People sometimes assume we're the kind of family that always knew we'd homeschool — that we emerged from our wedding fully formed, with a chore chart and a curriculum binder. The truth is much less impressive: it took us two years of praying, researching, gently arguing, and second-guessing before we pulled the trigger. Two years.
If you're a family somewhere inside that same long conversation right now, this post is for you. Not to push you — to keep you company.
How it started
It didn't start with a crisis. It started with small things that didn't sit right, stacking up one at a time: the things our kids were absorbing that we hadn't taught them and didn't believe; the realization that we got the tired end of our children's day, every day; the growing sense that the values forming our kids for thirty hours a week weren't ours, and in some cases were aimed against ours.
One of us was ready almost immediately. The other — and we'll protect the guilty party's identity — needed the full two years. That's not a flaw in the story. That is the story.
The fears, in order of loudness
- "Are we even qualified?" Neither of us is a teacher. We both carry the scars of our own broken childhoods, and the voice that says who do you think you are? knows exactly where to aim.
- "What about socialization?" You will hear this question approximately four hundred times, mostly from relatives. We worried about it sincerely.
- "Can we afford it?" Homeschooling usually means a parent home and an income trimmed. With a growing family, that math is real and it's scary.
- "What if we ruin them?" The big one. The one underneath all the others.
What we actually did for two years
Looking back, the deliberation wasn't wasted time. It was preparation we didn't know we were doing:
- We talked to real homeschooling families — not influencers, actual families in our area. We asked the rude questions: hardest day? biggest regret? would you go back? Nobody said they'd go back. That landed.
- We learned the actual rules. Homeschooling is legal in every province, and in Ontario the process is far simpler than we'd feared. (Look up your own province's current requirements — it's usually a letter, not a battle.)
- We ran a summer trial. Six weeks of "school at home" in July and August. It was messy and loud and one notebook was sacrificed to a water bottle. It also worked, and we caught a glimpse of something we hadn't expected: our kids liked learning next to each other.
- We prayed. A lot. Less "God, give us a sign" and more "God, change whichever one of us is wrong." Dangerous prayer. Highly recommended.
What tipped it
In the end it wasn't one dramatic moment. It was a quiet reframe. For two years we'd been asking, "What if we homeschool and it goes wrong?" — and one evening at the kitchen table the question flipped: "What if we don't, and that goes wrong?" We realized we'd been demanding a guarantee from one path while giving the other a free pass. Neither path comes with a guarantee. Only one came with our whole hearts.
So we wrote the letter, took the leap — and we've never looked back.
An honest word about year one
We will not insult you with a highlight reel. Some days end in worship and wonder. Some days end with a parent hiding in the laundry room doing breathing exercises over a math page. Both are normal. Both are part of it. The home we promised each other — full of laughter, joy, and biblical truth — gets built on both kinds of days.
If you're still in the deliberation
Here's the only advice we feel qualified to give, as the family that took two whole years: you don't need to feel ready; you need to be willing. The love that made you ask the question in the first place is the core qualification. Everything else — curriculum, rhythm, confidence — gets learned on the job, same as parenting itself.
And whichever way your family lands: the conversations that matter most don't happen in any classroom. They happen at your table. That part is yours either way — and it's the part we build Freedom Kids for.
— Alex & Marisol