It’s been four days since I said a sad farewell to my full-time job and went back to my other full-time job of stay at home parent.

My brain’s been racing like a pen full of puppies since I handed over my work laptop, wondering how it was going to keep itself occupied. Should I start another novel, decorate the bathroom, take a video-editing course, or investigate part time jobs to help pay the mortgage? All while traipsing around after the teenage daughter with a shopping basket and a credit card for retail therapy (in the true meaning of the word therapy).

Today was the first day without the children home, as they were both off poorly last week, and I did none of the things. I made a bunch of medical appointments, did three loads of laundry, changed some beds, put up the Christmas lights, and took a nap.

There’s a lot of sleep to catch up on. I haven’t been burning the candles at both ends so much as chucking them wholesale on the fire for the last few months.

And then, as I left for the afternoon school run, I got the text message that I’ve been waiting for and dreading. I’ve known it was coming since my daughter was about five years old. ‘Mum, can we talk about homeschooling?’

In the car on the way home, I could see we’d reached that point. I spent Sunday decorating the Christmas tree with my happy, funny, rude, outrageous, motivated teenage daughter. Sitting next to me in the car, after six hours at school, was a zombie. 

However, we’ve been in dialogue with school for years and so far not made much progress. We’ve managed to drop one subject, but it’s been made clear that there is no more room for manoeuvre, as the government believes the only place for a child to be is in school.

Honestly, I don’t disagree, if only school were a safe place. My daughter has ADHD. She needs distraction, she loves learning, and she likes to be around people. 

But school is just too much right now. 

Too much sensory input for her overwhelmed ND brain, too many arbitrary rules for her autistic mind, too unfair and too harsh for her endless empathy, and way too much expectation for her anxiety and RSD.

And now I know how I will keep my brain busy. I will be her advocate, just as my manager was for me at work, helping me negotiate and survive all those same things. I learned so much from them and wouldn’t have lasted a month in the role without them. Now I get to pay it forward.

I will try to become a warrior, an expert in educational policy and government rules. I will fight for support, and I will do what I need to do to ensure that my child thrives rather than survives her remaining teenage years.

And so this evening, I have been printing off statutory guidance and school policies and advice and researching where we go from here. I’ve chased up her EHCP and the next ASD assessment. I’ve reassured her I’ve got her back.

And the shiny new laptop I just bought so I can continue to learn graphic design and video editing? Well, I’m sure my teenage son will find a use for it.