Educating Otherwise

Xavier, our son, will be five years old this November. His experience of formal education thus far has been attendance at a local playgroup for three mornings a week. In England, the next step for a five year old is school, but not in Xavier’s case. The Education Act 1996 defines the parents duty as "... to cause (the child) to receive efficient full-time education suitable to his (or her) age, ability and aptitude and to any special educational needs he (or she) may have either by regular attendance at school or 'otherwise.” So in Xavier’s case, I guess the operative word there is ‘otherwise’, because we are not planning to send him to school, at least not right now.

Our decision to educate our son out of school is something of a conversational minefield. We have many wonderfully understanding and supportive friends, but outside this circle I become rather uncomfortable talking about it. There are all sorts of reasons for this social discomfort: For one I don’t want our decision to be taken as a criticism of parents who choose to send their children to school; secondly, I really haven’t taken to the look that passes over some people’s faces when you tell them; and thirdly this invites the question of ‘why’ and I haven’t figured out the simple way to answer that with integrity.

It is not the radical decision some may think and there is a growing trend towards educating children away from school in this country. With some things we have a habit of thinking that they are the same the world over; it’s difficult to imagine them being any different to what we know. For example, if I asked you all to show me your wedding ring, you might think all married men and women pointed to the same digit on the left hand, the magical ring finger once believed to connect directly to the heart by the vena amoris and thus be a symbol of one's love. However, in a few European countries a Greek Orthodox bride will wear her wedding ring on the left hand before the marriage ceremony and transfer it to the right hand after the wedding. Likewise, children the world over do not all start compulsory schooling at the same age.

Whilst the journey through a fixed curriculum starts as young as four in England, children in sixteen other European countries (including France, Germany and Italy) are still at play, where the school age is six onwards. Perhaps more surprisingly - in Finland, a country regarded as having the highest educational standards in Europe, children start their compulsory education aged seven, and spend much fewer hours in the classroom than their English counterparts over their educational lives. So at this point in Xavier’s life, one could hardly justify raising an eyebrow at educating him out of school.

But this is England, and the shape of our modern day education system has risen up from the antiquated politics of the industrial revolution. Only two hundred years ago England argued virulently against the education of the poor for fear it would teach them to despise their lot in life and make them idle. One hundred and fifty years ago privileged girls who were lucky enough to be receiving an education had to make do with a curriculum aimed at preparing them for social display and companionship. Mean while, the Protestant work ethic of industrialized England set its poorer children to work under the strict regimes of the factory system, and to uncertain futures in the bowels of our coal mines. English children were a cheap source of labour for the industrialists and factory owners.

The demand for a more capable, ‘useful’ child worker; the demonization of the poor; warped religious attitudes to work and pleasure; an established upper class education reluctant to modernise its curriculum and purpose; an educational curriculum for the masses tempered by a fear of educating the poor; a narrow view of intellect conceived by our university system of educating; an era in which all that was to be learnt existed between the covers of books, in the head of a teacher, in a building called a school house; all of this is the mould from which today’s English education has been cast… and all this is what is wrong with education in England today.

All these tensions are evident in the way we organise our schools like factories and our children into batches of products grouped by age. Evident in the way our politicians still battle between an education for the masses or the preserve of an elite. Evident in the hierarchical way schools value and compartmentalise their subjects. Evident in the way each institution sees its purpose to be a stepping stone to the next institution. Evident in the way young people are directed towards futures that are perceived to be useful for our economy. Evident in the way the childhood joy we have for creativity, drawing, singing, dancing and music is quickly extinguished by a pressing timetable of more ‘important’ pursuits. Evident in the balance of power between educational institutions and children. Evident in the way the process of academic inflation has made a masters necessary where once a degree would do. Evident in the way we medicate our children to be like other children.

I’ve met many talented teachers in my life, but this is what they are up against and this is no criticism of them. Education, as an institution in this country, is dancing out of tune to the music. Anyone who is really interested in learning, would not choose to start with a model of schooling as we know it. And thankfully, English law permits that we don’t have to.



