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unschooling and the pandemic

Written 9 June 2020.

When my friend told me she was worried that her daughter would “get behind if she did not go back to school soon”, this got me thinking. While these are very real concerns for parents, who know how fiercely competitive the job market is getting, I started to think what does ‘behind’ mean? Perhaps now, in the midst of the Pandemic, is the time to reassess what education is actually for, and doing. Education should not be about content, that if we miss it, we will get ‘behind’, but should be about exploration, development and growth. These are very personal things, that should not solely be tied to a national curriculum and a keeping up with the peer group, and are not solely experienced within the four walls of the school building.

Since the beginning of Lockdown, when kindergarten closed, now reaching 9 weeks for us, I have witnessed my nearly five year old son grow exponentially, and we have not even opened a text book. We have been juggling full-time home working, temper tantrums, no outdoor space, the draw of screens, parental arguments, Ramadan fasting, elderly parents’ struck down with the virus, and all this involves learning and growth. My son has learned, and is still, learning so much.

He has grown taller, he is has cycled through, and emerged from, various stages of early years development, including the stealing ‘treasures’ from the kitchen stage; playing with knives stage; experiments with blackmail and manipulation stage. Left completely to his own devices, we have discovered he loves: taking apart electronics; music, dance and percussion. He – as I am sure heightened for many of us in the Pandemic Lockdowns – has been struggling with addictions: ‘just one more biscuit’; ‘I’ve got to watch the next programme then I’ll do my chores’; ‘I’ve just got to scroll ten more, then I’ll go to sleep’*.

In todays age, GCSEs should be measuring how clearly you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day; if you can be faithful and trustworthy; if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can live with failure; how well you can sit with pain in the empty moments when all else falls away.**

The best thing you can do is nurture children’s spirit and desire to learn, to want to explore, to find out. The rest will follow. Many more parents are ‘unschooling’ now, which is a deliberately provocative term, but nevertheless useful one. At the centre of this, is allowing children to learn in a self-directed manner. That is giving them freedom to explore, and to support what they want to learn about.

pandemic NHS appreciation rainbow drawn by 4 year old

For more inspiration on critical and alternative approaches to education visit these two projects.

One of which is very resonant with me:

Disco Learning by Lucy Aitken Read is an unschooling course giving parents the courage to unschool.

The other of which I am a founder and governor:

Arbol Madre Holistic School is a Waldorf-inspired school aiming to educate mind, body and soul.

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*Thats me, not my 5 year old. My 5 year old is not scrolling before bed. It’s not that bad. Yet.

**Credits to The Invitation, a poem by Oriah Mountain Dreamer.

I fasted for the month of Ramadan. Here is what it was like.

NB. I wrote this post in 2019, which was my first time fasting Ramadan, and updated it in 2020, after my second time fasting Ramadan. I am now a seasoned pro. (Not.) I still have so much to learn. We all do. Ask me on April 11th how its going now.

My partner is Muslim heritage and since we had a child, has focused more and more on his faith and the practice of Islam. Fasting for Ramadan is an important part of this. For a few years now I had seen him struggle to fast alone, and I knew how important it was to him, so I decided to do it with him. For the past two years we have been staying in Istanbul for Ramadan and we have fasted together. I was curious; I wanted to offer moral support; but also I became aware that you need to change your daily rhythms to succeed, and this is best done as a family.

The rules of Ramadan are that you fast during the day between sunrise and sunset for thirty days. Fasting means nothing shall pass your lips, be it food, drink, cigarettes, gum, toothpaste, during daylight hours. You are also supposed to abstain from sexual relations and try to be as pure as possible in your thoughts and actions. Ultimately, by stripping you, Ramadan is a time for reflection and connection: spiritually, but also tuning in to your relationships with others.

