Children’s Wellbeing and Schools Bill & Home Education.
- Jen Glover
- Nov 18, 2025
- 24 min read
Updated: Jan 7
This is Part 1 of The Human Side of Education — a connected series exploring how education policy, nervous system wellbeing, and family life meet in real, lived ways.
The full series is being gently refreshed and will be republished as a complete set. You’re welcome to read this now, and return later for the wider arc.
Seeing the Human Story Beneath the Policy
This piece isn’t about choosing sides or deciding who is “right” — it’s about creating enough space to see what’s really happening underneath. It’s about slowing down the conversation long enough to look at the human reality beneath the policy — the nervous systems involved, the pressures families already carry, and what children actually need to feel safe and supported, and what that might ask of the adults and professionals around them. I write from my own experience as a parent and from listening to other families. This isn’t the whole story for everyone — but it reflects patterns many of us are quietly living with, often without the words to explain why it feels so hard.
🗒️ The Bigger Picture
The government’s proposed Children’s Wellbeing and Schools Bill (CWS Bill) is framed as placing wellbeing first.
But while parts of it could support families,
others have the potential to deepen stress for families —
especially those who choose home education.
On paper, it sounds protective.
But in practice, it seems to reflect a wider pattern across education, health, and social care:
decisions being made at a distance from the day-to-day reality many families are living.
🗒️ When Authority Misses the Mark
We’ve seen this before.
Parents seeking support from schools or a diagnosis are often made to feel as though their child is “being difficult” — that it’s bad behaviour, poor parenting, or that they simply need to be stricter at home.
Teachers may add, “We don’t see any of this in school,” not realising many children spend all day holding it together and only unravel in the safety of home.
School-avoidant children — or those at the point of complete refusal — are seen as defiant, lazy, attention-seeking, or manipulative, with parents pressured to push harder to get them through the school gates.
What’s missed is that refusal is often the body’s way of saying:
“This environment doesn’t feel safe” — whether that comes from sensory overload, prolonged pressure, neurodivergent wiring, or an environment that simply doesn’t fit.
There are, of course, children for whom school is the safest and most stable place in their lives — that truth can exist alongside the reality that for others, school is the source of overwhelm, anxiety, or feeling deeply unsafe.
Families who home educate are often judged or treated with suspicion — sometimes unintentionally — as if stepping outside the system automatically means a child will “fall behind,” or that parents aren’t taking their child’s education seriously.
In reality, many families choose this path after exhausting every other option to meet their child’s needs — often carrying more responsibility, not less.
These aren’t small misunderstandings.
They are invalidations that can leave families questioning themselves, while their children keep trying to hold it all together on the outside, come home and explode in big emotions, or slowly begin to switch off and withdraw.
What all of these perspectives miss is what’s really going on for the child underneath the behaviour — in their body and emotions, and how that strain ripples through the whole family.
It isn’t that the child is the problem.
Their whole system is doing its best to cope with something that feels too much.
When we miss this context, behaviour gets mislabelled — and families end up under pressure from rules and expectations that don’t fit their reality.
Sensitivity isn’t weakness; it’s feedback about what doesn’t feel right.
Masking — acting “fine” on the outside while struggling inside — isn’t coping.
It’s doing whatever it takes to get through the day.
Many children manage to hold it together in school, then melt down at home where they finally feel safe enough to release it.
Teachers and other professionals may not see the anxiety, the quiet shut-downs, or the nightly tears.
Parents do.
Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
And when parents’ concerns are brushed aside, they’re left questioning themselves while their child’s needs go unmet.
Sometimes even parents can miss the cues — morning refusal might look like avoidance, when in fact it’s anxiety showing up in the only way a child knows how.
In the rush of getting out the door, those signs can be easy to overlook —
but there’s often a very real reason underneath.
It’s often these very misunderstandings — at school, at home, and within the system — that lead families to step away in the first place. Many aren’t trying to reject school at all; they’ve simply reached the limits of what’s possible without the tools, capacity, or flexibility their child truly needs.
🗒️ Why Families Choose Home Education
I share this not to debate whether home education is “right” or “wrong,” but to name something that often gets lost: in law, parents have the right to decide how their child is educated, and that right needs to remain clear.
Of course, where there is evidence that a child is unsafe, authorities must act. But concerns should be based on the child’s life as it is now, not on assumptions, outdated paperwork, or the fact a family has chosen a different path.
