Mama Learns to Home School

Writing has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. There are dozens of unfinished journals stored in boxes that I rarely open, but knowing they are there, waiting, now gives me a lot of peace. In the past, I felt deep shame about the blank pages at the end of almost every notebook in those boxes. But today, as I sit here and begin yet another journal, those half empty notebooks remind me that I have never been a person who is intimidated by blank pages, new beginnings, or trying to articulate difficult emotions.

To my great surprise, about five years ago, I became a mom. It settled on me so quickly that I almost immediately forgot the girl I used to be. Well, that’s not true. I did not forget her. But she lives constantly in my memory as a difficult opposition to who I am now. She had friends, hobbies, careers, and lovers (sorry, Mom and Dad) that have moved into a box, just like the unfinished journals. Some of those boxes I try to open again from time to time, like acrylic painting or brunch with old friends. But most I keep locked away, too embarrassed to admit even to myself that they definitely existed, and more importantly, they will not permit Themselves be totally forgotten.

The new phases that upended my identity include, in no certain order, marriage, motherhood, forgoing a formal career, finding my faith, chronic illness, and taking charge of my mental health. And I’m sure I’ve forgotten some. Each has a notebook somewhere.

The newest one is homeschooling. It already has several notebooks. Not just a journal, but planners, log books, reading trackers, three ring binders, notes on my phone, strings of texts to friends, and emails to my husband (you really have to listen to this podcast!).

I started off with just a passion to protect my kids from all the unknowns of public schools in America. But let’s be honest, it was fear. What if the teachers are burnt out (fair enough)? What if someone bullies her? What if she can’t sit still and gets labeled ADHD? What if there are hours of homework and we all end up crying at the dinner table? What if, what if, what if?

I’ll be the first to admit that fear is not always the best way to make a decision. The Daily Stoic said once that fear is a spectrum. On one end is total lack of fear, and that is foolishness. On the other end is fear of everything, and that is cowardice. Somewhere in the middle is a healthy bravery, and that is stoicism.

I spent all spring and summer throwing myself into everything I could find about homeschooling. Laws. Umbrella schools. Coops. Tutorials. Curriculum (oh, the curriculum). Supplies. Library cards. Printers. Transferring my chaotic dining room into a space that we could use for school. Trying to imagine how the days would go (insert planners here). Charlotte Mason. Un-schooling. Classical education models. Open and go. Statistics. Metrics. Scope and sequence. I’ll stop now, but there is so much more.

As a mom of three kids five and under living with chronic illness, this probably sounds like I have put too much on myself. I know that in some ways, that is true. I am not foolish enough to think I am not adding to an already very full plate. But in the depths of all this research, I began to see the old me that has been stored away in those boxes.

As shown here, I feel like writing again. I’ve taught myself to watercolor. My dining room is still bursting at the seams, but I love sitting with my coffee surrounded by all the books and maps and the sounds of my daughter squealing when she sounds out a new word.

That begs the question, why does more work make an overly anxious and always in pain person more inspired instead of more overwhelmed?

I believe each of us is uniquely made by God to enjoy learning. It’s been taken from some of us by a system that crushes the spirit (but that’s another essay altogether).

Proverbs 4:11 NLT says “I will teach you wisdom’s way and lead you in straight paths.” Or, in the CSB, the same verse is translated as “I am teaching you the way of wisdom; I am guiding you on straight paths.”

This verse says to me that teaching of wisdom, or being taught wisdom [by God], is happening along side the guidance on straight paths. I believe that learning and seeking wisdom [from scripture] is part of the life’s work for all believers.

This new journey has merged two of my life’s purposes. Maybe that should say my two life purposes, period, not two of my life purposes. Up until recently, knowing more of the Lord by understanding the Bible and mothering these three children were happening simultaneously, but not synergetically. My spiritual life helped me survive these tough years of motherhood, if I’m honest. It has served as an armour to sustain me through the days of war. Truly, I wouldn’t have survived without it. But, I couldn’t harmonize how God wants me to thrive and grow in knowledge and peace, but also made me a mother, and made it brutally difficult to even open a book (hello 2022, three kids three and under!).

The truth is, those things are the same. It took homeschooling to show me that. But, it’s true even if you’re not homeschooling.

Our lives and lessons and sanctification don’t happen in isolated little boxes. I used to feel this way without realizing it. I would study my Bible in this box (my spiritual box). I would read The Count of Monte Cristo in this box (my intellectual box). I would read The Wizard of Oz aloud for my kids in this box (my motherhood box). But it’s all one box, friends.

This merging of boxes is painful and frightening and frustrating. Can I write this essay without being interrupted by my child (many times)? No. Will my kids put their shoes on and walk directly to the van so we can make it to my Bible study on time? No. Will I be able to read before bed without a kid whack-a-moling him or herself back out of their room? Often, no. Is it possible to get up early enough that no one in your house will wake, too? Definitely, no.

I’m still in the process of merging all these boxes. I already shed some tears today because it’s just so overwhelming before the coffee hits and my kids are being normal (how dare they?!) because they are also a little tired and feeling the pressure of being rushed.

So, I have not arrived. But I am so deeply aware that my perfect place of purpose is happening right in this moment that I welcome the breakers rushing over me each day. The boxes continue to merge and yet, the waves don’t swallow me up. Selah.