It’s like a disease. It permeates the being. It undermines everything. It steals precious joy.

The culprit:

Feelings of inadequacy.

It’s the curse of the conscientious homeschool parent.

The voices are inside our heads.

Maybe I can’t do this. Maybe someone else could do better. Maybe I’m just not good enough.

The voices bombard us from all sides.

What makes you think you’re qualified to teach your own children?

Legislators claim the government is where our children belong.

You can’t teach your own children. They’re ours to educate.

Family members worry aloud about the children’s social skills.

What about socialization? Wouldn’t they be better off somewhere else? That one is awfully shy; maybe if she were in school…

Church members wonder about the life experiences our children will miss.

What about sports? What about homecoming? What about debate team? What about graduation? What about prom?

Parents of our children’s peers point out the negatives of our choices.

Your children don’t have the advantages school children do. And what about your life? You can’t possibly get everything done. You get no time to yourself. You have to be everything for everybody. You’ve lost your individuality. You never get a break.

Strangers question our ability as teachers, test-givers, principals.

What about upper level math? What about science? What about high school? How can you teach them when you’re not a real teacher?

Concerned specialists question our choices, as if we’re children playing a game.

How long are you going to continue with this? How do you know you’re doing it right?

Friends acknowledge our strengths, but unintentionally add fuel to the burning flames of inadequacy.

Aren’t you afraid that you’ll miss something, that your children will fall behind, that you can’t handle math, that they won’t get into college, that they won’t know how to behave in public, that you aren’t good enough, that they aren’t good enough?

Rest assured, people, that there is nothing you can ask, say, question, contemplate, point out, acknowledge, or debate that has not gone through the mind of the conscientious homeschooler. The entire repertoire of “concerned questions” is nothing compared to what the homeschooler contemplates.

What are the possible worldwide ramifications of selecting the wrong math program? What is the likelihood of premature armageddon ensuing from introducing grammar too early? An exaggeration? Only slight.

Consider this:

Homeschool parents must, by the very nature of the choice to not follow the traditional path, put more consideration, self-evaluation, and research into every aspect of the child’s day than the average questioner is even aware exists, and this before they even begin homeschooling.

Most questioners do not intend to be hurtful. Most are merely curious. A few are nasty or dealing with their own sense of inferiority. Some are genuinely concerned that perhaps there are one or two issues the parent has not yet drug through the wringer of over-analysis in the sleepless hours when panic has replaced the godly trust that usually serves as guide.

If you really want to help, try this:

Smile.

Enourage.

Smile again.

Offer to help without masking an attack.

Smile more.

Stop talking.

If you absolutely must present a concern, be absolutely certain you have earned the right to offer objective criticism. How do you earn such a right? By being a constant encourager–not an empty flatterer, not a set of vacant ears, not an interrogator with an ulterior motive, not even a concerned family member, but a legitimately interested and honest encourager. If you are legitimate, interested, honest, and encouraging, most homeschoolers (our clan included) would welcome any question you might ask, and they would even be willing to listen to your concerns.

Conscientious homeschool parents do not need to be attacked, questioned, debated, or taken down a few notches. They need encouragment. Notice the period. My children would call this a declarative sentence or statement. I call it a simple truth.

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