How a Single Decision Changed Our Family's Future

A Series I Never Thought I'd Write - Pt.3

For all the good my passion and enthusiasm for home education had done in my children’s lives, it had also inadvertently created a barrier for them to express an alternative path.

I couldn’t shake the feeling or the words, but then it all began to make sense. Our youngest child is extroverted, highly sociable, thrives on caring for others, and plans to work with young people as a profession. I discussed it with Dave, and he suggested bringing it up with her. I remember the day clearly—my taller-than-me daughter and I were walking through the park, talking about education, friendship, and the future. I broached the subject of an alternative to home education as a way to finish her schooling, and before I could finish my sentence, she jumped in, saying, “Yes! I want to go to school, and I want to go a year before GCSEs start so I can be fully prepared academically and have made friends!” She then added, “I didn’t want to upset you by bringing it up.”

For all the good my passion and enthusiasm for home education had done in my children’s lives, it had also inadvertently created a barrier for them to express an alternative path.

Again, the story from here is so beautifully hers—so we began to prepare her to be ready for school (Year 9) by September 2024. Between the research, applications, and interviews, I began to grieve. Sienna had an opportunity for a “trial term-and-a-half” at the end of February this year, and she is now gearing up to start Year 9 as planned, this Wednesday. She’s in uniform, she has a planner and a timetable, she has friends, a joyful reputation, and without any prompting, she narrates her lessons back to Dave or me, either in the car or whenever a connection arises in our daily life.

What does this mean?

This means that as I sit and write, it is the first September since just after giving birth to my third-born and finishing work for our local education authority that I’m not preparing another year of home education for my children. This means I’m not researching books, making charts and loop schedules, and sharpening pencils. I’m not planning groups and outings, I’m not choosing artists and poets, I’m not cleaning paintbrushes and prepping our nature journals. Rather than feeling ready and raring to take on another year of home education with my children, I feel deeply sad.

The waves of strange grief have washed over me at varying times and with varying intensities. I cry when people are kind and tell me, “Wow—you’ve finished.” I cried when I decided to pack up my office and the “school room” and downsize to a box room upstairs, putting many books in storage (thankfully all catalogued on an online app). I cried when the room was cleared, painted, and set up into a room for our teenagers to host their friends—their new “den” because I want our home to reflect the season of life our children are in. I cry when I look at photos of my children as young children, in the many Septembers we’ve walked into—passionate about a living education and hungry to glean all the knowledge we could.

This may seem melodramatic, and many home educators have gone before me with their endings and graduations, but this is still mine, and the end came a little earlier than expected.

I’m sad, yes, deeply sad. Do you know why? I’m not sad because I’m trying to cling to my kids or a season of mothering—I fully agree with the decisions we’ve made and I’m moving forward. I’m not sad because home education was an idol—may it never be! It’s not a loss of identity, as some have suggested might happen. Honestly, my life has always been bigger than my children’s education, and I’ve always worn many hats—but ultimately, my identity is in Christ Jesus, and that stays the same.

I’m sad because I chose to live this season of our lives so deeply, so intentionally, over a long period of time, and I loved it, and it’s ending. It has been one of the most joyous seasons of my life and I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m deeply sad because a season of my life that I lived deeply and well is coming to an end.

But I’m also glad—glad because the sadness means I embraced this time fully. It was real, it mattered, and it will always be a part of who I am. And as one season ends, another begins, filled with its unique challenges, joys, and opportunities to live deeply once more.

So what now?

I’m more passionate than ever about a “Charlotte Mason” - intellectually alive - lifestyle for the atmosphere of our home, the rhythms of our life, and my own habits and routines. I’m also hugely enthusiastic about encouraging mothers, sharing my journey, experiences, lessons learned, and methods used with home educators still on the journey. I want to take what I learned from the hundreds of living books I read to my children and write for your children. I also want to continue to learn new things, study, lead, and grow as I’m very much in the second half of my life.

So how does life look for me now?

Tomorrow kicks off a new academic year for my kids in college, school, and my husband who is the executive director for a Christian schools charity. There will be much prepping of lunches, ironing of shirts, and gathering of supplies.

I (this is a story for another time) have been working part-time for the past two months for a global relief organisation that helps people in need around the world. They’re all about providing both practical support and sharing the message of Jesus, especially during crises like natural disasters or conflicts. Their work focuses on compassion and offering hope through faith in Jesus.

I spend the morning in my work office, then the afternoons in my home office running The Collective, coaching (this aspect is winding down, sorry!), and of course, writing, editing and researching for the books that are coming your way in 2025!

I’m grateful for the people in my life who have known, behind the scenes, how life has been changing for us, and how I’ve wanted to allow our youngest to experience this season without my need to share too soon. They have encouraged, prayed, and cried with me.

I’m grateful for Dave and our children who have written me cards, bought me flowers, raised a glass, and said “well done” when I’ve felt sad and a little lost about this season ending. I’m grateful for the new challenge of a new job that works so perfectly alongside writing books and running The Collective—the most beautiful community of women that I could have imagined leading. Thank you.

I want to share about the grief of this season, transitions in mothering and parenting, preparing a child for the school system, going “back to work”, life beyond home education, and the writing life. Please let me know in the comments what you’d be most interested in hearing about. But all in good time.

So, for now, I’m going to take my delicate but grateful heart into the beauty of autumn. I’m probably going to make a scrapbook of home education memories, and I’m hoping to share a meal with local home-educating friends to mark this transition. Then I will continue to love, nurture, and walk alongside our teen and adult children. I will keep cultivating an educational atmosphere in our home and gather our family around the table at the end of the day for many narrations, updates, and stories of life continuing.

Soli Deo Gloria,

Leah x

Read part 2, here.