Why are so many parents choosing to home educate their children?

This year, more home-educated young people have come to me than ever before. Not just one or two. An influx. And almost every time I speak to a parent, I hear some version of the same sentence: “School just wasn’t working anymore.” As both a teacher and a parent, that sentence stops me in my tracks, because it carries far more than curriculum concerns or timetable issues. It carries fear. Exhaustion. Guilt. Protection. And often, grief for the school experience families hoped their child would have. Home education is no longer a fringe choice. Something is shifting. So rather than debating whether home education is “good” or “bad”, I believe the more important question is this: Why are so many parents feeling they have no option but to step away from mainstream schooling? The strongest common thread I am seeing is social anxiety. Not shyness. Not the occasional wobble. Young people who feel physically sick about school. Who cannot face corridors, crowds, constant noise, relentless social exposure, judgement, comparison, and pressure. Students who are academically capable, often bright, but emotionally overwhelmed. For some, this anxiety has grown from bullying. For others, from the disruption of Covid. For many, it seems to have crept in quietly and then taken hold. What is striking is how many of these children didn’t “misbehave”. They didn’t shout. They didn’t disrupt. They withdrew. They masked. They coped. They got through the day and fell apart at home. By the time families arrive at home education, they are rarely making a casual lifestyle choice. They are responding to distress, and we need to be honest about that. Schools are under enormous pressure. Targets. Data. Inspections. Results. Attendance figures. I understand this. I work within the system. But when a child is deeply anxious or emotionally unwell, rigid systems can begin to feel brutal. I speak to parents who have been fined while waiting for mental health support. Threatened with prosecution while their child cannot get out of bed. Told that support can only happen if the child is physically in the building, even when the building is the source of the distress. From a teacher’s perspective, this is heartbreaking. From a parent’s perspective, it is unbearable. At that point, many families stop asking, “How do we get them back into school?” And start asking, “How do I protect my child?” For many, home education becomes an act of safeguarding. Some of the young people I work with have been formally excluded or off-rolled. But many have not. They are the ones who attend sporadically. Who sit quietly at the back. Who remain on the register but slowly disappear from the experience of learning. They do not meet the threshold for specialist provision. They are not disruptive enough to trigger urgent intervention. They are simply lost. Mainstream education is built around the middle. And when a child does not sit comfortably in that middle, socially, emotionally, or psychologically, school can become a profoundly lonely place. For some families, home education is not about rejecting school. It is about finally being seen. This is the uncomfortable part. A growing number of parents are not only frustrated with individual schools. They are losing faith in the system’s ability to meet their child’s needs. Long waits. Limited flexibility. A sense that their child is a problem to be managed rather than a person to be understood. I regularly hear parents say: “No one was really listening”, “Everything was about policies, not my child”, and “I knew them better than anyone, but I felt powerless.” Home education is often portrayed as brave or bold. In reality, it is frequently what happens when trust breaks down. There is also something deeper happening. Some parents are no longer convinced that a one-size-fits-all, exam-driven, performance-heavy model of education is what their child needs. They are looking for flexibility. Slower mornings. Real-world learning. Time to recover emotionally. Space to rebuild confidence before chasing grades. They are not lowering expectations. They are redefining success. And that challenges us. I am not anti-school. I am a teacher. I believe in education. I believe in skilled educators. I believe schools change lives. But I also believe we have to pay attention to what families are telling us with their feet. Children do not opt out of school lightly. Parents do not take on home education casually. This rise is not about trend. It is about unmet need. As a teacher, I believe we must ask whether our systems are still flexible enough to serve the children within them, not the other way around. As a parent, I know that if my child was in daily distress, no attendance figure on earth would come before their wellbeing. The growth of home education is not a threat to schools. It is feedback. It tells us that social anxiety, emotional safety, belonging, flexibility, and mental health can no longer be side conversations. They are central. If we are serious about inclusion, we must include the children who are quietly disappearing. And if we are serious about evolution, we must be brave enough to question what no longer works. Education does not need defending at all costs. It needs listening to, reshaping, and humanising. Because when education evolves, more children get to stay. If you are a parent navigating home education, school refusal, or social anxiety, you are not alone. If you are an educator noticing the same shift, your observations matter. I would genuinely love to hear your experiences. These conversations are where understanding grows and where meaningful change begins.