"School Refuser” I Really Hate That Term.

It’s September.

New shoes. New uniform. New timetable. Photos by the front door.

And all over social media, smiling children holding boards telling us which year they’re going into.

Lovely.

Except somewhere, in another house, there’s a completely different morning happening.

A teenager is still under the duvet.

Someone has a stomach ache.

Someone is crying in the bathroom.

Someone got dressed and made it as far as the car before completely falling apart.

Someone hasn’t slept because they’ve been thinking about school since 2am.

And somewhere there’s a parent standing in the kitchen, already exhausted, thinking:

What the hell am I supposed to do?

Welcome to September.

First, can we talk about the phrase “school refuser”?

Because I hate it.

I don’t particularly like “school avoidance” either.

And “won’t go to school” can get in the bloody bin with it.

Words matter.

Won’t suggests choice.

Refusing suggests defiance.

Avoiding suggests that if we push hard enough, remove the Xbox, threaten consequences or become stricter, they’ll eventually give in and go.

Yet what if they actually can’t?

That’s a very different conversation.

If a young person was standing outside a burning building saying, “I can’t go in there”, we wouldn’t immediately start discussing their attendance percentage.

We’d want to know what was making the building feel unsafe.

School might not literally be on fire.

Their nervous system may be reacting as though it is.

And that’s the bit I’m interested in.

Not:

“How do we make you go to school?”

More:

“What’s happening for you that makes going to school feel impossible right now?”

That’s where I’d start.

Behaviour is the symptom. The unmet need is the story.

If you’ve read any of my other stuff, you’ll probably have heard me say this before.

Behaviour tells us something.

A teenager screaming at Mum at 7.45am isn’t necessarily a rude teenager who needs firmer boundaries.

A teenager refusing to put their shoes on isn’t necessarily manipulative.

A child complaining of a stomach ache every Monday morning isn’t necessarily “trying it on”.

And the teenager who seems absolutely bloody fine once you’ve finally said they can stay home isn’t proof they were faking it.

Actually, that last one is really important.

Parents sometimes tell me:

“The minute I said they could stay home, they were absolutely fine!”

Of course they were.

The perceived threat disappeared.

Imagine being terrified you’re about to do a parachute jump and someone suddenly says, “You don’t have to do it.”

Your body is probably going to go:

THANK FUCK FOR THAT.

Relief doesn’t prove the fear wasn’t real.

It can show us just how much fear was there.

“They used to love school.”

Yep.

And something may have changed.

Sometimes we can identify exactly what.

Sometimes we can’t.

It might be bullying.

Friendship groups.

A teacher.

Being humiliated in class.

Exam pressure.

Periods.

Body image.

PE changing rooms.

The lunch hall.

Noise.

Crowds.

Getting the bus.

Being asked a question unexpectedly.

Not understanding the work.

Understanding the work and being bored senseless.

Being neurodivergent in an environment designed around neurotypical expectations.

Masking all day.

Sensory overwhelm.

Feeling different.

Being terrified of getting something wrong.

Having nowhere safe to go at break.

Something happening at home.

Grief.

Trauma.

Family breakdown.

Addiction within the family.

Poor sleep.

Low self-esteem.

Or twenty tiny things that individually seem manageable and together have become completely overwhelming.

And sometimes the young person genuinely doesn’t know.

That’s important too.

“I don’t know” is an answer.

We don’t have to interrogate it out of them.

When the body says no before they have the words

Anxiety doesn’t always announce itself politely.

It doesn’t necessarily say:

“Hello Mum, I’m experiencing significant anticipatory anxiety regarding today’s educational environment.”

Wouldn’t that make mornings easier?

Instead it might look like:

“I feel sick.”

“My head hurts.”

“I can’t find my tie.”

“I’m not going.”

“Leave me alone!”

“I fucking hate school.”

Tears.

Anger.

Silence.

A slammed door.

Not getting out of bed.

Not sleeping.

Meltdowns over something that seems ridiculously small.

Complete shutdown.

The body often speaks before a young person has any idea how to explain what they’re feeling.

Their internal smoke alarm has gone off.

And once that alarm is screaming DANGER, reasoning with them about GCSE results, attendance figures and future career prospects probably isn’t going to switch it off.

And then there’s you.

The parent.

Because I think you get forgotten in this conversation too.

You’re watching your child struggle while simultaneously receiving emails about attendance.

You’re worrying about their education.

Their friendships.

Their mental health.

Their future.

You might be trying to get other children ready while negotiating with one child who cannot leave their bedroom.

You might have a job you’re supposed to be at.

Perhaps you’ve already phoned work three times this month.

Maybe you and your partner disagree completely about how to handle it.

One thinks they need compassion.

The other thinks they need a kick up the arse.

Now you’re arguing too.

And underneath all of that can sit the horrible little voice:

Am I making this worse?

Am I being too soft?

Should I force them?

What if they never go back?

What if I’ve completely fucked this up?

You’re probably knackered.

So no, I’m not going to tell you to create a beautiful colour-coded morning routine and practise five minutes of mindful breathing while everybody eats overnight oats.

Real families don’t always work like Instagram.

Let’s look at what might actually help.

Get curious before you get corrective

Rather than starting with:

“Why won’t you go?”

Try:

“Which bit of school feels hardest at the moment?”

That’s a much easier question.

Because “school” is enormous.

We need to shrink it.

Is it getting there?

Walking through the gates?

Registration?

A particular lesson?

Break?

Lunch?