Tick Tock

I am on the climb upwards. These depressive episodes are like descending into a deep cleft in the Earth, being swallowed up by the dirt, followed by a climb up a slippery, brittle, shale elevation – the steps forward interrupted by frequent backslides of smooth, broken rock. I am enjoying the advances and despite the instability of the ground beneath my feet, I am able to look down, and see that I am making good progress. I am functioning now, even though that might be within the confines of my own home in the main. Functioning is to leave the bed and the bedroom, shower and dress, prepare meals and communicate. Actually I’m more than functioning. I have been taking the dogs for walks each day, and I have taken on chores around the house, starting to get things tidy again. I’ve spent time with my Xavier and Alicia, cooked for them and cared for them both - as they did for me.

I am still taken away each day by my own thoughts, the rumination of depression, starts are stalled, progress is halted, activity suspended, energy evaporated, but each time I am now able to get going again, eventually. I am able to ‘talk myself away from the edge’ in a way that seemed completely impossible these past months. Months! Has it been that long? The suspended life of the depressive… so deep inside thought that not even the clock can be heard ticking, counting second after identical second of cocooned existence.

All those months ago my GP made a referral after I found myself in his office again, head in hands. I think you’ll know from reading here that I have been willing throughout the fight with each depressive episode. Each time practising what I have learnt, and learning more along the way. Each time making realisations and changes to protect us, my family and I, from depression’s destructive influence. I have been a good student, so it was in frustration that back then I approached my GP to discuss another slide downwards. Reading across these posts it is astonishing to see how I have changed since that first big crash, and how much we have changed the way we live our lives as a family. Depression and our fight with it has destroyed a career and created a business, brought us closer together as a family, brought understanding friends into that family, left unsympathetic relatives out in the cold, threatened us with financial ruin but opened our eyes to different, more fulfilling ways of living, slowed the pace of life. Where we once strove for happiness that came in the form of successful shopping trips, now we strive for good health and moments where we can be ourselves, together as a family. Hang onto your good health if you have it; you will miss it if it abandons you and it is worth more than you realise.

On Wednesday somebody called from the Health In Mind team to do an initial assessment over the telephone. This service provided my cognitive behaviour therapy in the past. They’ll consider what we discussed and come back to me in a week. It’s a little frustrating to be telling them the story all over again, from the start. It's a long story. I’m not looking for more CBT and I hope that isn’t where they are going. As I say, I was a good student and I use the CBT learning where I can. But, given the cycling nature of these depressive episodes and how hard we have worked to stay well, I want to know if my diagnosis is correct. Depression comes in many forms. If it is bipolar disorder for example (what used to be called manic depression characterised by highs and lows) it will be medicated differently.

All I know is that I have to press quite hard right now to get help. Health professionals, understandably, don’t always appreciate the landscape of things beyond one's health. Emotions aside, this most recent episode of depression has taken us close to the edge financially, missed mortgage payments, suspended utility bills, bank charges. Our tiny reserves were used up fighting the difficult times before that. We have communicated and renegotiated payment plans for what we now owe…and the pressure is on to be well and working hard to claw our way back. Tick… Tock… If and when depression strikes again, our financial position will become even more challenging - how challenging will just depend on its timing. That is the backdrop to our story and it gives us a sense of urgency... to be proactive, diagnosed and treated correctly and on a path towards health, or if not, at least to have a better understanding of my ill health so we can plan our lives accordingly. I have frequently swung between health and major depression for several years now, and it's taken its cumulative toll on us. We are flexible, we are a family of fighters, and we have fought unpredictable event after event. We're just being smart, there isn't much left in the tank now and another fight would really hurt us bad. Its time to look to the corner for some help. Let's hope they appreciate what sort of shape we are in.

Sublime Happiness

The pursuit of happiness is one in which I am gaining ground. Mindfulness is for Jon Kabat-Zinn to explain, and I couldn’t convey it as he does. I can only share what I understand for myself.

