Kindergarten Broke My Daughter

We started homeschooling last fall. It wasn’t a decision we came to lightly and it is a choice that we are constantly reevaluating but it was something we needed to do.

We faced a lot of criticism for the choice from friends and family who believe in the public school system. I have spent the past year trying to justify our decision to these people in real life as well as to the world through my blog. But I’ve also had to constantly justify it to my husband and sometimes even to myself.

I can easily rattle off the reasons: the schedule was hard, we were constantly fighting over homework, we wanted the freedom to continue sharing the world with our children, we wanted them to be able to learn at their own pace. We wanted our children to be happy, we wanted our family to be stable and it wasn’t happening when our eldest was in the mainstreamed system.

So we called it, we unenrolled her from our local public school and kept our other children, who were not yet school-aged, at home as well. We’ve spent the past year bumbling through, figuring out what homeschooling means to our family and what we expect our children to get out of it. And we’ve thrived, we’re all happier and better rested and don’t argue as much. We actually enjoy being around each other most of the time!

But all this time as I’ve put on a happy front about our choice and how great it’s been for us, I’ve also been brushing over the truth that made the ultimate decision for us: kindergarten nearly destroyed our daughter.

From the time she was a newborn we talked about how she just “got” the world. She’s always been extremely mature and understood things beyond her years. She is inquisitive and quick to catch on. She’s a thinker and carries everything she hears, processes it over time and often agonizes over things that are outside her scope of understanding because while she may be mature and understand many advanced things, she is still young. She is still a child.

She is also deeply compassionate and caring. She wants to be liked and valued. She feels for other people and wants those around her to be happy. She is kind and giving. She will give herself for the happiness of others. I see it with her friends when she lets them boss her around and make the rules and I see it with her siblings when she willingly gives up toys to her demanding little brother or shares her food with her sister, even when she gets nothing in return.

But by the end of kindergarten, she was a shell of herself. We would drop off an exhausted little girl at the front gate at 7:45 in the morning and I would collect an often sad and disgruntled girl outside the cafeteria at 2:00. We would go home and have a snack and relax or play before tackling homework, both of us agitated and resentful. We would fight and sometimes yell. But we would get it done just in time for her to collapse in bed for a much needed nap, just so she could make it through the night to when daddy got home and we could have a family dinner.

I would look forward to her days off. I would plan play-dates and fun activities to try to balance out the stress. But somehow every day off the last few months of school resulted in the same experience: us fighting over a chore that needed to be done and her spouting off self-hatred.

“I just don’t like myself at all.”

“Sometimes I think I’m the worst.”

“I hate everything about me.”

“I’m terrible at everything.”

“I’m just so stupid!”

I would try to talk to her, ask her for clarification, desperately seeking more information. I would try to talk her down, allay her worries, help her see all the wonderful things about her. But inside, I trembled. I knew it wasn’t right, these things she would tell me. I knew it was not normal, that children should not feel these things. She would get quiet and she would cry, frustrated with herself and her life. And sometimes I cried for her, with her, filled with sadness for my little girl who was so disenchanted by the world.

She was 5. The youngest in her class but also one of the most capable according to her teacher. She had already lost her love for learning and telling me how bored she was. She didn’t want to go to school but she also didn’t fight us, she just accepted her fate. When I would collect her at the end of the day, she couldn’t tell me one positive thing that happened. She would beat herself down over every homework assignment, not even trying or having the confidence to do the things that were second nature to her.

I carried that guilt like a scar on my heart. The feeling that I was doing this to her. That I had caused the problem by putting her into an environment that was ruining her. By trying to smooth over her insecurities and concerns then forcing her back into the environment where it was all coming from. I dreaded those school pick ups because I never knew which girl I was going to get: the sad one, the angry one, the silent one who had nothing to say at all.

Every conversation between my husband and I at that time revolved around her. And by April we were throwing around the “D” word: depression. Was it possible that our bright, kind, caring child could actually be depressed? Did we need to take her to talk to someone? Did we need to meet with the school counselor?

She was 5. I threw around the option of homeschool a lot. It wasn’t the first time I’d considered it or brought up the idea. It was something I felt would benefit her from the time she was a month old. Our little baby who just “got” the world, our little girl who was now being destroyed by it.

We waited out the rest of her kindergarten year, counted down the days to summer break. And by the end of summer, our family was refreshed, back on our feet and we were ready, ready to get our lives back and public school just didn’t fit in. We unenrolled her and began our homeschooling journey.

We are now able to see when she is struggling and talk her through before she even gets close to being back at that self-hatred place. We are able to support her both academically and emotionally. We are in control of when to push her and when to step back. And it has made all the difference.

She is now 7 and back to her bright, happy, caring self. She loves to read and has made huge strides in learning. She has developed a new confidence and revels in her role as the “biggest sister” to her three siblings.

I can’t say what it was in that classroom that pushed her to the edge. The unprepared substitute she had for 5 months? The academic pressure and unspoken competition among her peers? The lack of free time and creative play? The constant pressure to sit, be quiet, follow directions, learn?

All I know is that kindergarten almost destroyed my daughter and we were lucky to have seen it, to have the option of an alternative. We are fortunate to be here today, all in one piece, to have intervened in time. Who knows what would have happened if we had stuck with it, perhaps it would have all turned out fine, but I’m not one to take chances with my children’s well-being.

But while kindergarten nearly broke her, homeschooling saved her. Being home put her back together, piece by piece, as she regained confidence and a new found love for learning. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted as a mommy: happy children with a natural curiosity and the strength to take on the world.

 
About the author: Melissa is a homeschooling, ballerina mommy of four and lives by the motto “Life is never boring when you’re never alone, but I know somewhere out there, there is life Beyond Mommying!” She shares her parenting adventures on her blog Beyond Mommying. You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram.