I need this out of my head, but I need to do so respectfully, and without turning it into gossip. I need to write about my feelings without giving too many identifying details. I need my rage on the page... Haha. I'm not writing this for pity, I'm writing because I need to release it, but also because--Listen. To. Your. Gut. Listen to your kids. If you feel like something is off, it is. Don't be afraid to speak up for your kids. Don't let the system run you over--be the one who runs the system over. You are your kids' best and only advocate.
I'll admit, this one is a tough one to write about. The thoughts are all right here in my head, but organizing them is a daunting task--speaking them out loud even more so. I'm angry. I'm hurt. I'm sad. Watching my child struggle in this has made it so much worse. We are grappling with a rather hellish lesson about the humanity, the fallacy of christians. Humans are fallible, christians are human, ergo, christians are fallible. Someone who claims to be a christian and deliberately misleads others? Even worse. It's a shitty lesson to learn, and it's difficult watching your kid learn it, especially the hard way. My one comfort is he's learning it under the safety of our roof.
Last year was our sixth year homeschooling Avery and Ezra. Six whole years! Wow! I can't believe we're entering our seventh year. We've advanced so much as a family, and it's such an incredible experience to be able to watch our kids make headway in their own many ways as well. Progress isn't always academic, and that's been a great lesson for us. There's a huge sense of accomplishment that comes with each year that passes.
We've been so fortunate with our co-op, finding/making family to teach and learn alongside, making lifelong friends and having fun while doing it all. We chose this particular curriculum because it aligns with our morals and world views, this particular co-op because we started with one of my "emotional support humans" and her boys. She encouraged us, showed us the way, introduced us to those women who have become my new emotional support humans, and their kids, who have become my kids' friends. Each year, our kids have landed the best possible teachers--other moms who stepped into these roles--who fulfilled every need and respected my kids' differences. Shawn and I rested, reassured our kids were safe and loved, and we were all exactly where we were supposed to be. As Avery aged out of one program and Ezra aged into it, I stopped attending classes with one child and began attending with the other. I no longer needed to divide my attention on Tuesdays, and could concentrate on Ezra's needs. Avery aged into the next program, and I trusted the adults I turned him over to every Tuesday morning.
Unfortunately, things will look different for Avery this year though. We made a sad, but given the circumstances, not difficult, decision to change his curriculum. We did not make the decision without consulting Avery, and he was very much the driving force behind this change. We learned a difficult lesson last year--we could not trust the adult we'd turned him over to. It was disheartening. I trusted this person, I was friends with this person--and this person verbally and spiritually abused my child. I mistook this person's egotism for sincerity and friendship, her need for gossip and personal information were disguised as prayer offerings. She misused bible verses to distract from her own misbehavior. She took advantage. She abused my child.
At the very least, I find her behavior morally repugnant. The absolute betrayal has left me so angry, so hurt, so frustrated. ANGRY. At the very worst, there aren't enough F words in the world.
I am angry with myself for allowing it happen. I feel so guilty for not recognizing the severity of what was happening to my child. Guilty for not handling it better, sooner. I failed my child.
In my anger and frustration, I confronted her in front of students. I raised my voice. I handled it incorrectly, but I was done with her behavior. I was having an incredibly horrible day, an even worse week, and I could not have disagreed more with the way she handled a situation before class had even started. Any other time, I might've handled it better, but I can't say that for certain. She'd gotten away with too much for too long. With two weeks left of the school year, the last one of which I already knew I was not going to force my child to attend, I'd had enough. I'd already planned on taking him home at lunch so he wouldn't have to stay the entire day that day. Numerous times throughout the year, I had attempted to discuss our ongoing problems. I was dismissed each time. I escalated to those above her, and was dismissed by them as well. All through the year, Avery begged to go home with me and Ezra at lunch. He would beg off Tuesday mornings, often feigning illness and other reasons he couldn't go to class. A kid who had found his place within this community, found acceptance and friends, learned that school can be fun, looked forward to class each week, excitedly talked--often non-stop!---about what he was learning, suddenly hated the very idea of Monday nights, dreading everything about having to go to class. In retrospect, I should have pulled him after the first semester. I wish I had.
There's been no resolution with this. I've since found out this woman has a past with another community that should have prevented her from teaching in ours, and despite my many objections, she's been allowed to teach again this year. To say I was floored upon learning that would be an understatement. I've also learned I'm not the first, nor even the tenth parent to file complaints against her. I've learned we are not the first family to pull our child because of her, and other families have threatened to do so. This was all hidden, covered up, and continues to be. No one wants to be accused of being the town gossip. I am angry with myself for falling in that category: I can typically spot a narcissist a mile away, but I did not see this coming. Narcissists are so good at disguising themselves and their behaviors. Even before she was Avery's teacher, I began to feel gross being around her, I began questioning her behavior, there were things that bothered me, things that needled away at the back of my mind. I started to feel the same ways I did around my mother, noticing the way she treats her own children practically gave me PTSD. One particular instance with a toddler-aged child in the nursery one morning left me feeling very off about her. I chalked it up to different parenting styles, perhaps she was having a bad day—I brushed it off. I deeply, deeply regret not saying anything at the time. There's been no formal resolution, but life has taught me that resolution often does not look the way one thinks it should, or wants it to. Rather, it looks like walking away, it looks like resolving it within your own heart and your own soul because you don’t want to be that person—the bitter one, the one who can’t forgive, the one who can’t or won’t move on. It looks like not taking my eyes off Ezra, while keeping one eye on her, and warning other parents should the need arise. It looks like removing Ezra from this community next year because I will not support a community that protects an abuser. Resolution looks like having to start over.
This ordeal has drawn out over four months. What should have been resolved at the end of last school year, has now dragged into this one. I attempted arguing our side, I attempted to argue for the safety of the students. When I was repeatedly stonewalled, I made the point that my child is safe, then I wanted it dropped. Instead, I've been chased through texts, emails and phone calls, strongly discouraged from using the word "abuse"; encouraged to apologize for my part, encouraged to encourage my child to apologize for his part; I've been hounded with sermons about my "sins and bondage" related to this event, and bible verse after bible verse. Let's be clear: I will not apologize to my son's abuser, nor will I force him to. I will not allow my child to feel at fault for an adult's behavior. I do not owe anyone anything, not an apology, not an explanation, not a conversation, not a relationship--and neither does my child.
You simply cannot force an apology, and I will not extend an insincere one—I am not sorry for protecting my children, I am not sorry for attempting to protect other students, I am not sorry for speaking my mind, I am not sorry for the way things have worked out.
The only apology I have issued, and will continue to issue, is to Avery. That's it. He's the only one who deserves one.
I do not know what this woman has told others about me, but I have a few ideas. Because I confronted her in front of students, even with my detailed email trails, it's turned into a she said/she said situation. I am unwilling to drag students, including Avery, into this, even if it exonerates me. I'm certainly the villain, and it's "just so sad." She misses our friendship, according to one email I received. She's not taken any accountability at all for her own behavior and actions. I do not know if she's been chased by the same emails and texts, encouraged to apologize in the same way, or preached to about her own sins and bondage concerning this situation. But here's something I do know, something I’ve learned about myself--I really don’t give a damn what other people think of or about me. Those who are real for me, who know me and won’t judge me, those who know our family—those are the people who matter. And they won’t believe what anyone tries to tell them. They will call out the lies and the liar, they will walk away from the gossip, they will protect my family.
This is not my first rodeo, and I do not engage in head games. Go find another playground.
