School

There is no end to what could be written about schooling. School, regardless of what form that takes or doesn't, makes up a huge part of a child's universe. The interplay between school, autism, giftedness, and mental health is complex. I have had my share of showy academic successes and neurodiverse struggles in the school system, and am left with deeply ambivalent feelings about the whole thing.

School fulfills many roles in society. Child care, education, socialization, physical activity, conformity to societal norms, extracurricular activities, and workplace preparation are all expected outcomes of the school system, and I'm sure I've missed many. It is a tall order.

When it works, school can become a community, a village of sorts in a highly atomized society. In the right setting, a child can find their tribe, discover their interests, and learn and flourish.

When it doesn't work, school can become a prison, rife with bullying from peers and abuse from adults. This can be true in a very literal sense, with the infamous school-to-prison pipeline in the United States (and surely not limited to that country alone).

In the murky middle, schools appear increasingly stressed in the post-Covid world. In my little area of the forest, funding is plummeting, staffing levels cannot meet enrollment, and class sizes are ballooning. The philosophical push towards inclusion, which invariably means the travesty of unsupported inclusion, is leaving both special needs and mainstream students abandoned, and teachers tasked with the impossible. Even within special needs programs, supports are being gutted.

Homeschooling

Many parents in the disability community homeschool in one fashion or another, and I am located where an almost unlimited array of options for this exist (blended, online, curriculum-based, outdoor, unschooling, and so on). For some, homeschooling is by choice and is an ideal solution, yet for others, it is the least desirable but only remaining option. Inasmuch as I am in full philosophical agreement with homeschooling as a valid and sound option, it is not what either Oranguette or I want. Yet we found ourselves in that latter category of unwilling homeschoolers for a period of months as we waited... and waited... for a different placement.

Due to the lack of suitable alternatives in public bricks-and-mortar schools (again magnified by funding cuts and unsupportable moves towards so-called inclusion) as well as insurmountable wait lists and lotteries at charter and private schools, I know we are far from alone in this experience.

Socialization

Socialization invariably arises whenever homeschooling enters the discussion, and deserves its own mention.

Specifically, I would like to shout from the treetops that I do not want my child "socialized" in a class full of 30 or 40 kids with one overwhelmed teacher in a Lord of the Flies scenario. I do not like the fact that my child consistently hears "autistic" used as a slur in her school environment. I am angry that my child faced bullying (relational aggression) that teachers were powerless to stop. And so on. I could cite a hundred more examples.

Yet I also hear that my child will end up awkward and socially incompetent if they do not attend school. But what of those kids who are already awkward and socially different? Are cause and effect not being mixed up with that statement?

Again I will reiterate that, if simple exposure at school were to "cure" social differences, it (a) surely would have happened by now, after so many years, and (b) would have, according to DSM-5, precluded an autism diagnosis in the first place. Excuse me while I go scream into the trees.

The Disconnect

In my experience, there is a worrisome disconnect between parts of our mental healthcare system and our education system. This has often taken the form of ignorance (sometimes it felt willful) of the types of challenges routinely found in schools, and the types of accommodations that can realistically be provided. Shoulders were shrugged, lack of jurisdiction was cited, and we parents were left in the all-too familiar situation of being tasked with solving an unsolvable problem. At other points, the regressive philosophies, single-minded focus on attendance, and untenable approaches pushed by Institution 1 clashed with the more enlightened and workable avenues proposed by the school. This dynamic did absolutely nothing to help Oranguette.

The Utter Hypocrisy of it All

It often strikes me that few adults would ever stand for the expectations and treatment that are routinely imposed on our children in regards to schooling.

Dr. Naomi Fisher and Missing the Mark are two of my favourite Facebook pages to follow on the topic of schooling, frequently addressing "school refusal", compliance, and the like. My experience differs in some of the sources of the tensions around schooling; nevertheless, despite this distinction, these two Facebook pages have provided an excellent philosophical and psychological orientation for me, and there is really nothing more I can add here.

The Complication of High Achievement

In my post on the book Unmasking Autism, I highlighted a quote from Devon Price that describes how a focus on high intelligence and giftedness can distract from autistic support needs.

Now "gifted" can be a tricky term, as official definitions vary, and giftedness is not always correlated with achievement. What I do want to say here is that high marks can be a huge impediment to obtaining either mental health or disability supports. Often, grades are used as a proxy for well-being for children. Many people seem to subscribe to a one-size-fits-all view of schooling, that a "smart" child will always be able to thrive in any school environment, and that a child with good grades must be thriving. Shouldn't high intelligence mean (unsupported) inclusion? One wonders just how many kids have been driven into crisis by such a one-dimensional view.

Practicalities

Trying to find something that works for schooling at the intersection of mental health, neurodiversity, and giftedness (and there is considerable overlap between all of those) is a herculean challenge. Finding supports in one of those areas often means a withdrawal of supports in the other spheres.