What feels “right” educationally for one child may look very different for another, shaped by each family’s values, beliefs, and lived experience. Recognising that doesn’t make anyone else wrong —
it simply acknowledges there is no single path that will work for every child, and any policy must leave room for that.
For those who wonder why anyone would choose this path —
the reasons are almost always rooted in love, and in finding an education that actually fits their child.
Some children find school overwhelming — too noisy, too rigid, or emotionally unsafe.
Others face unmet SEN needs, bullying, or years of waiting for support that never arrives, leaving parents with no choice but to step in.
Many children thrive with a different rhythm of learning — where curiosity leads instead of comparison, and their nervous system can settle enough to absorb what they’re exploring.
Some families are questioning the system itself: realising that much of schooling is still built on outdated structures, irrelevant subjects, and constant pressure. They want their children to love learning, to master the essentials, and to stay grounded in emotional wellbeing — not to have those values diluted or overridden.
And some families, rooted in clear values and beliefs, want to protect a consistent foundation for how their child sees themselves and the world. Because school doesn’t just teach subjects — it shapes how children see themselves. If that view is constantly tainted by comparison or dismissal, the damage can last a lifetime.
As times change, some families also want the freedom to grow in different ways.
With new work patterns and opportunities, parents are questioning whether “sit in a box, live in a box, watch a box” is really what life is for.
For many of these families, home education isn’t about avoiding challenge or resilience.
It’s about teaching children how to meet pressure without abandoning themselves — to notice when something feels too much, to know how to steady their bodies, and to move through difficulty from a grounded place, rather than being pushed to override their own signals.
Education needs to prepare children for life, not just exams.
For many families, home education isn’t about rejecting school —
it’s about creating an environment where their child feels safe enough to grow.
That doesn’t always make it easier.
Parents take on an enormous commitment: shaping learning, balancing work and care, and supporting their child’s wellbeing.
And yet, for some, it does feel easier —because the daily battles begin to soften, the mornings slow down, and the relentless pressure lifts.
What once felt like constant survival begins to make space for curiosity, connection, and calmer rhythms.
The choice to home educate is rarely about rejecting school for the sake of it. It’s about choosing a different way for a child to learn and live that feels safer, more sustainable, and genuinely right for them.
Many people won’t understand that at first, because so many of us were brought up to believe there is only one way to do education.
And when someone chooses a different path, it can feel uncomfortable — not because they’re wrong, but because it questions what we’ve always been taught to trust.
🗒️ The Law as It Stands
One thing that often gets lost in this conversation is the legal foundation.
In England (and Wales), attending a school is not compulsory — providing an education is.
That means parents have a legal duty to ensure their child receives an education suitable for their age, ability, and needs.
For many, that happens in school.
For others, it happens at home or through alternative approaches.
The problem is that many people don’t realise this.
There’s a common assumption that if a child isn’t in school, the parents must be breaking the law. That belief fuels much of the fear, suspicion, and judgment families face.
It’s also important to note:
this doesn’t mean you can simply decide to pull your child out of school and never go back.
There is a formal procedure that must be followed, and clear steps you’ll need to take with your local authority. Guidance on this can be found through trusted home education organisations and official government resources.
And this is why a deeper awareness of this bill matters so that any future legislation clearly preserves that distinction.
Because when families already feel they’re being treated as “wrong” for stepping outside the system, adding extra layers of monitoring can deepen the stigma — instead of building trust.
Education is compulsory. School is not. And any policy changes must hold that truth clearly, so families are supported, not punished, for choosing what’s best for their child.
Even though the Bill does not state that it removes the parental right to choose home education, the policies surrounding it will very likely create a climate where that choice becomes significantly harder to make in practice.
For families who are already stretched, extra oversight can start to feel less like support and more like quiet pressure to stay within the system — even when home education is a lawful and considered choice.
And while safeguards are absolutely needed where there is evidence of risk, increasing surveillance across the board can end up weakening the very wellbeing the Bill says it aims to protect — especially for children already using a huge amount of energy just to get through the school day.
🗒️ The View We Carry Into Adulthood
School isn’t just about grades — it shapes how children see themselves.
A child constantly compared, dismissed, or told they’re “too much” can grow into an adult who questions their worth, overcompensates to please others, or struggles to trust their own voice.
When education undermines self-worth, those echoes don’t disappear when a child leaves school. They ripple into adulthood, shaping relationships, confidence, and even how people parent their own children.
