When the education secretary, Bridget Phillipson, vowed last week to get “tough” on persistent school absenteeism, you might have expected someone like me – a former teacher, a mother of five and a firm believer in education – to applaud. There is plenty to welcome in Phillipson’s announcement: she has pledged to support parents and help children get back into the classroom. But when this approach doesn’t work, she is prepared to get “tough” – implying that the parents of persistently absent children need to be punished.
Some 21% of pupils in England are now labelled as “persistent absentees” – meaning they miss 10% or more of school time each year. Plenty of evidence suggests that these absences have a devastating impact on a pupil’s future: a report last year by the Children’s Commissioner for England revealed that only 36% of pupils who were persistently absent passed five or more GCSEs, compared with 78% of regular attenders. There are undoubtedly parents who need a little more stick and less carrot when it comes to ensuring their children are in school, and one approach has been to fine parents (currently, schools in England can issue a fine when children miss five days of school within a year for unauthorised reasons).
But to really tackle the problem we need to understand the myriad situations that lead to repeated absence in the first place. Years ago, when I was a teacher in the UK and not yet a parent, I couldn’t understand persistent absence, unless a child had a significant medical reason. As far as I was concerned, parents simply had to “make” their children attend school. Then in 2022, my eldest daughter developed school-focused anxiety. We cajoled her, reasoned with her and explained to her the importance of consistent attendance. But it got to the point where she simply felt she couldn’t go in.
Have you ever been faced with a near-teen who refuses to do something, despite all of your reasoned arguments and exasperated threats? I soon realised that, short of using physical force, there was little I could do to compel her. Plus, I knew that whatever she was going through had to be untenable for her to break the rules in this way. I believe in the education system – but I believe in my daughter more.
It’s hard to pinpoint what triggered her extreme reaction, but we’ve narrowed it down to a falling out with friends that led to her being ostracised. Over time, she withdrew from her peers and became completely isolated. She kept things to herself, and we had no idea any of it was happening until her anxiety grew unbearable.
At the time we were living in France, where at 12 she was in cinquième, or year 8. At first, action seemed swift. Her généraliste (GP) referred her to the local hospital and the school agreed to reduce her timetable for a short period when she returned a week later. However, the school did little to support her emotionally. “I can’t make friends for her,” was the response I received from a head of year. Her psychiatrist simply shrugged and offered medication. We were told by the school to seek counselling, but the therapist we chose said we should only send her if she wanted to go. She didn’t, so we were left feeling completely abandoned.
As someone who has suffered from extreme anxiety myself in the past, I realise that facing up to a fear is often the best way to conquer it. But in a world where children have been known to take their own lives rather than continue in untenable situations, I felt reluctant to push her too hard. As her parent, I am the person who has to believe in and advocate for her. I want my child to have an education, but not at any cost.
The situation continued for almost two years. Sometimes it felt as if there was light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes that light seemed further away than ever. My daughter managed short spates of attendance before refusing to return. My husband and I were beside ourselves with worry, but nobody seemed able to help us.
A potential solution was offered in early 2023 – a place at a small school unit at a children’s hospital in Limoges, an hour away from our home. But, again, my daughter said she couldn’t do it. “Should I force her to come,” I asked the psychiatrist. He shrugged and held out his hands in a gesture of uncertainty.
Over time, my own self-esteem plummeted. I felt at a loss, incapable of helping my own child. Worried that I was doing the wrong thing. Worried, too, about how I might be perceived by teachers and other parents. The last thing I needed was for anyone to get “tough”. Eventually, on our third try, we found a therapist who seemed to be able to break down my daughter’s barriers a little. “School is a detail,” he told me. “It’s not important right now.” But not everyone shared his view.
In the end it took a combination of a little therapy, a lot of time, and moving schools (as part of moving countries) to help her find her feet again. Six months after the move, I still feel nervous that she might start to find things difficult again. Occasionally she still needs a day off as a result of feeling overwhelmed, and though Phillipson has scorned the idea of children missing school because they don’t feel like it, I feel that in our case it’s more than justified.
I didn’t enjoy my own time at secondary school (though it never occurred to me that I could say no to going). I felt vulnerable, and that I didn’t fit in. I was constantly on my guard against other, tougher pupils. I still remember walking to the bus stop each day, forcing each foot in front of the other, singing Hold On by Wilson Phillips quietly under my breath and wondering what I would do if things got any worse. I’m more resilient for having got through it. But I don’t want my child to spend years of her life just “getting through” it. Kids are entitled to an education, but they’re also entitled to a childhood and – dare I say – to happiness.
Parents of children who are absent because they are anxious about school or feel vulnerable there need support, patience and understanding. There needs to be a structure in place to identify and eliminate barriers to learning, and to help children feel more confident and comfortable at school. Phillipson’s focus in the majority of cases should not be on apportioning blame, but on finding ways to ensure that all children feel capable of getting through the day.
Don’t get me wrong. I do believe that schools are, ordinarily, the best places for children. They can’t be wrapped in cotton wool or isolated from their peers. Schools, too, give them opportunities they would miss out on elsewhere – and Phillipson is right to recognise the problems caused by persistent absence. But when a child is anxious and afraid, and a parent is at her wits’ end, being subject to tough sanctions is only going to make things worse.
Gillian Harvey is a freelance writer and the author of The Riviera House Swap