The tradition is to eat a large breakfast (‘Suhour’) before sunrise (at this time in Istanbul this meant before 4am) and then ‘Iftar’ supper came at around 8.30pm, after sunset. We stocked the fridge and freezer with food and prepared some meals the week before, anticipating that it would be hard to shop and cook when you are hungry and feeling weak. We expected to be desperately hungry and tired all the time, and we planned to nap a lot and put off as many commitments as we could. We carried out research and consulted my father-in-law for recommendations on what to eat and when, in order to gain slow release energy during the day, and so you don’t get indigestion when sleeping. Last year we were fortunate, as we were not working at the time. The following year we faced Ramadan in partial lockdown, with remote working to do online, and no childcare. At least we had had a previous practice run…

Here is what it was like:

Physically, tiredness was the hardest thing. When going to bed late; getting up in the night to cook and eat; and then getting up early in the morning with a young child, the tiredness feels a bit like the relentlessly broken-sleep in the early days of having a newborn baby. Without being able to lean on coffee. The following year, under lockdown, I found ways to doze in the morning while my son watched children’s TV and to nap in the afternoon while he played in his room. Last year I took him to nursery and went back to sleep. I am not sure how I would fare if I had to go to work all day and napping was not an option. My hat goes off to those who do.

I woke every morning with a dry mouth. Initially it was unbearable, mainly because I thought it would last all day, but I soon realised it does not last, and everyday, within about half an hour, my mouth felt quite normal. And as long as I didn’t exert too much energy, thirst was kept at bay. I was surprised at how mild thirst goes away if you ignore it. We were fortunate that the weather was not so hot and I did not have a physical job to do.

Interestingly, hunger was the least of my worries. I was surprised how (ensuring I ate lots of protein at suhour) I did not suffer too much from hunger. I was surprised, again, that if I ignored hunger (or did not feed it) it kind of went away. Well it didn’t so much go away, but it didn’t get worse. It was a kind of nagging feeling (the ‘I really should eat something’ feeling), but if you got on with something else, it faded or took a back seat. As days passed, however, hunger seemed to be cumulative and I started to feel empty. More empty. Until it was really quite hard to ignore by sunset.

My partner and I were both quite irritable and short tempered during the day, especially by 8pm in the evening, where an argument would often blow up, and so we tended to stay out of each other’s way. While reflection was definitely on the cards, connection was much harder, and this tended to happen when we came together in the evening after we had broken our fast and could relax a bit more.

Here is what I learnt:

Fasting for Ramadan made me so grateful for simple pleasures. What I craved the most, all day, was a glass of water and some fresh fruit. And then when I ate and drank those things, I was satiated. I became tuned in to the simple pleasures.

I became aware of every morsel of my son’s food that he rejected and I threw away during the day. I looked at it longingly. This made me more grateful for the food we have, and more aware of the waste we create, and it made me aware that I give too much choice and leniency to my son’s eating habits. Basically I became acutely aware of our abundance and excesses, and the ways in which he was subconsciously learning this way of being.

I found I was starkly aware of my addictions. I did not really drink alcohol much any more, and I’d given up smoking, so these obvious addictions were not a problem, but what I refer to are other, more banal, addictions: mine are caffeine, in the form of coffee and Coca Cola; and sugar in the form of sweets and chocolate. During Ramadan, coffee just disappeared out my life because it had no function (I didn’t want one by 9pm at night and I certainly didn’t want one at 4am). Snacks took a back seat as I was so overjoyed by fruit salad. Ramadan helped me to recognise these dependencies: stare them in the face and make choices to change these behaviours.

I was acutely aware of how eating and meals structure your day. When they are missing you feel real loss, regardless of whether you are hungry or thirsty. Mornings are incredibly strange with no coffee, no breakfast and not even a glass of water. In the beginning, as I sat on the bus on the way home from taking my son to nursery school, I felt the emptiness enter as I realised I didn’t have anything particular planned that day. Not only did I have nothing planned, but I was not going to get in and have a cup of tea; I was not going to make myself and my partner breakfast; I was not going to pop out for lunch; I was not going to have my mid-afternoon coffee. It was very strange. It made me panic a little, deep down: ‘I am just going to have nothing all day.’ I thought. ‘That’s it. A long nothing. Just nothing’. I was beginning to wish I had to go to work. At least then, there would be some structure to the day. This then made me aware of the arbitrariness of the routine of work. In the beginning I slept a lot to deal with the emptyness, I think. But perpetually sleeping didn’t really help my mood, because it felt like Groundhog Day: every time I woke it was the same: dry mouth and hunger.