This is why many families choose home education: not to shelter children, but to ensure they grow with a steady foundation of self-worth, clarity, and curiosity — qualities that carry through every chapter of life.
🗒️When “Solutions” Miss the Point
Schools often try to put support in place: reduced hours, choosing lessons, phased returns.
On paper, these look like fair adjustments.
But if a child’s nervous system doesn’t feel safe, it’s still like walking into a lion’s den.
You could shorten the day, but if the body senses danger, the fear won’t shift.
They’re doing their best to get through, not really learning.
Too often, these solutions are framed around getting attendance back up or getting exam marks on track, so schools and councils can show progress. But a tick-box plan doesn’t reach the heart of the issue.
Attendance alone isn’t the same as safety — and without safety, attendance loses its meaning.
🗒️ The Pressure of Attendance
Schools hand out stickers, certificates, and prizes for perfect attendance.
On paper, it looks like encouragement.
In practice, it can make children who struggle feel like failures — while parents carry guilt and fear.
That fear is real. Many parents worry about fines, social services, or even the police knocking on their door. So mornings become a battle:
“Come on, we’re going to be late.”
“If you don’t go in, the police will come.”
I know the struggle of mornings like this.
When your own nervous system is wired, it’s hard to see clearly.
I’ve said things in panic I wish I hadn’t — not because I didn’t care,
but because I didn’t yet understand what my child’s nervous system was telling me or mine.
The truth is: rules can create safety, but when they’re enforced through fear they can undermine it.
If a child’s nervous system is already signalling overwhelm, rushing them only reinforces the message that the body is unsafe.
Instead of treating the register or the clock as the most important thing, what matters most is whether a child arrives feeling steady enough to take in the day.
🗒️ What I Wish I Had Known
Sometimes just having the awareness is the first step.
I know it’s easier said than done in the middle of a stressful morning —
when you’re already stretched, watching the clock, or juggling a thousand things before the day has even begun.
But even noticing these patterns can slowly change how we respond.
What I wish I had known as a parent
Start with gentle awareness.
Our nervous systems are in constant conversation. Your child often feels what’s happening in you, and at the same time it’s easy to be pulled into what they’re feeling too. Even the smallest shift — one slower breath, a softer tone, a tiny pause — can change the direction of a moment for both of you.
Notice what’s really happening.
What looks like stalling, complaining, or “delay tactics” is often the body trying to cope. Getting dressed slowly, dragging out breakfast, reorganising the same bag three times — these can be signs of overwhelm rather than a child being difficult or “doing it on purpose”. And “tummy aches” are often anxiety showing up through the body.
But here’s the part I wish someone had told me sooner:
When your own nervous system is in survival mode,
it’s almost impossible to respond how you want to.
You’re not failing. You’re human.
Most of us were never shown how to read the early signs of overwhelm — we weren’t given that toolkit as children or adults.
We all work with whatever awareness we currently have, until something helps us see differently.
That’s why I share this work — not to give scripts or quick fixes,
but to offer a different way of understanding what’s happening in you and your child…
so you can meet these moments from steadiness instead of panic, in a way that feels possible for you and safe for them.
This is where nervous system awareness — and having language for what’s really going on underneath behaviour — can change everything.
When you start to notice what’s happening in you, in your child, and in the old conditioning about how children “should” cope, a small but important gap opens up between the moment and your response.
Soften the timeline.
I know routines, responsibilities, and expectations are real — and many of us were raised to believe that being on time equals being responsible, caring, or “doing it right.”
When your own nervous system is already stretched, a late mark can feel much bigger than it truly is.
But often, when you strip it back, the reality is gentler than your body makes it seem.
A few minutes on the register is rarely as costly as a child walking in with their whole system in panic.
Where you can, let calm matter more than speed.
A steadier arrival will support them far more than rushing through the door on time while everyone’s already overwhelmed.
When a child arrives at school still carrying the stress of the morning rush, they’re not settled — they’re recovering.
They might be sitting at a desk, but their mind is still trying to catch up.
Until their nervous system settles, learning can’t fully switch on.
And here’s the part we rarely talk about:
When children grow up being hurried out of the door in panic, their body quietly learns that urgency matters more than feeling safe.
Over time, this becomes adults who move at 100mph, struggle to slow down, and feel guilty for resting — not because they’re flawed, but because their nervous system was trained early to override rather than listen.
Choose connection over pressure.
