When school doesn't feel safe, we linger.
How trauma stops us simply dropping our kids at the school gate đ
MĹrena, Itâs another school day, and the principal is standing at the school gate welcoming all the families as they drop their children off for the day. The principal holds the gate wide open for Bronte and her mum, greeting them with a smile and miscellaneous niceties.
My child and I get a half-smile with a furrowed brow, that says âplease donât bring the drama to my school day today.â It seems like the wrong time to mention that the gate they are holding open has a broken clasp (again), which is a health and safety issue, but I do. âIâll get the maintenance person to sort it out,â they tell me, for the third time this week.
I feel like a pest reminding the principal that a broken gate clasp is a point of exit for a child like mine with a history of absconding. I always feel like a pest in this place.
Itâs an interesting juxtaposition from feeling invisible, which is how other parents in the playground see (or donât) me. They half/fake smile, with teeth, but no warmth - they stop short of saying hi, or god forbid inviting us to Bronteâs birthday sleepover party on the weekend. They are protecting themselves, and their child from upset, I get that. It still sucks though.
Schools are a microcosm of our communities, and therefore a mirror image of what life is like outside the âsafetyâ of the school gate. A school that values a child, values their whÄnau also, and takes care to build and maintain relationships between school and home. Schools that do not do this, can feel unsafe - whÄnau can feel like they are a flashmob tap-dancing on a minefield on any given day of the school term.
If you look around the playground before the bell rings, you will see clusters of carefree parents who congregate to chat, laugh and make plans for playdates as their children play, hang their bags on their hooks and start their perfect school day.
Then there are the outliers, the parents (like me) who exist on the edge of the playground, who linger long before and after the morning bell rings.
We watch with equal love and concern for our tamariki, because time and experience tells us thatâs what we need to do.
We stand back, in bare feet on broken glass, too scared to move. If we take a step back, we do it at the risk the physical and spiritual safety of our child. If we take a step forward, we do it at the risk of being branded âclingyâ and âover the top controllingâ by the world.
We just want to let our child experience the world in their own unique way, walking alongside them for as long as they need us. We want this to be their place, I want to walk out the troublesome school gate, safe in the knowledge that they are happy and safe in their school day.
But that seldom exits, parents like me exist in a constant state of flux, hovering over our child, much to the amusement of the other parents and school staff.
âYou should just leave them, theyâll be fine,â says Bronteâs mum. I silently tell her to f**k off.
The bell has rung, the teacher has arrived and I know the teacher is wondering why Iâm still standing there. Let me break it down for you: I am quietly observing who my child is playing with, how they physically interact with each other, what they play with, what possible dangers there are in the environment, the proximity of the closest (reliable) adult, what time the teacher arrived and also who notices you lingering. Ahh thanks for noticing me, office lady who tells me to make myself a coffee in the staff room (love her). I make mental notes of all of this, to bring up in an upcoming IEP/school meeting, and to fuel my insomnia at 2am when I am unexplainably panicked about my childâ future.
Parents like me get lambasted as being âclingyâ and âcontrollingâ helicopter parents - when we are in fact just parenting by stealth. In the absence of reliable and respectful channels of communication with school, thats just how we roll. School staff sometimes think we are trying to micromanage and undermine them, when we share our own observations and suggestions when, in fact we are really trying to be helpful.
Our behaviour is sometimes problematic, but you need to know it is likely activated by a place of trauma.
Words have power, and especially when they come from people in important positions. They can seem harmless at the time, but I can assure you they are in fact seared into our minds forever. Mine involves a teacher, who was trying to explain how teacher aides arenât funded to support a child outside of class time, and said:
âI canât guarantee the safety of your child before the bellâ
This tells me that they know an unmonitored playground or classroom is a threat to my childâs sensory, physical and spiritual safety. There are outright bullies, and there are sneaky gaslighters, who are equally dangerous.
So I linger, day after day, watching, waiting for the bell to ring and a teacher or aide to arrive in the classroom for the day. Only then do I feel comfortable to walk back out the broken school gate.
This is not a pity letter. It's not a random whinge either. Its an opportunity for activation - because there are things that schools can do to help everyone to feel our neurodivergent and disabled tamariki safe, and put us parents minds at rest:
Continuity of staff - eg working with the same person, rather than whoever is available that particular session.
Routine and predictable environments - eg preparing for transitions and changes in sensory or physical environment, staff and curriculum.
Attitude - feeling welcome, visible and respected amongst their peers.
Voice - The opportunity to contribute socially and to their learning in their chosen form of communication
Empowered - to be their authentic selves, no need to mask
OOSH look at me creating an ACRONYM by accident. CRAVE for education. Should I trademark or workshop this??! Or do I prefer CARVE đ Anyways, I digressâŚ
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I want to tell you all that us parents are trying so hard to keep everything together, to create a world around our child where they are supported and respected. Because of a lack of funding, staffing and understanding in our schools, we are constantly plugging holes and mending gates to keep these supports from slipping away.
We have been conditioned to fight, in flight. This doesnât always reflect the true intent of our actions, but itâs our way of contributing, we want to help. We desperately want to see our children happy, respected and engaged in their education.
We want to feel welcome on either side of the school gate. Maybe we can help mend the lock together, if given the chance :)
**This was written in the collective voice of families around me, who simply want to feel welcome in their schools, written in respect for our schools and their communities, and the huge impact an inclusive, supportive school can have on the wellbeing of their students and whanau**
STUNNING Writing. Yes yes yes - exactly try is and so well articulated here. Can someone âmainstreamâ publish this please!?