Gradually, the absence of these taken-for-granted routines, of eating and meals, felt quite meditative. I observed the emptiness. I felt safe in the knowledge that thousands of other people out there were doing the same and feeling the same. And that it would be ok.

I was conscious of how my down-mood might be felt by my son who didn’t really understand or notice that mummy and daddy weren’t eating, so I did my best to be brave and in lifted-spirits with him. I felt hyper-aware in this state. Not in a way that felt like I was faking my good spirits, but, strangely, just being aware of my mood, and how it might affect others, improved my mood. I was aware of my mood and producing my mood, rather than it being just something that happens to me. I guess this gave me a glimpse of what it means to be in the moment. Something that I am usually not at all good at.

When we went out and interacted with others on the bus, on the street, in the shops, my partner and I talked about how it felt like you could tell who else was fasting as well (and who was not): there was a slowness; a consideredness; a meditativeness about those fasting. I can imagine that if you are embedded in an extended family or community, who are all fasting, it can feel quite meditative, communally, and create a real togetherness. We didn’t really have this opportunity last year, as, although we enjoyed visiting my partner’s father regularly, we tended to keep to ourselves. The following year, Ramadan has taken place in lockdown due to the pandemic, so the communal aspects of Ramadan have been woefully absent this year, for everyone in Turkiye. I decided my way through this was to keep busy. Not hectic, but productive. That first day of emptiness, I made lists, planned out meals and hoovered the whole flat, having a nap in the afternoon. This time round, with my son at home all day, I clung to a strict routine for my son’s day so I could hang my routine off that. On reflection, however, I think keeping busy is a distraction tactic. And the aim of Ramadan is to use the time to be more introspective, reflective and, well, spiritual. It must be amazing for those who are able to achieve this.

Here is where I am going with all this:

You’ll notice I have not centred the article on the (now-trendy) health benefits of ‘intermittent fasting,’ because I think that is a bit of a distraction too. I am not trying to sell it to you, this isn’t a marketing exercise. There is no doubt that some kind of fasting routine is good for us physically, particularly in relation to improving our immune system. My partner describes it as an annual ‘reset’ for the body, which, through fasting during the day, is turned upside down, and then righted again, like an hour glass. You can read lots about the health benefits elsewhere.

But the experience taught me is that Ramadan is an annual reset, mentally, too. And, it is this on a societal level. The problems of abundance, excess and addiction, which are all interrelated, and are all abhorrent features of contemporary capitalism, are kept in check by Ramadan. This came across as the most important function, to me. Through the stripping away of daily routines of consumption, you are forced to observe the ways in which you might have more than you need. You are forced to be aware of ways you might have been behaving excessively; the things you absentmindedly possess in abundance; hoarding habits; addictive patterns of behaviour; everyday dependencies; what you are failing to share; whether it is about food, financially, or simply about accumulated ‘stuff’. It is no accident that Ramadan is also the time that you give to charity, and focus your efforts on helping others. The exercise of extreme discipline and self -control that fasting during Ramadan requires, is increasingly lacking in contemporary western society, where immediate gratification reigns supreme. Relationship to food are characterised by constant grazing on snacks; relationships to knowledge characterised by instant access to information; and relationships to entertainment characterised by every programme or series ever made, more or less, at our fingertips. It is a wonder we have any patience or self-control left. In western capitalist societies, the middle-classes at least, have too much in abundance and this largely remains unchecked year on year, as traditional Christian, pagan or historical festivals -Christmas, Easter, Thanks Giving for example – have simply been hi-jacked for commercial gain, and centre around buying, eating, drinking, and consuming yet more. Indeed, Ramadan is not immune to these forces either, as supermarkets and other retail outfits seize the opportunity to market goods to the Muslim consumer and make more money during this time. During Ramadan, those who have, can simply feast and gorge during the evening, after sunset. However it’s much harder to ignore/bury/misinterpret the message of Ramadan, if you truly adhere to its requirements, which, let’s face it, are pretty hardcore. This is definitely a festival that demands a great deal from you. And it is this experience – of sacrifice – that encourages the reflection, change and growth that is so beneficial, on so many levels.

