Part 2: School Avoidance: The Impact on Parents

There is a part of school avoidance that no one really talks about. We talk about the child, the anxiety, the behaviour, the attendance, the plans, the meetings, the strategies. But we don’t talk enough about what this does to parents. . . because this experience changes you as a parent.

It starts slowly. At first, you think it’s just a phase. Then you think it’s a bad teacher. Then you think maybe it’s anxiety. Then you think maybe you just need a better routine, a better reward system, a better therapist, a better plan.

Then months go by, or years.

And slowly, you become someone who is constantly advocating, constantly emailing, constantly attending meetings, constantly explaining your child to people who only see them for a small part of the day.

You become the parent who watches every other child walk into school while yours cannot get out of the car. You become the parent who dreads mornings. You become the parent who feels judged in the parking lot. You become the parent who writes long emails at night trying to explain what no one seems to understand - while at the same time, the reasoning is so basic.

And whether anyone says it out loud or not, you start to feel like people are wondering if this is your fault. And you start to believe that it must be your fault. Maybe you are too anxious. Maybe you are too soft. Or maybe are too accommodating.

The guilt that parents carry in this situation is enormous. You feel guilty when they don’t go to school. You feel guilty when you force them to go to school. You feel guilty when they are home. You feel guilty when they are struggling. You feel guilty when siblings are affected. You feel guilty when work is affected. You feel guilty when your relationship is stressed. You feel guilty when you lose your patience because you are exhausted.

It feels like there is no right decision, only less wrong ones.

What people also don’t see is the amount of time and emotion this takes. The meetings, the forms, the doctor appointments, the therapy appointments, the school meetings, the phone calls, the emails, the planning, the worrying, the researching at night when you should be sleeping, the tears in the night when everyone else is asleep (making sure not to disturb anyone!).

Trying to figure out learning disabilities, autism, ADHD, anxiety, sensory issues, school trauma, burnout. Trying to figure out what is actually going on so you can help your child.

It is exhausting in a way that is hard to explain unless you have lived it.

There is also grief in this process. Grief for the school experience you thought your child would have. Grief for the easy mornings you thought you would have. Grief for the independence you thought your child would develop. Grief for the version of parenting you thought you would be doing.

And sometimes, there is frustration too, because this experience is so often misunderstood. We see kids walking into school happily each day, and parents who have never had to think twice about it, simply because they haven’t had to live this experience. You are judged unfairly.

And at the same time, there is also a fierce protectiveness that grows. You start to understand your child in a way that other people don’t. You start to see how hard they are trying just to do things that other kids do without thinking. You start to realize that they are not lazy, not defiant, not manipulative — they are overwhelmed, exhausted, and often trying incredibly hard just to survive the day.

If there is one thing I wish parents knew, it is this:

You are not alone. You are not a bad parent. This is incredibly hard. And you are probably doing a much better job than you think you are.

Sometimes success in these situations does not look like perfect attendance, good grades, and happy mornings. Sometimes success looks like:

• Your child still talking to you

• Your child feeling safe at home

• Your child slowly rebuilding confidence

• Your child knowing you are on their side

• Your family surviving this period of time

  
  

This journey often feels long and lonely, but many families are walking this path quietly. You just don’t see them, because most of this battle happens behind closed doors, in cars in school parking lots, in emails, in meetings, and in tears that no one else sees.

This is the part no one talks about.

But maybe we should. And I hope this gives you the confidence to share with others so that this journey becomes less isolating.