When children feel safe, their capacity to learn grows naturally.
And if mornings don’t run smoothly, that doesn’t mean you’re failing.
You’re human — carrying your own stress while trying to hold theirs.
Choosing calm over speed isn’t indulgent; it’s nervous system care.
It shows your child that feeling safe matters more than the register — and that lesson lasts far longer than perfect attendance.
And yes — punctuality matters in life.
But it lands far better in a nervous system that has first learned what it feels like to be safe, steady, and respected… not rushed, overwhelmed, or pushed past their limits before the day has even begun.
If you work within the system…
I know many teachers, heads, officers, and professionals are doing their best inside systems that are already under huge pressure. With that in mind, a few reflections might be helpful to sit with:
What if success wasn’t only attendance or results?
True wellbeing isn’t just about attendance or academic performance — it’s whether children feel safe and able to engage.
What happens when support is driven by fear?
Letters, fines, and warnings about “consequences” may be well-intended, but they often create fear rather than support — especially when a child is struggling with anxiety, overwhelm, or unmet needs. For many families, this is where distress begins, not where it’s resolved.
Can we look beyond behaviour?
Anxiety and overwhelm don’t always look disruptive. They can show up as quiet compliance, frequent “mystery” illnesses, big after-school meltdowns, or a child who seems more and more distant over time. When we look beyond behaviour and consider what might be happening in a child’s body and emotional world, a very different picture can emerge to “avoidance” or “non-compliance”.
Are we really seeing the whole day?
Parents are not the enemy. Many are left feeling like they are the problem, or that their concerns are exaggerated or imagined — especially when a child appears “fine” in school and only unravels at home. Making space for what parents see outside the classroom, even when it doesn’t match what staff see during the day, creates a fuller picture than assuming the school view is the whole story.
What could flexibility look like here?
Reduced timetables or lesson choices only help when they’re paired with awareness of how much a child can realistically manage right now, and a willingness to adapt when their nervous system is clearly at capacity.
The solution isn’t more pressure. It’s more safety, more trust, and more awareness woven into the way policies are designed and applied.
Even small shifts in language, expectations, and process can ripple through a whole school community over time.
🗒️ A Nervous System Lens
When families don’t feel safe, their nervous systems switch into survival:
Parents can feel on edge, snap, over-apologise, or go very quiet — not because they don’t care or can’t cope, but because they’re stretched thin and trying to protect their child with very few options that feel safe.
Authorities, also under pressure and afraid of getting it wrong, may clamp down harder, believing more control equals more safety.
Children absorb the stress.
This is often where the disconnect begins: everyone is worried about the child, but they’re meeting from a place of fear rather than trust.
The knock on the door may be meant as “protection.”
But for a child already shaken by school, or a parent trying hard to keep them safe, it can feel like danger.
Safety isn’t created by surveillance alone.
Safety is created when families feel respected, supported, and trusted.
When that doesn’t happen, children don’t just “bounce back” — their bodies and brains adapt in ways that can follow them into adult life.
Coping strategies like masking, people-pleasing, or overachieving can often start in unsafe classrooms — and later show up as perfectionism, burnout, or fear of speaking up.
The nervous system carries lessons long after the school bell stops ringing.
I know how hard this must be for schools too.
Many teachers care deeply about their pupils, and the impact of the current system on their own wellbeing is often overlooked.
A teacher’s nervous system is part of the classroom environment.
When staff are exhausted, pressured, or overwhelmed, children feel it too.
This isn’t about blame —it’s about recognising that adults and children are co-regulating all the time.
Supporting teachers with healthier systems isn’t just about their wellbeing; it directly impacts how safe children feel to learn.
🗒️ Safety on Paper vs Safety in the Body
At heart, most of us say we want the same thing: children safe and thriving.
The difference often lies in how safety is defined.
For many families, safety is felt in the body: not in perfect calm, but in knowing their child is in an environment that supports them, where their needs are seen and taken seriously, and where they aren’t being pushed past what they can cope with.
For authorities, safety is often measured on paper: a child visible on a register, present in a classroom, accounted for in assessments and reports. Both perspectives make sense when you see where they come from.
But when one relies mainly on visibility and data, and the other on lived experience and how things feel in real life, trust easily begins to fray.
Because safety isn’t a tick-box, and it isn’t just a feeling. It has to be both seen and felt.
