Last week, one of my students told me that he had made the difficult decision to attend another school. Not because he didn’t love his time at Hedge; in fact, the previous three years from 8th-11th had been transformative. And, it was due to this transformation to a more self-assured, confident, and engaged being, that he wanted to try a new challenge: a larger environment with different elective course offerings than we have.
This was a hard conversation to have.
I took in everything he told me and took a few deep breaths. I felt sad to see him leave before graduation. I struggled internally with how to react externally. Here it was - a true challenge to my ethos.
What is this student’s need? How can I act in a way that honors the student? How do I move through my own sadness to an act of celebration for this student making a decision for himself and coming to me directly, one-on-one, without his parents?
Mom and Dad were aware of his decision, but he wanted to face this himself. That bravery and choice is a massive indication of maturity and growth on his part.
I am the founder of a micro school centered on consent-based learning. The student is challenged to take intentional steps toward their own education. Our overall curriculum is based in critical thinking, compassion, and creativity: how to teach it, how to learn it, and how to live it out.
One of the beautiful parts of the microschooling movement is the focus on the student and their individual needs. In order to do this well and fully, we often collaborate with other micro schools in our area and nationally. The predominant feeling is that microschools do not compete, they cooperate with each other.
I will admit, when speaking of this warm connection with other microschools and making referrals to them in the past, I have mostly been referring to instances where a prospective student has not yet been part of the Hedge. The conversation usually happens when they are in the process of seeking a school placement.
There have been only a few times in my tenure when a current student is struggling with our model and needs to seek something better suited to their needs. These have not been easy conversations to have, and they were necessary and expected as all other avenues and adjustments within the school had been attempted beforehand. I am aware that some students need more structure and others need even less than we give. And, I know that sometimes those needs change.
So, I took a moment, and told him what a privilege it has been to know and teach him. I asked him, “How would you like for us to relay this to your classmates?” A few students already knew, but the majority did not. He said he did want to be the one to tell them, but he wanted me to be there. I suggested that we could hold a circle where he could make his announcement and we could talk about reactions to the news. He liked that idea, and I set about making a circle to say “farewell for now” to a community member.
Over the next couple of days, we spoke on multiple occasions as he told me about his new school – what he was looking forward to, the teachers and students he had met on his shadow day, and what classes he was interested in. I listened and asked questions.
He asked if I minded him talking about his new place or if it was rude, and I realized that I did not mind. I was a bit sad, for sure, but I enjoyed hearing about his plans. Leaning into my ethos granted me a patience I did not realize I had. I could also recognize that his experience of trust grew as he learned there was room to assert difference, individuation, in a positive manner.
On the day of the farewell circle, we gathered first thing in the morning out on the porch. He told his news to everyone, and we discussed the following questions together:
Students answered with honesty and loving kindness. They told him he would be missed but they hoped he would enjoy his new experience. They shared memories of meeting him for the first time, listening to him get excited over music and video game design, and watching him act in our one-act play for the first time.
They said they would miss him. The community would be different moving forward and would take some adjustment. He shared his worries about getting used to a new environment, missing us, and making sure to visit when he could. This circle was such a beautiful moment for our community, and I think it was helpful to everyone who participated.
Being able to hold the student up even when it is difficult to do so, is what I have found so revolutionary about the Micro Schooling Movement. As educators, we can be radically for the student. Because we know them, because it hurts when they leave, because we have prioritized and built relationships with them –relationships are above grades and “butts in seats.” We can celebrate even when they leave us and because we also work on getting to know the other micro schools in our area, we can know they are going from one embracing community to another.
Please know that internally, I truly struggled. This was not an easy process. When I first heard he was leaving and I had gotten home that evening, I immediately spiraled into anxiety and self-doubt. I thought about all the things that may have pushed him away or made him feel disconnected from the community. I also recognized that this assumption of my own fault or lack was a mental pattern of mine.
The reason I hold an ethos of serving each student to become who they are, as they are, is precisely because I don’t want students to experience the same level of self-doubt I did as a young person–and the familiar old self-doubt I still fight regularly.
As the evening progressed after he first told me his news, I realized that these thoughts were noise to mask the bitter sweet feelings of change.
Instead, I shifted my focus back on the student. It was awesome that he came to me himself; that he still wanted to share what he was excited and worried about with me; that I was a safe place. Believe me, being a safe place is no small thing today. This is also why we, teachers and founders, need a safe place to lean into each other. We, as microschool educators, also need a community of peers to build our strengths and resilience in; to share our pains and our joys.
Collaborating and meeting with other microschool leaders isn’t a chance to “suss out the competition,” but a genuine chance to discover the opportunities out there for our schools and our students.
I’ll speak directly to my peers now: You can help be a guide, give a guiding, supportive voice to other microschool founders about how to also lean into their ethos, their highest values. You can let yourself be known. Don’t be afraid to reach out, build maps, make friends, utilize networking opportunities with the National Microschooling Center to help guide you to those in your area. Other groups can assist your microschooling endeavor with varying approaches towards education, both structure and content. You can find those which align most with your own. You can stretch your limbs, strengthen your roots, and build your woods in community.
When educators and microschools collaborate, we can authentically reassure our students that it’s not rude to seek out their best environments; in fact, it’s a great testament to their strength as people. We can reassure them that it is okay to say goodbye, to be both sad and excited, and to share these emotions with the people in their lives, old and new. I look forward to when I see this student out in the world, at a coffee shop or grocery store and we can catch up about his life. Trusting students and supporting what is good for them, regardless of how difficult it may feel in the moment, is how we actually build lifelong relationships where those students will want to come back to show us what they've done in life.
Dr. Erin Flynn leads the Hedge School Cooperative microschool in Dripping Springs, Texas.