Why We Left Public Education

Grandmom with my three littles Dallas, TX 2014

When my children were 1, 2, and 3, my husband was frequently away due to military travel. Then, we got the news—we would be moving back home for a few years while he attended school to become an officer in the Navy. I was burnt out as a mother, watching other families enroll their little ones in preschool, and I found myself wondering if that was the right choice for us.

I had been raised in Montessori education, but when I saw the tuition costs, I quickly lowered my standards. Unsure of what to do next, I called my grandmother for advice.

“I used to encourage families to start their children in educational facilities early,” she told me. “It helped them get the kinks out—learning to walk in a line, use the toilet independently, that sort of thing—before academics became the focus. But now that preschool has become the norm, I see something missing in children today: sibling bonds, intuitive parental connections, and a natural respect for those around them.”

“You mean… you don’t recommend preschool?” My exhausted heart sank.

“I’ve changed my view over time,” she admitted. “And I no longer believe it’s the best choice—if, in fact, you have a choice.” Then, after a pause, she continued, “But I have an offer for you. I felt the Lord nudging me to do this, and I slept on it and prayed more, because it’s a lot of work.”

I held my breath.

“If it’s alright with you and Tucker, I’d like to come to your house two days a week from 9 to 12 and school your three precious children for you.”

My heart nearly burst. My grandmother had founded and run a private Montessori school for over 30 years. She had started in her garage when her children were young and was widely regarded as one of the most gifted educators anyone had ever known. And now, she was offering to pour all of that into my children—for free. All she asked for was a dedicated schooling space, set up like a Montessori classroom.

For the next three years, I had the rare privilege of learning from her as she molded my toddlers into confident, inquisitive readers, creators, and thinkers. During their recess, we would sit on the porch swing, watching them play, and talk about their future in public education.

My grandmother had always been a strong advocate for public schooling. After retiring from her Montessori school, she spent years substituting and volunteering in local elementaries. She was vocal about her concerns with homeschooling, and I deeply respected her perspective. But as I watched her guide my children—setting them free in their own learning journeys while equipping them with structure and independence—I found myself longing to continue what she had started.

Still, I wrestled with the thought that choosing to homeschool would dishonor everything for which she had worked.

I cried the entire first week my oldest started kindergarten. I had held her back a year—despite her reading at a second-grade level—because I wanted more time with her and to nurture the sibling bonds that were blossoming (I used her June birthday as an excuse). But that first week felt like the government had stolen my child.

I volunteered in her classroom as much as possible and was incredibly impressed by her teacher and the specialized programs that benefited her and her classmates. I wanted to homeschool one day, but instead, I threw myself into supporting our local schools. When we moved to San Diego, I became an Education Specialist at our neighborhood elementary school. The role required me to go back to school for a second teaching credential, and I spent nearly two years completing my coursework and paying tuition.

Then came a conversation that changed everything.

Two women from my church—one pregnant, the other with newborn twins—sat across from me as we talked about education. I spent an hour passionately defending public schools while they gently but firmly shared why they believed children should be homeschooled, if at all possible.

I left that conversation and sat in my car in the dark, closing the door behind me. Then, suddenly, I felt it—warmth flooding over me.

For four years, I had asked—sometimes half-heartedly—to homeschool. And now, I had my answer. I bawled. “Why now?!” I shouted through my tears. “Why after I finished my degree, gained all this experience, and invested so much into this path?”

It was March 2019.

At home, my husband listened thoughtfully and carefully came on board. We sat down together, and I wrote a list of why we would leave the public school system:

• Student-teacher ratios were overwhelming.

• Our schedule was too tight to enjoy San Diego.

• We wanted to foster children, and I needed to be home for that.

• I was constantly supplementing my kids’ education anyway.

• Schools taught about figures like Gandhi while never mentioning Jesus.

• Disaster relief and advocacy efforts often prioritized animals over humans.

• One child consistently drew pictures with LGBTQ+ slogans—something they didn’t fully understand at their age.

• Another cried over organic food, convinced we would “get really sick and die” without it—at seven years old.

• Feminist messaging was so prevalent that one child bristled whenever a man, rather than a woman, was the hero.

• Another refused dinner, asking, “Is this chicken from a conventional farm?”

Losing a second income was a challenge, and some extended family members were slow to accept our decision. But in August 2019, the same week we officially started homeschooling, we welcomed two toddlers into our home via foster care. I suddenly had children ages 1, 2, 5, 6, and 8.

My grandmother passed away a year ago. And just as her perspective on preschool had shifted, I’m grateful to say that over time, so did her view on homeschooling.

She was the absolute best, and so much of the way our family runs today is because of her.

Wondering if Homeschooling Might Be the Right Next Step?

You don’t have to have every detail in place. Maybe just start by praying for wisdom and courage to walk in the path God has already prepared for your family. The goal isn’t to chase perfection—it’s to faithfully steward the calling He’s entrusted to you.