And when families repeatedly share what’s happening for their children and don’t feel listened to, it’s understandable that some begin to feel the system cares more about compliance and keeping everyone “in line” than about genuine wellbeing. That perception might not match the intention on paper, but it is very real in people’s bodies — and that gap is where mistrust grows.
🗒️ When Fear Starts Making the Decisions
In so many parts of this conversation, fear isn't far away.
For authorities, fear of blame. Fear of the next headline: “No one acted.”
For families, fear of intrusion. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear their child will be forced back into what already feels harmful.
For policymakers, fear of facing how much the system isn't working for children - because that would mean more than small tweaks.
When fear is in charge, we naturally reach for control in whatever way we can:
authorities tighten rules and oversight
families pull back, go quiet, or feel they have to defend or fight
professionals cling to procedures that feel safer than listening to the messy reality.
When fear leads, everyone is in survival mode. And children absorb the tension most of all.
Fear will almost always push us toward control.
Real safety is built on trust — trust in children, in families, and in systems that listen rather than only tightening the rules.
🗒️ Calling Out the Real Question
I imagine the amount of effort, time, money, and resource being poured into this Bill is significant.
And yet, even if it’s approved, an important question remains: how will local authorities realistically be resourced and supported to carry out any new duties in a way that genuinely serves children and families?
It also raises a wider question: what might be possible if even some of that resource were invested in re-imagining an education system that actually met the needs of more children?
Would more children be able to stay in school in the first place?
A system where key subjects are taught with depth and clarity, not lost under overwhelming or irrelevant content.
A system that reduces pressure on topics that not all children can yet grasp — and don’t yet need.
A system with time carved out for real emotional wellbeing, nervous system care, and life skills that matter.
Right now, so much of school life is organised around tests, targets and exam results. Those can have a place, but when they become the man measure of success, schools can end up serving the data more than the child. It's worth gently asking: who is this really helping — the child in front of us, or the system that needs the numbers to look right?
Because when school is a place children actually feel they can succeed — not just survive — attendance tends to rise naturally.
Children don’t need to be pushed into classrooms that drain them.
They begin to walk in because the environment makes sense for their mind, their body, and their future.
And here’s the irony:
if we build a system that truly supports children, the wider “attendance problem” so many are concerned about would begin to resolve on its own — without the need for additional pressure or surveillance.
🗒️ The Risk in The Children’s Wellbeing and Schools Bill
The Bill proposes giving local authorities new powers such as:
Keeping more detailed registers of children not in school
Strengthening expectations around home visits
Introducing further oversight of families who choose home education
For families who have created safe, stable environments outside school, these changes can feel destabilising rather than supportive.
For many, the concern isn’t oversight where there are genuine safeguarding worries — that is necessary.
It’s the very real possibility that broad, unclear policies will blur the line between protection and control.
As it stands, the Bill doesn’t remove the legal right to home educate.
But it's very likely to create conditions that make that right far harder to use without increased fear of judgement, intrusion, or misunderstanding — a reality some families already experience simply for choosing a different path.
Alongside this, many families and campaigners are also questioning how much personal data would be gathered, how it would be used, and what happens if such sensitive information is ever mishandled.
We’ve seen a version of this pattern before with big national decisions.
For some, Brexit is one example that's easy to recognise: it was framed as a way to protect and “take back control”, but only later did many of the everyday impacts become visible — for instance, reduced freedom to live, study, or work across Europe.
On paper, it promised protection. In practice, it quietly narrowed what was possible.
That’s the core worry many families hold with this Bill:
that something presented as supporting children’s wellbeing could, over time, reduce the real choices families are able to make.
And when so many families are already stretched thin by the cost of living and the pace of everyday life, it’s understandable that longer-term impact of changes like this can be hard to think about until it's already being felt.
A common response to this is:
“If you’ve got nothing to hide, why worry about extra checks or visits?”
I understand that instinct — reassurance can feel protective.
But for many home-educating families, the concern isn’t being seen; it’s how they will be seen, and whose standards their child’s education will be measured against.
Home education isn’t meant to mirror school — that’s the point.
When it’s assessed through the current school-based lens, a healthy child-led or needs-led education can easily be misread as “not enough.”
For families who chose home education because school wasn’t working, the risk of being misunderstood again doesn’t feel neutral — it feels costly, for them and for their child.
Oversight matters where there is real concern.
But broad, routine monitoring of all families doesn’t automatically create safety.