Gifted programs may be focused on high achievement, marks, and endless homework, rather than holistic support of students who cannot function in the mainstream. Other gifted programs may be more geared towards twice-exceptional (2E) students including those with an autism diagnosis, but may use approaches that our family would not consider (e.g., ABA).

A special placement within a mainstream school can leave "exceptional" students deeply ashamed of their exceptionality. Such an arrangement has seen Oranguette going from embracing her diagnosis to crafting an elaborate series of partial answers and half truths as to which classes she attends. This is hardly conducive to feelings of inclusion and community. Sometimes this sort of special placement has left me feeling like we are just seesawing between the abandonment of unsupported inclusion and warehousing a struggling child out of sight and out of mind.

Disability schools and programs are often not set up to provide high-level academics. On a practical note, for financial reasons, congregated disability schools seem to be located either in sad, crumbling buildings or inconvenient out-of-town locations, making transportation a significant hurdle.

Even within any sort of specialized setting, students with wildly varying characteristics often find themselves grouped together. To use an example from personal experience, a mental health class for students with internalizing behaviour may well find a quiet, advanced student working beside a delayed student who is threatening the teacher with violence (I'll note that "internalizing" seems to be a much broader descriptor in this setting than one would expect). Both students are struggling and absolutely deserve support, but it is no surprise which student is left to their own devices to fall deeper into disconnection and "school refusal", to use that ridiculous term.

Autism encompasses such a broad array of presentations that grouping autistic students together, even those with broadly similar levels support needs, is no guarantee of a harmonious educational setting. Nor is everyone with a diagnosis comfortable being segregated by that label. Mixing autistics and ADHDers together can sometimes leave both parties frustrated and annoyed. Earlier in our journey, I had hoped that Oranguette would find her place in one corner or another of the neurodiverse community, but that has not happened yet, either within the school setting or otherwise.

Trying to find workable solutions tends to involve a lot of creativity and trial and error, and change necessarily accompanies that process. Unsurprisingly, an autistic/PDA child can easily become overwhelmed by those frequent changes, and distressed by feelings of a loss of control and predictability. Oranguette at points has categorically refused any more changes, preferring by far a familiar setup no matter what her unmet needs.

The success of any particular classroom in my experience also hangs very precariously on the teachers, educational assistants, and classmates themselves. Those relationships are all but impossible to predict in advance, and the sudden disappearance of a "unicorn" teacher or other safe person can be little short of disastrous.

A Note of Thanks

Despite this rather disheartening picture of inadequate and ill-fitting arrangements, teachers have been some of our greatest allies and supporters on this journey. Even within the constraints of the school systems we have found ourselves in, and often before there was any diagnostic clarity regarding Oranguette's challenges, many teachers have gone above and beyond for her. I can say the same of many school administrators and student support staff. Not everything has worked out or gone smoothly, of course, yet teachers and other school staff have continually surprised me with proactive and creative solutions, and their continued willingness to work with us. It is, by and large, the school system that has picked up the pieces from our failed medical experiences.

I understand this type of support from schools is not universal. Luck undoubtedly plays a role in our experiences, and I am aware that our luck may not hold. As it is, many students are failed by the system and fall through the cracks, just as Oranguette herself did at points.

Nevertheless, my point (and gratitude) stands. Whereas parts of the medical system seemed eager to vilify Oranguette at every turn, schools and teachers, have, by and large, been far more willing to see the good in her. I would not be surprised if this is due in part to her high academic achievement "earning" her a modicum of approval, but I also hope (perhaps unreasonably) that it is reflective of a culture that is more inclined to see the potential in all children.

I believe the public school system's duty to accommodate factors in. Although the public school system is often accused of behaving in a manner that forces families into leaving for private or homeschooling options (which many do), it cannot get rid of those of us who cannot find suitable alternatives, and must accommodate our children long term. There is nowhere else to throw these children in a deplorable game of hot potato. This changes the focus from a short term to a long term one, which is where appropriate and enduring solutions are generally found.

A Few Final Thoughts

I often wonder how our story would have been different if Covid had not disrupted schooling. The brief school shutdowns and repeated switches to online learning were actually a huge help to Oranguette and a huge relief to our family at the times when they occurred, but also significantly delayed proper diagnosis and access to supports.

At one point, we also moved from a school system that grouped kids under a single teacher in an elementary-school style for a few extra years compared to the system we moved into. Would that sort of arrangement have helped Oranguette, compared to thrusting her into a high-school style system of multiple classrooms and teachers at a significantly earlier age?

I also often wonder what our journey would have looked like if schools were much better resourced, as schools in my part of the forest indeed were, until recent years. I wonder how our story would have unfolded if class sizes were simply smaller. If teachers had the time and ability to integrate struggling students into their classes, before small problems spiral into large, intractable ones. If even a subset of teachers or administrators were better trained in spotting and supporting neurodiversity.

I certainly hope, dear reader, that you did not read this blog post with the hope of finding answers. I have none. All I can offer is a cry of solidarity from the trenches.