The following is a guest post written by Heather Caliri of A Little Yes.
To be honest, I’m still not sure why I freaked out about the clay.
My daughter had found the battery-powered pottery wheel at the thrift store. Her face flushed with excitement, she placed the box on the counter and paid for it with her allowance.
I was tentative at best. The thing looked like a toy instead of a tool. Plus I remembered from school how hard throwing clay was. Would she get as frustrated as I once had with centering it?
She asked for my help getting set up. I held the instructions in one hand and the air-dry clay in the other. I read aloud about wedging the clay, centering it on the wheel, about slip and water and — that’s when I noticed my heart racing.
I knew I shouldn’t be this upset by a toy pottery wheel, but I was. And I didn’t know how to calm the heck down.
I was babbling that maybe we should slow down for a minute — practice — wait — when she took the clay out of my hand, set it on the wheel, and pressed the pedal. Whirrrrr. The wheel spun around like a child’s record player.
I looked at my daughter. She glowed.
I wish I could say my nerves ended there, but in truth, I still felt anxious. Art classes in school were fraught places for me — filled with frustration and shame and moments of exhilaration.
It wasn’t that I was terrible at art; it was that I wanted to be better than I was. It was hard to practice when I hated almost every piece I produced.
Photo by Penn State
My daughter’s purchase plunged me back into that sense of uncertainty. I was afraid for her — I was afraid for me. I was afraid, period.
It took a lot of self-discipline to stay there at the table with my child. I wanted to stop feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable and panicked about how to guide my kid into something new. I don’t know how, my heart cried out. I don’t know how! I stayed, trying to keep my mouth shut, trying to still my heart instead.
My daughter is, unsurprisingly, a lot like me. There are moments when we are learning together where she is as edgy and nervous as I was with that pottery wheel. Her spirit skitters away from me like a frightened bird, and I’m left wondering what I said — or did — to scare her.
At those times, I think: Why should ten minutes of reading practice make her freak out? Why is she resisting playing some math games? It was so simple. Why did it upset her so much?
As I write this, I wonder why I’m surprised that learning might frighten her. Shouldn’t I understand when learning to homeschool often fills me with fear?
Adults forget how hard it is to be a beginner. How alarming it is to doubt that we can pull off something new. How humbling it is to admit that we are clueless. It’s not that we get over the fear of trying new things as adults.
It’s that most of us don’t put ourselves in that position very often.
In truth, our sense of bewilderment and fear about homeschooling is exactly the same fear our own children face when learning to read.
It’s the fear of the unknown, of feeling incompetent, of not knowing how to get better at a new skill. It’s a deep impatience with not being as expert as we wish we were. And when I feel the deep vulnerability of a beginner, I long to hide my discomfort, pretend it doesn’t exist, or panic.
Photo by _FuRFuR_ (Sébastien Rofidal)
In short, I do the same thing my daughter does. I wonder: What if we could see those moments of nervousness as a chance to develop empathy for our kids?
What if we could learn from their ways of coping with being a beginner (in my experience, kids are much better at it than adults are)?
What if we could cultivate patience with beginnings, at any age?
What if we could look on learning together as an act of deep collaboration instead of a burden we shoulder alone?
What if we could remember that everything worth doing — relationships, work, creativity, wisdom — starts with an awkward beginning?
What if the best lesson about learning for all of us is that that it’s okay when we don’t know what we’re doing?
Do you ever find yourself feeling vulnerable as a homeschooler?
Real summer learning
I can’t remember what it’s like to NOT feel vulnerable as a homeschooler . . . 🙂
Anne’s latest post: Gone To the Trek
Amen to that. And I love Brene Brown’s writing on this: the constant vulnerability is good for our souls 🙂
Heather Caliri’s latest post: On giving up: why I hate confessing my sins
I had a hard time learning to read. I still hate reading outloud (not such a great thing for homeschooling grades K and 1!) I feel the same frustration and fear I felt years ago when I watch my children struggle to learn to read. All I want to do is run! Thank you for sharing this, somethimes I feel like no one else knows the feeling.
Oh, this really touches me. This has got to be hard with such a foundational subject. I think so many of us HS because our experiences in school weren’t great–but mentoring our kids through the subjects that plagued us means we have to face those feelings all over again. It’s hard to be brave!
Heather Caliri’s latest post: On giving up: why I hate confessing my sins
Since the topic of kids art is dear to my heart I would say you panicked about her art because when you were young you were not allowed to create on your own, but had to follow a set of instructions and do the same as everyone else. If you had been allowed to create all along as you were developmentally ready for then you would have developed greater confidence.
Faigie’s latest post: Ocean crafts: Create murals of the ocean
That’s definitely possible. High school art was actually very open-ended, which I found made me very anxious, especially with one of the teachers, who was lousy at encouraging us to be true to our own work and encouraging experimentation. (I tried something more abstract, a big leap for me, and he critiqued it pretty sharply, and then told me to go look at someone else’s work for how to do abstract. After that I shut down in that class). But I think the very closed-ended practice I got in elementary school for EVERYTHING creative was not solid bedrock to be building a creative process on 🙂
Heather Caliri’s latest post: a pause, and exhale, a faithful break
I love, love, love Heather’s writing. What a wonderful reminder to me about extending grace so they can experience the confidence that comes from delightful success!
Susan–you made my day 🙂
Heather Caliri’s latest post: a pause, and exhale, a faithful break
I loved this post so much. I could have written it myself. It sounds exactly like my middle son–and me.
Being brave. Being brave and being OK with not being brave sometimes. This is what homeschooling looks like for me.
Hannah’s latest post: How the Amish Are Helping Me Get Over It
It’s so tempting to want to be okay with ourself only when ourself looks shiny, confident, and successful. Learning to have more grace with myself is a constant blessing of homeschooling.
Heather Caliri’s latest post: a pause, and exhale, a faithful break
Thank you so much for sharing that Heather, choosing to walk a different way from the majority into home schooling hasn’t been easy and it helps to read stories from the heart, full of honesty like yours – thanks again,
Michelle
You’re welcome, Michelle! It’s so funny–HS seems so renegade (though getting less and less so) but in truth we’re all looking for a tribe. It’s hard to do without one, to let go of comparisons and how-tos–and I’m with you in the hardness. I wish you so much blessing in that difficulty.
Heather Caliri’s latest post: a pause, and exhale, a faithful break
Well, amen. We’re starting homeschool in August with my 1st grader. I have no idea what I’m doing! Lots of grace. Grace for both of us with lots of new beginnings.
Thank you for this post! I need to remember, even though I like trying new things, feeling like you don’t know anything is scary even for me! I sometimes teach a group of students and my own anxiety for teaching could very well be the same anxiety they feel being in my class! If we’re all feeling anxious, how will I be able to teach and how will they be able to learn?? Patience and prayer I guess, with everyone.