They say it takes a village to raise a child. But what if you don't have one?
What if the village was toxic? What if the village let you down? What if you had to walk away from the village to protect your peace, your children, and your sanity and you've never looked back, even when it kills you a little bit every single day?
This one's for those people. This one's for me, too.
My Village Is Five Kids, a Partner, and a Dog Called Bryn
And honestly? Most days, that's enough. It has to be.
Seven years ago I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. I walked away from family, a narcissistic mother, a sister who followed suit, and I chose never to look back. I don't regret it. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt. Because it does. Every single day.
There's a specific kind of grief that nobody really talks about the grief of losing someone who is still alive. The grief of a mother you can't have in your life because having her in it costs you too much. The grief of knowing your children are growing up, thriving, learning at home, and she could have been part of that. She could have had all this time with them now that school no longer dictates our days.
But she can't. Because some doors, once closed, have to stay closed.
That's the empath in me talking, the part that still feels guilty, still mourns, still wonders. But I know. I know why I walked away. And I know I'd do it again.
The Friends Who Drifted
It's not just family either.
Friendships are strange when you home educate. The ones you had before, the school gate friendships, the WhatsApp groups, the coffee catch-ups, they slowly fade. Not because anyone fell out. Just because your worlds are so different now.
Their life revolves around the school run, the term dates, the homework battles, the nativity plays, the cake sales, the birthday parties. Ours doesn't. And after a while, you run out of things to talk about. You drift. And then one day you realise you don't actually have anyone you can just ring for a chat.
I tried. I really did. I downloaded Peanut, the app for mums to find local friends. I gave it a go. It was, to put it kindly, a huge flop. Unsubscribed pretty sharpish. 😂
I tried home ed meets too. A tumbleweed moment. You know the ones, you show up, you smile, you try, and somehow you still end up standing slightly to the side of everything wondering how everyone else seems to slot in so easily. You know the ones, the cliques. They exist at the school gate and somehow they follow you into home ed too. Different setting, same energy. The little groups that are already formed, already closed, and you're stood there wondering if there's a secret handshake you missed."
The truth is, I don't slot in easily. I never have.
I Am Marmite. And I've Made Peace With That.
I describe myself as marmite. You will either love me or hate me and I'd say 90% of the time, people land on hate. Not because I've done anything wrong. Not because I'm unkind or difficult or dramatic.
Just because I exist in a way that seems to irritate people. I go about my day. I voice my opinion when asked. I say no without feeling the need to explain myself. And apparently, for some people, that's enough.
I have BPD, Borderline Personality Disorder and yes, it can make things harder. We do lock people out sometimes. We build walls because the walls have kept us safe before. But here's what I want people to know about BPD: we are some of the most deeply caring, empathetic, feeling people you will ever meet. We feel everything. All of it. All the time.
I'm also a giver. Endlessly. I give my time, my energy, my care and I give it freely, without keeping score. Until one day I look up and realise I've given so much that there's nothing left, and the people I gave it all to have quietly moved on now that the well is dry.
It shows you a lot about people. It really does.
Being Different Is Lonely. But It's Also a Gift.
I see the world differently. I always have. While others consume the news and take it as gospel, I question it. While others scroll past, I sit with things. I watch. I observe. I notice the things people don't say as much as the things they do.
I'm spiritual. I trust my gut, and my gut has never lied to me. I can walk into a room and know within minutes who someone really is. Not what they want me to see. Who they actually are.
That kind of awareness is a gift. But it's also isolating, because not everyone wants to be seen that clearly. And not everyone is comfortable around someone who refuses to just go along with things.
Home educating has taught me so much about myself. About the world. About what really matters and what is just noise. It's stripped things back in the best possible way and what's left is real. My family. My values. My truth.
To Anyone Else Living Without a Village
If you're reading this and nodding along, if you're the one doing it without family support, without a best friend to call, without a village, I just want you to know that you are not alone, even when it feels like you absolutely are.
The loneliness is real. The grief is real. The exhaustion of being the different one, the outsider, the marmite person in every room, that's real too.
But so is the strength it takes to keep going. To keep showing up for your children every single day with no safety net, no backup, no one to hand them to when you're running on empty. That strength is extraordinary. Even if nobody is telling you that.
So I'm telling you. You are doing something remarkable. And you are not as alone as you feel.
Drop a comment below if this resonated with you. I'd genuinely love to hear from you, the real you, not the version you put on for everyone else. This is a safe space. Always. 💛
Sarah, Home Ed Mum Diary
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