Do you ever look at others with depression and see that they have a home, a job, a loving family, possibly children, and wonder what it is they are depressed about? I’m sure you accept that depression is an illness and not to be confused with an emotion - but doesn’t part of you wonder why they can’t see they have every reason to be happy, joyful and thankful? I think that too… for people like me, with depression, it is a deep well of guilt. We look at our own lives and cannot justify the way we feel, the sadness and despair and hopelessness. I can explain it away with science, but, what I would rather understand better is how to reach out to all that is around me, all that you can see, all that would bring me joy if only I could see it.

To see what is around me, and take a step towards personal happiness, I needed to step away from my own thoughts. I think of the wiring inside me a little like this: Thoughts are really powerful. Just with a thought I can close my eyes and be anywhere and with anyone. We know this best when we dream. With my thoughts plugged in, I am lit up inside with pictures and sounds, and whatever I see and hear stirs my emotions. I go from thinking, to feeling too. Feeling all sorts of powerful emotions like grief, loss, sorrow and fear, just because of the thoughts inside my head. Depression has this connection between my thoughts and feelings firmly screwed home; it isn’t a feed that is easily broken. But alongside this strong connection there is another, slightly wobbly cable labelled senses. If I could tweak this cable into action I might be able to give my emotions something else to stimulate them; to divert their attention from my thoughts.

In essence, my practicing mindfulness is just that, tweaking the cable that connects me to my senses so that I can appreciate what is around me and be absorbed by it. Like the loose power cable plugged into the back of my laptop, some days I make the connection in a matter of minutes, other days it can frustrate me for some time as it drops in and out of place. It can be exhausting, but it is definitely worth persevering with.

A week ago I awoke and, as has become habit, spent a little while in the quiet company of my own breath, just feeling the air pass through my nostrils and expand my chest. This exercise is helping me to strengthen the connection between senses and feelings. I am, in that moment, not striving for the next or dwelling on the last. I am simply the sensation of breathing, experienced though the senses. The thoughts come but they go again, like the sounds of children in a distant playground. Occasionally they do interrupt and I don’t always notice straight away. But when I do notice, I bring my attention back to my breathing and let the thoughts be, without berating myself for having let my attention wander. On that day a week ago, after this exercise, when I open my eyes, I felt an immovable smile on my face, a peace across my forehead, a compassion in my eyes. It stayed with me all day, a feeling I could only sum up as a sublime happiness brought on by a deep inner peace.

That day, Xavier and I had many interesting conversations, and we played as though nobody else was there to see or judge. We enjoyed everything that we did and gave ourselves to each moment. I realise now that Xavier does this all the time, instinctively. It is why hunger catches him by surprise, why he never wants to go to sleep, why he spends so much time under the shower with his head raised up and his eyes peacefully closed. I suppose we all knew nothing but the moments once, before we started learning to name things, and then learning to judge them… we have all perhaps been mindful children.

Not everyday is like that one, but every moment I have the opportunity to return myself to a state of inner peace and be awake in the moment. That is surely the most uplifting, optimistic, hopeful forecast that anyone with depression, or anyone for that matter, could hope for.



Puppy Training

It has been a while since I saw 8.30am, showered and dressed and ready for the next thing. But here I am, and I’m very satisfied about that. Yesterday was a good day for me too.

My ‘one thing’ yesterday was to walk the dogs, and again this is something I haven’t been able to do for a while – I haven’t really been leaving the house much. Walking the dogs is one of those things that makes me smile; seeing that the dogs are happy. Its funny how dogs are so immersed in their senses; there we are on our walk and the world is so full of interesting sights, smells and sounds that they can barely walk in a straight line. On the other hand, when my own thoughts have tied off the flow of sensations from my senses, I can travel the same walk without any knowledge of where I have really been. They are so in the moment, whilst depression can make me so the opposite. As Ami said so well, my mind is like a recalcitrant puppy that needs frequent tugs on the lead to stop it from wandering. So yesterday I took the lead, so to speak, from my dogs, and each time my mind turned inwards I snapped it back out again. Another act of mindfulness that I am finding is serving me well and helping me heal (there I go again with the puns).

I noticed the lichens growing on the north facing brickwork, the beautiful eggshell cracks in the old signs that mark the street names, the well proportions front doors of Victorian and Edwardian terrace houses. I quite agree dogs, it’s jolly difficult walking in a straight line.