A Brave Writer’s Life in Brief

We spend a lot of time talking about bravery in Brave Writer. The public icon who is putting courage and vulnerability on the map is Brené Brown. She talks about what it means to “dare greatly.” She often cites Teddy Roosevelt’s “Man in the Arena” quote to remind us that our critics are in the cheap seats. The place of stature is in the act—in the choice to do!

What are some of the questions/judgments/critiques you deal with?

Stuff like:

• How will your child ever be socialized?
• How will you teach advanced math and science in high school?
• How will your child get into college?
• Aren’t you bored staying home all day?
• Homeschoolers are backward thinkers
• Stay-at-home moms don’t have real careers
• You are over-protective
• Homeschooled kids are socially awkward
• What qualifies you to teach your own kids?

Sadly we get criticisms in our own community.

• You aren’t a “true” fill in the blank home educator since you are only doing it partially.
• You’re too religious, not religious enough.
• You have too many kids/you don’t have enough kids.

We scroll through social media and wonder if we are doing it right enough.

The other cheap seats are located in our own minds—the non-stop chatter of self-harm. We often level critiques at ourselves and then feel our courage fail us when we get a good idea or have an inspired thought.

The “Man in the Arena” is Brené’s way of helping us value the act, over the opinion; getting on the playing field, over shouting coaching strategies to the players.

Still, whenever I hear it, I feel the masculinity of Roosevelt’s chosen image of a man in an arena. That’s not where I live. It’s not my playing field. It seems like we homeschool mothers (in particular) have to work pretty hard to translate Roosevelt’s arena language into our more mundane home-grown experience.

The original quote:

“Man in the Arena”
By Theodore Roosevelt

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

A great quote. But my person was stained more by snot, breast milk, and tears than blood and sweat.

And so: I rewrote it. I rewrote it for us—for homeschool mothers. I know some dads are reading along, and I trust you to make the translation from female to male the same way we women translated other quote from male to female for ourselves.

I call this:

“Woman in the Living Room”
By Julie Bogart

It is not the critic who counts—not the father-in-law who teaches high school, nor the friend with her children in private school; not the woman who points out how the homeschool mother stumbles, or where the doer of lesson plans could have done them better. The credit belongs to the woman who is actually in the living room, whose face is untouched by make-up, whose children’s faces are marred by cookie crumbs, scratches from the cat they provoked, and tear stains from a broken heart; who strives valiantly to bring enchantment to academic progress; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the acts of love and learning every day; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions to her family and her vision of education; who spends herself in this worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of a child’s high achievement, and who at the worst, if she fails, at least fails while daring greatly—holding space for the child who struggles, who didn’t catch on yet—and continuing still. Her place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know the joy of learning as a lifestyle nor the terror of not doing enough to meet academic standards.

You are the woman in the living room.
You are the brave learner.
You are here. 

Would you like a PDF download of “Woman in the Living Room”
ready to print and display?

Go here!

Your child can’t read—and she’s 9.

Your child won’t handwrite, and when he does, it’s illegible.

You forgot to teach state history that year your oldest was in 4th grade because of the newborn.

You finally got the diagnosis: ADHD. She’s 16. What about college?

My friend (and Homeschool Alliance coach) Stephanie Elms loves to share a favorite saying of one of her friends: “There are no educational emergencies.” The first time I heard it, the phrase went off like an alarm in my heart. What if that were true?

I reflected. It can’t help but be true!

I thought about literacy programs for adults. I thought about voice-to-text software. I thought about the voracious way some adults read about history for pleasure! I remembered that I had grown up friends who didn’t get medical support for their ADHD until their 40s. Others who skipped college or went in their 30s.

What if I could dial back my anxiety from 911 level panic to “there are countless ways to get my child what he or she needs”? Education at a predictable pace is an illusion, is what I’m saying. “Getting behind”—a sure fire way to wind up in panic, to stop seeing the real child in front of you.

I can only begin each day precisely where I am. No matter the age.

Yeah, but what if your child REALLY IS BEHIND, you ask?

Deep breath. Face today with the resolve to get your child all he or she needs to move the next tiny step in the direction of growth. Growth is tangible—and reassuring. Evaluation against the norms? Not so much.

Don’t give up or collapse in defeat. Gather your resources, make judgment calls, get support, more information.

Take it a day or week at a time. Triangle in help. Trust the process.

Remember: you are raising LIFE-LONG learners. Some learning takes longer than expected. There’s no expiration date on an education, either.

This post is originally from Instagram and @juliebravewriter is my account there so come follow along for more conversations like this one!

Doubt: often our reaction is to double-down in defensiveness. Or to rearrange everything, afraid.

Doubt is this buzzing mosquito we want to swat away or squash.

In my reading time last week, I stumbled on the idea that when we doubt the most, it’s a signal that we don’t have enough information. We could go back to research, to listen to new information, to ask questions. All of it got me thinking.

Perhaps the opposite of doubting isn’t confidence. Perhaps the opposite is listening:

• to a child,
• to a new idea,
• to a changed perspective,
• to the nuances that add complexity,
• to the struggle others are having.

In my life, doubt has been a uniting force—bringing me into contact with people whose ideas I had previously rejected or scorned. Doubt lets me imagine solutions outside my safe options or community.

What are you doubting today? Your child’s commitment to hard work? A method of home education? Your beliefs about parenting? The support of a friend?

What would listening more completely look like? Where can you tune in to learn more?

This post is originally from Instagram and @juliebravewriter is my account there so come follow along for more conversations like this one!