School Can't

If dragging a crying child into school is “normal,” but keeping them home for mental health is “neglect”… the education system is broken.

There’s a phrase I’ve found myself repeating over and over since we started this journey: School can’t. It took me a long time to say it out loud. Even longer to accept it. Because for so long, we believed school could, or at least that it should.

School should be a place where kids learn, grow, and develop the skills they need to thrive. It should accommodate different learning needs, support neurodivergent students, and create an environment where every child feels safe, included, and valued.

But for some kids, our kids, school can’t.

School Can’t Meet Every Child’s Needs

For neurodivergent kids like Chalk & Cheese, school isn’t just a place of learning. It’s a battlefield of sensory overload, social exhaustion, and expectations they simply can’t meet in the way the system demands. The one-size-fits-all model assumes kids learn the same way, at the same pace, with the same set of expectations.

The reality? School isn’t built for kids who think outside the box, it’s built to keep them in one.

We tried. We pushed for adjustments. We explained, advocated, begged for flexibility. And yet, over and over again, we hit the same wall: school simply isn’t designed to accommodate kids who don’t fit neatly into its structure.

School Can’t See Beyond Behaviour

Behaviour is communication. Parents of neurodivergent kids live this truth every day. But in a classroom setting, behaviour is too often seen as disruption rather than a message. Schools focus on what they can see, the output, the “challenging” behaviour, without recognising the nervous system behind it, driving the response.

A dysregulated nervous system isn’t a choice. It’s fight, flight, freeze, or—if you’ve got a PDA kid—probably full-scale rebellion. When a child is overwhelmed, anxious, or in meltdown mode, their behaviour reflects that internal struggle. But instead of asking why a child is shutting down, schools default to discipline, compliance strategies, behaviour charts, or (our personal favourite) “reflections” (which means missing out on critical lunch break movement time to sit in a classroom and "think about" their behaviour, because apparently, more sitting and compliance fixes everything).

This isn’t about the occasional bad morning. This is weeks and months of daily meltdowns, of gut-wrenching sobbing, panic attacks before breakfast, and sheer exhaustion before the day has even begun.

I know of teachers and principals physically removing a child from their parent and drag them onto school grounds. If that happened at a workplace, HR would have a field day. But somehow, in the name of education, this is considered normal.

Some days, the resistance to school was so strong that there was no way it was happening,  eventually I had to give up work. Cheese would strip naked and hide under the bed, making it physically impossible to leave the house. It was never about won’t go, it was about can’t go. And yet, the expectation remained the same: just get them there.

Once we started homeschooling, it took about six months for Cheese’s nervous system to recover. Six months. And then, slowly, the sun came out again. We got our happy, hilarious child back, full of joy and curiosity, a stark reminder of just how much damage had been done.

School Can’t Prioritise Mental Health Over Attendance

We were told that education was the priority. That attendance was critical. That missing school, even when it was actively destroying our child’s mental health, was unacceptable.

We were told anxiety wasn’t a reason to stay home. That avoiding school would make it worse. That if we just forced them to go, they’d “adjust.”

But we saw the truth. We saw the tears, the sleepless nights, the stomach aches, the panic attacks. We saw our children disappear under the weight of expectation, and we realised: mental health is more important than attendance.

And yet, instead of support, students are rewarded for attendance with certificates, pizza parties, and prizes. Meanwhile, those who physically cannot attend school due to their mental health or disability are excluded.

Is this not discrimination?

Instead of making attendance a competition, we should be asking why some children can’t attend in the first place. If adults can take mental health days, why are children forced to push through until they break?

That’s why School Can’t Australia exists, because no parent should have to fight this battle alone.

Need support? Join School Can’t Australia, a volunteer-run charity helping parents and carers of children experiencing school attendance difficulties and mental health challenges.

🔗 www.schoolcantaustralia.com.au

💬 Join the Facebook support group: School Can’t Australia

🎙️ Listen to their podcast: The School Can’t Experience Podcast

As a registered charity, School Can’t Australia relies on donations to keep supporting families. Every contribution helps cover running costs, build resources, and expand services. Donations over $2 are tax-deductible.

💙 If this resonates with you, consider making a donation via their website to ensure families facing these challenges have the support they need.

School Can’t Be Held to a Different Standard

Imagine if the situation were reversed. If a child repeatedly melted down, sobbing and refusing to go home instead of school. If they fought against leaving the classroom, screaming that they couldn’t go back. What would happen?

The police would be called.

Child protection services would be involved.

Welfare checks would be put in place.

So why isn’t anyone looking at schools through the same lens?

If a school environment is so distressing that a child is breaking down every morning, that should raise serious concerns.

The term school refusal places the burden on the child, but the reality is the system is failing them. Schools are expected to be safe spaces, yet when they cause significant distress, there is no accountability.

School Can’t Stop Us from Finding What Works

Leaving school wasn’t an easy decision. It wasn’t something we took lightly. But as soon as we let go of the idea that school had to work, we started finding things that did.

Interest-led learning: When we stopped trying to force a rigid curriculum, we saw our kids engage in deep, meaningful learning, on their own terms.

Flexibility: Learning happens in bursts, in movement, in play. It doesn’t have to be confined to a desk or a timetable.

Mental health first: A child who feels safe, respected, and supported will learn. Maybe not in the way school expects, but in the way that actually works for them.

We stopped trying to make school fit our child and instead focused on what our child needed. And in that space, we found something that school never could: an education built around the child, not the system.

School Can’t Make Us Forget the Hardest Part

Saying school can’t feels like admitting defeat. It feels like giving up. But it’s not.

It’s choosing to see reality for what it is instead of forcing something that doesn’t work. Because when school can’t, we have to find another way. And we did.

And if you’re reading this, maybe you’re starting to realise, you can too.

Thanks for reading.

I’m not here with all the answers, just sharing the mess as we figure it out.

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