Sometimes it simply adds pressure to those already doing their best, while diverting time, attention, and resources away from the children whose needs are already clearly visible and urgent.
🗒️ Why High-Profile Cases Shift the Conversation
Policy debates are rarely separate from what’s happening in the news.
When tragic cases involving children reach the media – especially where education or school absence is mentioned – public pressure naturally rises. People want reassurance.
They want to believe systems will tighten so nothing like that can happen again.
That response is human.
When policy is steered too heavily by these rare, painful moments, there's a risk that broad measures are brought in that don't reflect most families realities - and don't necessarily touch the deeper issues that led to those tragedies in the first place.
🗒️ A Question We Don’t Often Hear
Yes — children must be protected. That’s non-negotiable. But what are we really gaining from additional registers, forced visits, and extra monitoring?
Deaths and harm have happened in schools — places assumed “safe.” Being in school doesn’t guarantee protection.
Families who love and protect their children are treated with suspicion, while real risks — missed diagnoses, bullying, lack of mental health care — remain unresolved.
Monitoring adds pressure for families; it doesn’t fix the reasons children are struggling in the first place.
Safety isn’t created by where a child learns, but by how safe they feel.
🗒️ Old Stories, New Lens
So much of this Bill sits on top of the beliefs we’ve absorbed about what “good” education and “good” parenting look like.
A few that quietly shape this conversation:
Old belief: “If a child doesn’t go to school every day, they won’t succeed in life.”
New lens: Success isn’t measured by hours on a register. It’s shaped by whether a child feels safe enough to learn, connect, and grow — in school or elsewhere.
Old belief: “If a child refuses school, they’re lazy, manipulative, or avoiding responsibility.”
New lens: Refusal is rarely laziness. More often, it’s overwhelm showing up through the body. It isn’t avoidance — it’s communication.
Old belief: “Parents who home educate are avoiding responsibility.”
New lens: For many, home education means carrying even more responsibility — creating safety, structure, and opportunities where the system couldn’t.
Old belief: “Attendance = wellbeing.”
New lens: Being present in a building doesn’t guarantee a child feels safe. Anxiety, masking, or shutdown can all sit behind “good attendance”.
Old belief: “Tough love is what builds resilience.”
New lens: Nervous systems don’t learn resilience through pressure. They learn it through safety, repair, and knowing someone will listen when things feel too much.
We’re not wrong for having absorbed these stories — most of us grew up inside them.
But as awareness grows, we get to gently ask which ones still serve children, and which ones quietly keep everyone in survival.
🗒️ The Paradox of Protection
Most professionals want children safe. But the paradox is this:
The more the system reaches for control,
The more families spiral into fear and resistance.
From the outside, that shutdown looks like secrecy.
In reality, it’s desperation: parents protecting their child, not hiding harm.
Control isn’t the same as safety.
We are living in a time when many of us are beginning to see the limits of systems built decades ago — systems that were not designed with today’s children, neurodiversity, trauma awareness, or family realities in mind.
And it raises an honest question many parents are quietly holding: Is this Bill truly centred on children’s wellbeing…or could it unintentionally steer us toward more control, even when it's described in the language of care?
It’s not about blame — it’s about staying awake to the difference.
🗒️ Alongside New Laws, Fix What’s Already Broken
Neurodivergent children are still waiting years for support.
School-avoidant children are dismissed instead of understood.
Parents are left feeling dismissed or invalidated by systems that don’t always listen.
And beyond labels or diagnoses, every child is a whole human being — with their own way of processing the world, sensing safety, and making sense of what they’re being asked to do.
Some children naturally feel more deeply, some are more cautious, some need more movement or more time. None of this is “wrong” — it’s simply different wiring.
Yet many of our systems still quietly treat difference as a problem to fix:
feeling deeply is brushed off as overreacting
caution is labelled as defiance,
needing time is treated as lack of effort.
When one narrow way of coping, learning, or behaving is held up as the standard, it leaves less room to understand the many different ways children really are.
Another layer of control doesn’t fix this. It just ticks a box while real needs remain unmet.
Another box ticked on paper doesn’t equal a child supported in real life.
🗒️ The Heart of It
Safety can’t be decided from a desk.
It has to be felt in the body — by the child, and by the family.
True wellbeing isn’t built on control or constant monitoring.
It’s built on trust, support, and respect.
If this Bill truly wants to put children first, it needs to move away from treating families as problems to manage— and towards building bridges where children can genuinely thrive.