This blog post is dedicated to the people of Gaza who are imprisoned there, and are being starved to death this Ramadan. Free Palestine.

What is Work?

‘You are not working at the moment then?’ I was recently asked. This is probably something that makes most stay-at-home-mums wince, as you are working so hard on a daily basis you literally fall asleep in your dinner. As a couple who are ‘not currently working’ but raising a toddler ‘on the road’, this question prompted a wider discussion between my partner and I about what is work and, perhaps more explicitly, what is work that is valued?

I’ve written a blog post about how it’s almost impossible to be lazy travelling with a toddler in a campervan, as alongside the work that’s involved in travelling (route planning, driving, packing and unpacking), parenting and daily survival tasks take up the entirety of two adults’ time, and we are still knackered at the end of every day.

However, while we feel like we are constantly cleaning and tidying up in the van, we find we interact with the task more, and appreciate the work done because it becomes our daily focus. When you have children it feels like all you are doing most of the time is cleaning and tidying anyway. However, having to fit paid work in around childrearing and these daily survival tasks makes these tasks feel like ‘extra’ chores rather than what we should focus on. When daily survival tasks feel like extra chores we rush them, we cut corners, we eat badly, the environment suffers (‘I haven’t got time to think about it!’) and we feel unsatisfied, harassed, overburdened.

Alternatively we don’t do these daily survival tasks at all: we outsource them. As I did when I worked a fifty hour week. We work so long we have such little time for child-rearing or cooking and cleaning that we subcontract all or some of these tasks to childminders, cleaners and restaurants. We are then unavoidably alienated from these basic survival activities.

189FACA8-3E27-488D-AA71-406C905CC06F With life on the road we have found those daily chores become our life: preparing food, cooking, washing up, sweeping, making beds, airing furnishings, washing the vehicle and vehicle maintenance, washing the baby, hanging out laundry, washing and grooming ourselves when we find campsites with showers. In London I outsourced every single one of these tasks, I even tended to outsource grooming: with routine visits to beauticians for hair cuts, waxing, pedicure, massage.

When daily survival chores are done by us for us, we focus on them, we appreciate them, we take pride in experiencing them and perfecting the skills involved.

This takes me to a wider connected point about parenting. These daily survival activities are not only appreciated more but they are also the daily activities that our son sees us doing, emulates and takes part in. Without even knowing it, he is learning to cook, how to clean, how to clean and dry clothes. Not only is he learning how to do these tasks in a very real way, moreover he is learning that these tasks exist rather than them being hidden, as they are when they are outsourced. Nor is he learning them in a synthesised way that he might do at nursery (using a pretend washing machine or cutting pretend plastic vegetables).

That’s not to mention he is learning the other tasks that are routinely necessary for surviving Van Life such as filling up the water tank, charging the batteries, emptying the grey waste and the toilet. All these tasks connect us to, and remind us of, our water use, energy consumption and our waste in a way that house dwelling, again, alienates. (More on this in another blog piece).

Of course not everyone has the ability to focus on these tasks because not everyone is able to get away from doing paid work. This is not an attempt to say that we are doing a better job of parenting than anyone else. I think what I want to do is draw attention to the way that capitalism devalues these tasks (which are of course of great value and necessity to us) while valorising paid work, which is in the interests of capital.

Feminist writers have drawn widespread attention to the devaluation of domestic work in the home, referred to as the ‘second shift’ (clearly highlighting its secondary place). However feminist ‘answers’ have usually focused on:
a) giving women equal access to the ‘first shift’ of paid work, and
b) attempting to raise the status of domestic work as akin to the importance of paid work
Rather, perhaps, what we should all be doing is challenging the very notion that paid work is a necessary, useful or desirable pursuit for any of us.