By the time I entered high school (if you can call it that), I was no longer who I was.
I should clarify that: I had learned how to pretend to be who I needed to to be in order to fit in long enough to finish my homeschool curriculum and get the hell out. To outside observers in our church, I was the Homeschool Poster Child. While many others among my small peer group would go on to become failures in our homeschooling community--for example, out of my group of friends, three of them would go on to become 1) pregnant at 13, 2) convicted of manslaughter, and 3) a runaway at 16--I was considered a success, in spite of being merely a female. I stayed out of trouble, went to every church service, and avoided all appearances of evil. I raced through the four years of high school curriculum in two years by working through the summers, and my parents, with the assistance of our church, typed up a transcript and pressed a gold seal onto it. To me, it carried about as much significance as a gold star on a chore chart. But it was enough.
Showing posts with label homeschooling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label homeschooling. Show all posts
Who I Am: Homeschooled, Part Four
Time to get off my soapbox and back to my story.
In my second year out of public school, we truly moved into the homeschooling world. This wasn't the plan when my parents pulled me out of the local school system--I don't think they anticipated the events that unfolded over the summer of 1986 that led to the shift from our church ACE school to homeschooling. In retrospect, I suspect my mother was not happy with this development and the resulting infringement upon her free time.
In my second year out of public school, we truly moved into the homeschooling world. This wasn't the plan when my parents pulled me out of the local school system--I don't think they anticipated the events that unfolded over the summer of 1986 that led to the shift from our church ACE school to homeschooling. In retrospect, I suspect my mother was not happy with this development and the resulting infringement upon her free time.
Soulburn
I need to write about something a little different today.
I understand, intellectually, that remembering my fundamentalist and homeschooling days is painful yet constructive. Painful because as I work through these memories, more details come back to me, and I begin to feel the emotions I had to suppress at the time as they now bubble up to the surface. Constructive because I know that writing here is helping me to process those emotions and to begin outlining a more coherent narrative of my childhood and adolescent memories, which is something I've never had. Memories formed during traumatic experiences tend to differ from normal, everyday memories in their fragmented and jumbled nature, so writing through these years, putting these events to virtual paper, is creating a new story for my life. I know that in time I will benefit from these explorations.
But there is a downside to all of this mental spelunking. As I reflect upon my past, I've begun to recognize connections between the discrete snapshot memories that pop unexpectedly into my head and larger events or developments that have occurred in my life. And that hurts in a way that's hard to describe.
I understand, intellectually, that remembering my fundamentalist and homeschooling days is painful yet constructive. Painful because as I work through these memories, more details come back to me, and I begin to feel the emotions I had to suppress at the time as they now bubble up to the surface. Constructive because I know that writing here is helping me to process those emotions and to begin outlining a more coherent narrative of my childhood and adolescent memories, which is something I've never had. Memories formed during traumatic experiences tend to differ from normal, everyday memories in their fragmented and jumbled nature, so writing through these years, putting these events to virtual paper, is creating a new story for my life. I know that in time I will benefit from these explorations.
But there is a downside to all of this mental spelunking. As I reflect upon my past, I've begun to recognize connections between the discrete snapshot memories that pop unexpectedly into my head and larger events or developments that have occurred in my life. And that hurts in a way that's hard to describe.
Who I Am: Homeschooled, Part Three
So when did it all start to go wrong? At what point did the last tattered remnants of normalcy unravel in my family, revealing the rot and decay that festered beneath? As I reflect on my childhood, I think the potential for and the early growth of the spiritual and emotional canker that plagued us was established long before my family joined the fundamentalist Baptist community, but becoming fundy and moving into the homeschooling universe certainly accelerated the decay.
Who I Am: Homeschooled, Part Two
In my previous post, I described the frustration I feel when people within the homeschooling community insist that all homeschooling parents are well-intentioned and would never willfully harm their children through their religious beliefs and homeschooling practices. And I'm concerned about the long-ranging effects of these denials--I'm strong enough now and have gained the perspective necessary to withstand the assault on my reality, but I worry about others: for those who are yet unable to escape the system or those who are newly-liberated from it and still struggling to make sense of their feelings of betrayal and hurt, the denials from the homeschooling community can feel a little like gas-lighting by proxy, if that makes sense.
This is why I must tell my story. There are myriad tales of homeschooling horror on the web, and I will add mine to that dismal collection in hopes of validating what many others out there must feel when they reflect on their homeschool experience and wonder if they have a right to their anger and confusion.
In this post I will sketch out the background of my family's move to homeschooling and how our involvement in the system evolved over the years. In later posts, I'll examine how this process affected my family and contributed to the eventual disintegration of my relationship with them.
This is why I must tell my story. There are myriad tales of homeschooling horror on the web, and I will add mine to that dismal collection in hopes of validating what many others out there must feel when they reflect on their homeschool experience and wonder if they have a right to their anger and confusion.
In this post I will sketch out the background of my family's move to homeschooling and how our involvement in the system evolved over the years. In later posts, I'll examine how this process affected my family and contributed to the eventual disintegration of my relationship with them.
Who I Am: Homeschooled, Part One
Last week, I discovered a new blog titled, "Homeschoolers Anonymous." Ah ha, I thought gleefully, Finally the stories are coming out in full force. Though I've spent many years reflecting on my homeschooling experience, first-hand accounts from others who grew up in the classroom of the Religious Right have until this point been largely scattered across the blogosphere in personal blogs or those that focus on related issues, such as fundamentalism, Gothardism, or Quiverfull beliefs.
Reading the stories that have been composed for and gathered from other blogs at Homeschoolers Anonymous has been eye-opening and at times incredibly validating. But I've also felt exasperated, resentful, and filled with sorrow upon reading some of the entries.
Reading the stories that have been composed for and gathered from other blogs at Homeschoolers Anonymous has been eye-opening and at times incredibly validating. But I've also felt exasperated, resentful, and filled with sorrow upon reading some of the entries.
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