🗒️ Why This Matters for Every Family
Even if you don’t home educate, this Bill could still touch your life.
Laws written without awareness or clear safeguards don’t just shape one group of families —
they set precedents that ripple into how all parents are trusted, supported, and given choice.
For some families, school has been a lifeline. For others, it’s been where things began to unravel. Holding both truths is uncomfortable – and it’s often where more honest solutions begin.
You may feel this Bill won’t affect you — especially if you don’t home educate.
But the impact of legislation like this, if it goes through without awareness and clear boundaries, reaches further than it first appears.
And while you may not need that choice today, life can change quickly — and every family deserves to know that stepping out of school is still a real, protected option if it ever becomes truly needed.
That decision should remain yours — not just for today, but for your children’s children too.
The choices we protect now will shape the freedoms available to families in the future.
So many of us are already stretched, our nervous systems pulled thin by the pace and pressure of life. It’s easy to assume the government is doing its best for us — because we don’t always have the headspace to question or imagine something different.
But when decisions are made from fear instead of awareness, everyone is pushed further into survival.
That’s why this matters — not just for today, and not just for those who home educate, but for all families and all children.
🗒️ The Conclusion: What This Bill Must Not Miss
If the goal is truly children’s wellbeing, this Bill must go deeper than registers and surveillance.
Registers, visits and oversight may have a place in safeguarding, but on their own they cannot create the conditions children need to thrive.
Wellbeing is not created by control, suspicion, or perfect attendance — it grows where there is real safety, understanding, and support.
Beneath this Bill sits something bigger than policy wording: the beliefs we carry about children, families, and what “good” education looks like.
When we assume children only succeed in one kind of setting, that refusal is manipulation rather than communication, or that toughness builds resilience more than safety does, we unintentionally keep systems clinging to control and leave families stuck in survival.
The real measure of any system isn't how tightly it can monitor families, but how effectively it helps children feel safe, supported, and able to grow.
What’s needed is a Bill — and a culture — that builds bridges, not barriers.
One that recognises the diversity of children’s needs, trusts parents to know their own children, and works in partnership rather than suspicion.
Children don’t thrive because they’re monitored. They thrive because they feel safe.
Until policy and practice are shaped through a nervous system and trauma-aware lens, we risk deepening the mental health challenges children are already facing, even when the intention is "protection".
🗒️ If you’re considering home education
This blog isn’t a legal guide, but if you are thinking about stepping out of the school system, it’s important to know the proper process. Helpful resources include:
These sources outline the formal procedure you’ll need to follow and the responsibilities you’ll take on. Knowing the facts can help you feel more confident and supported in your choices.
If something in you wants to do more with this…
There’s no pressure to act. But if you do feel called to, a few options might help:
You might choose to contact your MP and share how regulation, support, or oversight really feels for your family.
You might connect with organisations supporting home education and family-led learning, so you don’t feel you’re carrying this alone.
Or you might share your experience where it feels safe — in comments, with friends, in meetings, or through advocacy groups. Lived stories often soften assumptions in a way statistics alone can’t.
I write from my own experience, and from listening to many families — but no single piece can hold every story, or even the whole of mine. When more voices are heard, the picture of what’s really happening becomes clearer, and it’s harder to ignore.
With care,
This post will be lightly edited for clarity and series flow when the full Human Side of Education series is released. The core message will remain the same.
🗒️ For anyone reading this and recognising something in your own life, family, or work…
Education, policy, and family life — none of it exists in isolation.
So many of the challenges we face are part of wider patterns in our systems, our beliefs, and the ways we were taught to cope.
Seeing those patterns doesn’t place blame.
It simply opens the door for something to shift.
Whether you’re supporting children at home, in a classroom, or through your work, you’re not expected to have all the answers.
Awareness is a powerful beginning.
🧭 If you’d like to explore further
If something in this stirred questions, relief, or even discomfort, you’re welcome to keep exploring — at your own pace.
🔗 Begin Here — what this space is, and how to use it
🔗 Notes from Jen — reflections and real-life perspective
🔗 How We Help — an overview of what’s here, and how people tend to engage
🔗 Join the Email Circle — occasional notes, no pressure
🔗 Follow on Instagram — quiet reminders, not noise
We don’t have to agree on everything to care about children’s wellbeing. Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is quietly look again at what we were taught to trust, and ask whether it still serves the children in front of us.
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