Our personal home education journey
How we came to choose the path less trodden
If you’d asked me five years ago, just as the pandemic was beginning, whether I’d ever consider home education, I would have given you a resounding “no way”. Like most parents, I believed school was the natural, unquestionable route to success (whatever that looks like) - the structure, the socialisation, the exam results. It was all part of the plan. And in primary school, it seemed to be working. My pre-teen loved learning. They thrived on exploring new ideas and discovering how the world worked. They had great friendships, were conscientious and helpful in the classroom. But it quickly became obvious that secondary school was going to be a different story.
We’d deliberately chosen what we thought was a good, well-disciplined school - a place with strong academic standards and a great reputation locally. On paper, it was a choice that made total sense. But the reality was much more challenging. The transition to year 7 was overwhelming. The once-curious child who loved learning began to feel buried under the weight of the system. The crowded movement between lessons, the noisy corridors and the sheer size of the school made it feel impersonal and chaotic. Making new friends was hard - lunchtime felt impossible. The behaviour policies, while meant to promote accountability, ended up piling on even more pressure. If a child failed three tests in a row, they were classed as “not completing their homework” eventually resulting in detention. Failing a test became more than just a learning curve - it was a punishable offence.
I watched my teen, who once bounced home full of all the things they’d learnt that day, become weighed down by anxiety. The pressure to perform in endless tests began to chip away at their confidence. They weren’t sleeping well. Their love of learning started to fade. And I began to wonder whether we were on the right path.
The Camino shift
It wasn’t until we took two of our children on the Camino de Santiago for five weeks that we finally had space to breathe - and to talk, away from day to day life. As we walked that five hundred miles across northern Spain, free from timetables and targets, we had honest conversations. For the first time in months, we saw glimpses of the old spark - the child who was curious, creative and relaxed.
During those long days of walking, we began to question everything. We’d already learned during the pandemic that home learning was possible and, perhaps more tellingly, that a lot of what they were doing in school didn’t seem all that meaningful. Worksheets. Tests. Box-ticking. Were they really gaining that much from it in comparison to what they were learning here, out on the open road?
By the time we returned home, we knew we had to make a change. In June, we made the decision to homeschool from September. But it didn’t go smoothly. My teen, understandably, resisted going back to school for the final weeks of term. I vividly remember the shouting matches at the door (not my best parenting moments). Me, desperately trying to push them out into a world they could no longer tolerate. They were done. And the truth is, so was I.
The hardest year
The first year of home education was brutal. My teen’s dad had strong, and very reasonable, concerns about whether we were doing the right thing. We faced pushback from some friends and family, indirectly questioning whether I was ruining their future. And I questioned it, too. All the time.
We tried to replicate school at first - timetables, correspondence courses, structured lessons. It was a disaster. What I didn’t understand back then was that my teen needed to recover from school before they could embrace learning again. Dr Naomi Fisher, a clinical psychologist, calls this the ‘regroup and recover’ stage - a necessary pause after leaving the high-stress environment of traditional schooling. But at the time, I was too anxious about my teen falling behind to allow for that recovery.
Some days, I overcompensated - controlling and structuring every minute, trying to force it to work. Other days, I swung the other way, leaving them to do whatever they wanted, then panicking that they weren’t doing enough. It felt impossible to strike the right balance. For a long time, I carried so much fear that I was failing them.
The turning point
But slowly, things began to shift. My teen started to rediscover their natural drive to learn. They took more ownership of their education - choosing subjects that genuinely interested them like Greek mythology and the history of equality. They found their own resources, watched YouTube tutorials, started to read books again and to enjoy the process of self-directed learning.
They sat their first GCSE two years’ early and passed. Now they’re working towards five more. It’s still hard some days. I still have moments of panic, worrying that they aren’t doing enough or that we’ve jeopardised their future. But when I see how much more themselves they are now - more creative, more curious, more individual - I think that we made the right choice.
What I wish I’d known when we started
Looking back, I wish I’d had more reassurance in those early months. I wish someone had told me that recovery takes time - and that you can afford to take it. That it doesn’t all have to be done by 16. I wish I’d known that rushing to replace school with a rigid substitute was my own fear talking - not what my teen actually needed.
If you’re at the beginning of this journey, I’d encourage you to give your child time to rest. To reconnect with them. Do more of what they enjoy. Be around. Teenagers at home can get lonely if they’re left for long stretches without company. Create opportunities for connection, whether it’s with peers or just spending time together.
And most of all, have hope. I’ve learnt that hope is the most important thing when it comes to teenagers. The future doesn’t have to look like school to be bright. There are so many ways to learn, so many ways to thrive. When school doesn’t fit, it doesn’t mean the door is closed - it just means you need to find a different one.
If you’re walking a similar path or considering it, I’d love to know - what has your experience been like? What do you wish you’d known when you started?