Guilty, shamed and traumatised - What school avoidance feels like for parents

And why parents and children shouldn't be punished...

Last week, my son asked me what I would do if we were told we had only hours left to live.

It’s not unusual for him to come up with bizarre questions (especially around bedtime).

I thought a lot about this question.

“I think I’d have to think some more about what I’d want to do,” I said. “In this scenario, is it just me dying?”

My ten-year-old explained that no, it’s not just me. It’s the end of the world and everyone is dying. There’s a countdown and everything, he said.

“I would go to Auckland Zoo,” he told me. “I would go to the aviary with the lovebirds and I would look at them.”

He used to be afraid of birds. Now he adores by them - particularly lovebirds. When we visited Auckland Zoo, he spent almost an hour in the aviary with them. He hums when he’s happy, and his hums filled the space alongside the birds’ song.

He touched his thumb to each finger, over and over and over. That’s another sign of delight and joy.

We don’t know why he suddenly stopped being afraid of birds.

And we don’t know why he is terrified of school.

Last month, David Seymour announced a $140 million school attendance service to tackle what he calls truancy. In the last Budget, $123 million was earmarked for the delivery of a new attendance service, and almost $17 million was allocated to frontline attendance services.

Seymour has said he would like to see parents prosecuted if their child does not regularly attend school: “Prosecution is a reality for parents who refuse to send their children to school and ignore supports to ensure their children are in class and learning.”

As the parent of a child who cannot currently attend school, I find the idea that supports are available almost laughable. Don’t get me wrong, my child’s school is amazing. But there is only so much they can do without funding.

It’s unlikely that Ongoing Resourcing Scheme (ORS) funding will be made more accessible to neurodivergent and disabled children. It’s estimated that nearly a third of applications for disabled children are declined. It’s really hard to get fresh numbers but it’s estimated to only be available to about 1% or 2% of learners - and some children get just an hour a week.

Last year, the Ministry said it would standardise the number of teacher aide hours allocated to each child supported by ORS. Currently, children assessed as ‘High ORS’ may receive just 13 hours a week. Those assessed as ‘Very High ORS’ may receive 20.

Autistic children in Aotearoa are almost three times more likely to be stood down or suspended from school than non-autistic children. Research shows that autistic students who receive ongoing high-needs funding are no more likely to be stood down or suspended than their peers.

Yet, most autistic children in Aotearoa receive no teacher aide or specialist support at all. This is not a new issue. The previous government also failed to provide adequate support for disabled children in schools.

The difference now, I suppose, is that the current government seems to care about attendance only insofar as they can punish parents - with fines, prosecution, or shame.

Rather than supporting the Ministry to bolster Special Needs Education Coordinators in schools, they’ve cut hundreds of jobs. Rather than increase the number of teacher aides to support our tamariki, they’ve taken from their future earnings instead.

Rather than provide a teacher aide for every classroom, the government continues to support a model where schools must top up teacher aide salaries through their operational budgets. In the fine print of the last Budget, the government noted a “structural change to the [ORS] funding model” but clarified it only applies to those “verified for ORS funding.” No change to who qualifies, nor how many children can access it.

To give an idea of how high the bar is to access ORS funding: in the last fortnight alone, I’ve spoken to at least five parents of children with complex intellectual and neurodevelopmental disabilities and mobility challenges. None of these children qualify for ORS.

When your child’s needs are too high for a mainstream school, but not high enough for a specialist or health school, you are lost in the system.

When your child physically shakes at the thought of school…
When your child screams at the sight of a classroom…
When your child is a runner and the school isn’t fenced…
When your child cannot use their words to explain their fear…
When your child hurts themselves to get out of school…
When your child leaves school and crosses main roads alone to avoid class…
When you’re called every day to pick up your child because they’re so upset…

You are lost in the system.

These are not hypotheticals. These are the real stories shared with me by parents of disabled tamariki, all ten-years-old and under.

If this government were serious about addressing what they call “truancy,” they would be working to understand school avoidance and the very real impacts of a lack of support in schools.

School avoidance (also known as school refusal or school-based anxiety) is a complex issue. There is no one-size-fits-all solution, because our kids are not all the same. But overwhelmingly, the advice from psychologists and specialists is not to force a child into school.

Jayne Demsky, founder of the School Avoidance Alliance, says:

“School refusal is a message, not a misbehaviour. It signals that something isn’t right in the school experience for your child. Whether it’s anxiety, sensory overwhelm, a learning difference, or an unmet need, your job isn’t to ‘force attendance’ - it’s to create the safety and trust they need to return.”

With that in mind, my only hope is for more support for children and more compassion for parents.

Behind closed doors and in school halls, parents are hurting.

Amy, a parent I spoke to, describes school avoidance like this:

“Every day would start with me trying to get conditions perfect so I could get my son to school. I felt like I was walking on eggshells while holding a hand grenade, without having slept for a week. If I could manage to get him — one, out of bed; two, clothes on; three, fed and into the car — I would often end up with a screaming child in the school car park.”

“Every day felt like I had fought a massive battle before 9am, and my nervous system was absolutely wrecked.”

Amy’s child is now back at school — but she says she’s still healing from that time.

“I still feel guilty about it. I feel guilty about everything to do with school,” she says.
“I just felt so unsupported, alone, and traumatised, to be honest.”

On the plans for my son’s return to school, I’ve included images of lovebirds.

I understand why, in the face of an imagined apocalypse, he’d want to be with the lovebirds. They are birds that cannot be alone. In French and Spanish, he tells me, they’re called Inseparables.

When your neurotype means the world feels overwhelming most of the time, it makes perfect sense to identify with a bird that needs another to survive.

I think of lovebirds to guide me when I don’t know what to do as a parent.

I don’t know why my child suddenly won’t go to school.

But I do know that isolation won’t help. No fine, prison sentence, shaming, or stern lecture will fix this.

So we will keep trying. And we will hope that those who don’t understand are simply grateful they don’t. And that those who do are given support - not punishment.