From Trauma to Trust: Why We Chose Flexible Homeschooling for Our Daughter

When we first began our school journey in 2024, we were full of hope. Addy had just started Kindy, and at home, we supported her learning with gentle, intentional activities—something she responded to beautifully. But early on, we were asked to stop. The message was clear: “The early years are for play, not structured learning.” While well-meaning, this guidance felt at odds with what Addy was naturally thriving in—a mix of play and purposeful engagement.

After a few unsettling conversations, we made the difficult decision to withdraw from that Kindy and keep Addy home for Term 3. Just before Term 4, I had my accident, and yet we felt confident in trying again with a different Kindy—a place that, as it turns out, was everything Addy needed. It was nurturing, play-based, and centered around building confidence and social skills. She loved it. Her spark returned.

Then came Term 1, 2025.

Reception began with excitement, until a fire drill completely changed everything. Well-meaning safety messages like “make sure no one gets left behind” and “sometimes your mum or dad might not be able to get you right away” sent Addy into a trauma spiral. She didn’t sleep for three nights and ended up in hospital with delirium. Her nervous system was on high alert.

We began to recover, only to experience a second trauma: older children locking younger girls in the school toilets, clogging them with paper, and flooding the area. After that, Addy refused to use toilets anywhere. For 2.5 weeks, we navigated daily wet clothes, shame, anxiety, and helplessness. The staff didn’t notice—she sat in wet pants for hours. And to this day, she still won't flush toilets when we’re out.

Somehow, amidst all this, she was expected to keep up with reading levels, handwriting benchmarks, and assessments. But when a child is in survival mode, they cannot learn. Stress responses shut down the brain’s learning centers. The pressure to push through—even on days when Addy was clearly unwell—resulted in me sending her to school with full-body aches. This is not what education should look like.

It became clear: we needed a reset.

Why We are Transitioning to Flexible Homeschooling

Our new routine is grounded in healing, rhythm, and respect. It’s built not just for Addy’s academic needs, but for her whole self. It balances life skills, play, creativity, connection, and learning—all in a way that feels safe and empowering. Here's what our day looks like now:

• Realistic routines that include making the bed, emptying the dishwasher, and helping with meals

• Movement and mindfulness through walks and Brain Gym to support regulation and sensory processing

• Creative learning through cooking, craft, problem solving, and hands-on activities

• Gentle academics like letter work and number games, when her mind is ready

• Regular breaks and play time, with space to connect, rest, and recover

  
  

The Benefits of a Child-Led, Trauma-Aware Schedule

1. Regulation Comes FirstA regulated child is a learning-ready child. Our schedule prioritises Addy’s nervous system health with predictable routines and movement breaks.

2. Life Skills Are Learning TooTasks like cooking dinner or putting on a load of washing build confidence, capability, and purpose.

3. Creativity and Play Aren’t Extras—they’re EssentialsCraft time, storytelling, and unstructured play restore joy and imagination—key ingredients in healing and learning.

4. Learning Isn’t Just AcademicFrom reading recipes to solving puzzles, learning now happens naturally and meaningfully, without the pressure.

5. Relationship and Connection Drive GrowthOne-on-one time, shared experiences, and open communication have strengthened our bond—and Addy's resilience.

What Educators and Parents Can Take Away

Children do not thrive under pressure—they thrive under support. As educators, parents, and advocates, we must ask ourselves: Are our systems truly child-centered, or are we asking children to fit a system that doesn't fit them?

There is no one-size-fits-all in education. And sometimes, the bravest, most empowering thing we can do is say, “This isn’t working for us,” and build something that does.

If you’re navigating school challenges, trauma responses, or a child who is simply not coping—please know you're not alone. And please know there are other ways forward.

When the Warning Signs Are Loud and Clear

By the end of Week 1 of Term 2, it became heartbreakingly clear: we needed a reset. Addy had been placed into a remedial group at school—an intervention meant to help, yet layered with its own emotional weight. And while the teacher could see the huge positive difference that the school holidays had made through the gentle, interest-led activities we’d been doing at home, the contrast was painful. If Addy could thrive in that environment, why couldn’t school offer more of the same?

Then came Week 2. Each morning brought crippling stomach aches and full body pain. Not once or twice, but daily. These weren’t illnesses; they were stress responses—Addy’s body telling us in the loudest possible way that she wasn’t safe, she wasn’t coping, and she couldn’t keep doing this.

There comes a point where, as parents, we have to stop and look at our children—not just their marks or their milestones, but their entire being. We have to ask: At what cost are we forcing them to stay in environments that hurt them?

For me, school was traumatic. Even now, as an adult, certain school memories can trigger spirals of emotion that I struggle to shake. I know what trauma in childhood feels like. I’ve lived it. And I will not knowingly let my daughter walk the same path when I have the power to protect her from it.

Education Has a Place — But So Does Intuition

Education is an essential part of growing up, and schools absolutely have a place—just as I believe all early childhood settings hold value and purpose. But as parents and educators, we need to be more attuned to what children are communicating. Their words, their body responses, and their non-verbal cues are all pieces of the story.

It’s not just about curriculum or outcomes—it’s about connection, emotional safety, and wellbeing.

Choosing to homeschool has not been an easy decision. In fact, it was something I wanted to do with Addy from the beginning. But then I had my accident. With so many appointments and reduced cognitive capacity, I honestly didn’t think I could manage it. I doubted my ability to give her what she needed.

But now, I know this is something I have to do—for Addy, for her wellbeing, for her sense of self, and for her right to feel safe while learning.

Finding Our Rhythm Again

Now, as we move through Week 2 of Term 2, we've made the conscious decision to slow down—to honour Addy's needs, her cues, and the reality of our lived experience. We’re following a flexible daily timetable, one that allows space for healing while still offering the security of rhythm and routine.

We’re gently focusing on the basics: recognising letters and numbers, patterns and shapes, and exploring the way letters come together to form words. We're learning CVC (consonant-vowel-consonant) words like cat, dog, and hog, and exploring the concepts of letter names and sounds. We're also integrating the idea of heart words—once called sight words—those we learn not just with our minds, but with our memory and emotion too.

But our days are about much more than just literacy and numeracy. They're filled with purposeful movement—walks, time at the park, and visits to the exercise physiologist for me. We’ve built in daily chores that foster responsibility: making the bed, packing away toys, tidying up shared spaces. These are small, meaningful steps toward independence.

We’ve also prioritised something often overlooked in traditional learning: joy.

Joy is essential—not only for children, but for anyone navigating trauma or neuro-recovery, including post-concussion syndrome. So, we cook. We craft. We laugh. We care for our pets and our garden. We read stories under blankets and dance in the kitchen. These are the kinds of life skills that build not just capable learners, but resilient, empathetic, connected people.

Homeschooling doesn’t mean replicating school at home. It means redefining learning to meet the needs of the child in front of you. And for us, right now, it means healing together. Learning at a pace that nurtures curiosity, honours our limitations, and celebrates small wins.