Being seen walking in late?

Certain people?

Noise?

Not knowing where to sit?

Being behind after missing school?

The fear that everyone will ask where they’ve been?

The more specific we become, the more possibility we have.

We aren’t trying to prove to them that school is safe.

We’re trying to understand why they don’t currently experience it as safe.

There’s a difference.

Please don’t turn home into another battleground

This doesn’t mean there are suddenly no boundaries.

It doesn’t mean unlimited gaming until 4am and abandoning education forever.

It means remembering that relationship matters.

If school already feels unsafe and home becomes six hours of arguments about school, where does your young person get to come down?

Connection gives us somewhere to work from.

Sometimes the conversation you desperately want to have won’t happen sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table.

Try the car.

Walk the dog.

Chuck a ball around.

Draw.

Bake something.

Sit side by side rather than face to face.

And sometimes stop talking about school altogether.

Your teenager is still a whole human being outside their attendance.

They need to know that.

Stop trying to eat the whole elephant

If a young person hasn’t managed a full school day for weeks, demanding Monday to Friday, 8.30 until 3.30 can feel enormous.

What’s achievable?

Perhaps it’s driving past school.

Then getting out of the car.

Maybe it’s going in to meet one trusted member of staff when the corridors are quiet.

One lesson.

Two lessons.

A morning.

Maybe they need to arrive differently.

Maybe lunchtime is currently impossible.

Maybe they need somewhere quieter between lessons.

We’re looking for the next achievable step.

Not somebody else’s version of success.

And please involve the young person in this.

Something being done with them feels very different from something being done to them.

Work with school. And ask better questions.

Rather than only discussing attendance, ask what happens while your child is there.

Who do they trust?

Where do they go when overwhelmed?

What happens at break?

Are there sensory issues?

Are they struggling academically?

Are they masking?

Has anyone noticed friendship difficulties?

Is there a particular lesson they’re repeatedly missing?

What happens immediately before they leave school or ask to go home?

Could they have a safe person?

A quieter entrance?

A different arrival time?

Somewhere to decompress?

A phased return?

Reasonable adjustments where appropriate?

We’re not trying to make life completely anxiety-free.

That’s impossible.

We’re trying to make it manageable enough that the young person can begin experiencing:

“I can do this.”

And sometimes we also have to be brave enough to ask:

Is this environment currently able to meet this young person’s needs?

Because not every difficulty lives inside the child.

Sometimes the environment needs to change too.

Regulation first. Conversation second.

If your teenager is having a full panic response at 8am, that’s probably not the moment for a lecture about attendance.

Their thinking brain isn’t particularly interested in your excellent argument.

Help the body first.

Slow things down.

Lower your voice.

Reduce the number of words you’re using.

Give physical space if that’s what they need.

Get outside.

Use cold water.

Move.

Breathe.

Stroke the dog.

Wrap in a blanket.

Sit on the floor.

Put music on.

Different nervous systems regulate differently.

There isn’t one magical grounding technique that works for everybody.

Find their things.

Then, when the alarm has quietened, get curious about what happened.

Please notice the things they ARE doing

When everything becomes about school, children can quickly start believing they’re failing at life.

They’re not.

Notice the shower.

The dog walk.

The artwork.

The conversation with Grandma.

The meal they cooked.

The friend they messaged.

The fact they managed ten minutes in school when last week they couldn’t get out of the car.

Confidence isn’t usually rebuilt through telling someone:

“You need to be more confident.”

It’s built through tiny experiences of:

I did something I didn’t think I could do.

Then another.

Then another.

That’s how we start creating a different story.

And please don’t make school attendance the measure of whether you’re a good parent.

You’re raising a human being, not an attendance statistic.

Of course education matters.

So does mental health.

So does connection.

So does helping a young person understand themselves.

So does learning how to navigate difficult things without believing they’re broken because they’re struggling.

If your child is struggling with school right now, you haven’t necessarily failed.

And neither have they.

Something is happening.

Let’s get curious about what.

Because when we stop asking:

“How do we make this child go to school?”

and start asking:

“What is this young person trying to tell us?”

we might finally find somewhere useful to begin.

A few things to think about over a coffee

What part of school actually seems hardest for your young person?

When are they most regulated and able to talk?

Who feels safest to them at school?

What happens in their body on a school morning?

What are they managing that perhaps isn’t being noticed because attendance has become the focus?

And perhaps the biggest one:

If their behaviour is communication, what might they be trying to communicate?

You don’t have to know the answer immediately.

Sometimes curiosity is the beginning.

When some extra support might help

I work differently with children and young people.

I don’t expect a young person to walk into my therapy room, sit opposite me and immediately start talking about their feelings.

Frankly, plenty of adults don’t want to do that either.

We might walk.

Create something.

Spend time outside.

Meet the animals.

Draw.

Use cards or sand tray.

Talk while doing something completely different.

Or spend some time figuring out what makes their particular brain and nervous system tick.

There isn’t a “right” way to do therapy here.

Because the young person in front of me matters more than the method.

If your child or teenager is struggling with school, anxiety, overwhelm or simply doesn’t seem like themselves at the moment, you’re welcome to get in touch.

We can have a conversation about what’s happening and whether I’m the right person to support them.

And if I’m not, I’ll say so.

I only want someone to work with me if it feels right for them.

stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care

Louise Malyan
Psychotherapist, Counsellor & Supervisor
Wildfire Counselling & Therapy
Brenchley, Kent | Online | Outdoor & Creative Therapy