything throws off Leigh’s schedule, she gets anxious and cries. If she misses questions, she might also cry. She worries constantly about not completing work and making mistakes. We’re trying to help her pace herself better, so she can finish and double-check her schoolwork.
Maintaining a daily schedule for both meets their dissimilar needs. For Anne, the schedule allows us to nudge her from task to task. For Leigh, the schedule offers reassurance that everything will be done on time.
Leigh wants to do everything, know everything, and be perfect at all of it. I can relate. I worry that she’ll be as anxious and self-critical as I am well into adulthood.
I don’t know how to help Leigh relax. That’s a lesson I can’t teach.
Personally, I’d love to let them play, read, explore, and follow their innate curiosity. The problem is, without structure they will both sit and wait for Mom or Dad to tell them what to do. Planning each week exhausts me. It would be great to let them choose activities and pursue some projects related to their interests.
I need a break and the girls need to develop the skills for later on-campus school success.
As soon as the new year began, Susan and I entered both girls into charter school lotteries for the 2023-24 school year. I mean that literally: as 2023 started, we were sitting in Susan’s office. We rushed to websites those early minutes of January 1 and entered names and ages into the lottery portals.
By March, both girls had seats at well-regarded charter campuses. In fact, Leigh won three different lotteries. Anne was on a waitlist briefly, but she was also admitted into a great school that should meet her needs.
Anne will be attending a school that specializes in supporting special needs. Every student receives meals on campus, the students wear uniforms, and support specialists work within the classrooms. Anne needs the reading and writing supports in class, so she’s with her classmates instead of being pulled out of the classroom.
Leigh will attend a charter tailored for gifted and talented students who need to balance academics and extracurricular activities. Leigh looks forward to the art classes, swim team, and nature clubs. The school offers more “open spaces” for students, such as outdoor lunch tables. The school also has experience with autistic students who are academically successful while struggling socially.
Meeting the different needs of Anne and Leigh has been challenging for Susan and me. Enrolling the girls in schools that understand them and will support them as individuals was a relief.
The pandemic taught Susan and me many things about our daughters.
Most importantly, we learned that the earliest experiences in their lives, experiences that occurred before they were eight years old, will always affect the girls. Their responses differ significantly, but their responses prove that early neglect, instability, and stress alter how children relate to other people.
Next, we learned that the public schools aren’t equipped for Neurodiversity in its various forms. Trauma, ADHD, Reactive Attachment Disorder, and autism are small pieces of who our daughters are, but those pieces have significant consequences.
Finally, we learned that we were able to homeschool for more than three years. Now, we’re nearing the point at which the girls need more than we can offer at home. Our girls need social and life skills as much as they need academic preparation.
I’ve invested my time and energy into the girls’ schooling since March of 2020. Susan has invested a lot of time in our homeschooling efforts, too. We’re tired.
Your support reminds me that other parents face similar struggles. I appreciate how many people read the blog and listen to the podcast. It always amazes me how many follow The Autistic Me. I will continue to do my best to maintain The Autistic Me blog and the Perspective on Neurodiversity podcast, while also taking better care of myself.
I am Christopher Scott Wyatt, speaking as The Autistic Me.
I thank you for listening to this podcast and reading the blog. If you haven’t subscribed to the podcast, please do. Also, leave a review to help promote Perspectives on Neurodiversity. You can follow The Autistic Me on Facebook, as well.
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