Dogma Persists in Unlikely Places

I remember the day I met the local Waldorf school.

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I was enchanted by the colored silks, the wooden toys, the feeling of peace and intention that pervaded the farthest corners.

Though it was a hardship to afford, I enrolled my two preschoolers, excited to watch them flourish under this kind of care.

For awhile, they did, but alongside the “care” was a feeling of judgment. The clothing I dressed them in, the coats and shoes they wore, the lunches I sent them with…all fell under scrutiny and every day I felt a nagging concern that this meal or that shirt might not pass muster.

The hardship became financially impossible and I withdrew them again to homeschool, determined to raise my children in accordance with my own beliefs and not the state’s. For years I believed public school was the compromise I’d never make. No child of mine would go to the place where corrupt leaders pushed agendas, individuality was crushed, and students were trained to conform.

We didn’t return to this school until 2 or 3 years ago, about a decade after my two oldest had their joy-filled start in Waldorf education.

The location had changed, the teachers had changed but the fundamental preoccupation with apparel had not.

I understood that a core belief of Waldorf philosophy is that a warm child is a spiritually held child, but I began to see how rigorous this belief was when my child came home tear-streaked one day.

On that day, I was working from home and went out to the barn to do chores. It was mid 40s and sunny, so I wore what was comfortable to me: sweatpants and a tank top.

My child, cut from the same Northern cloth, wanted to shed his thick winter coat during active outside recess.

His teachers refused him, insisting he stay in his coat while sweat ran down his face, mixed with tears of frustration at being denied the right to honor his own body cues.

In a meeting held later, one teacher informed me that he appeared to be “traumatized” from his brief time at a public school and he needed to become more embodied. Sweating and struggling in warm clothes, she insisted, was an important part of his healing process.

I contemplated this for some time, and came back a couple of weeks later to say that no, I didn’t think this was an acceptable form of “embodiment” and in my home, I have raised my [four] children to hear their own body cues and adjust appropriately.

Still, as I explained to my son, we attend here willingly and part of that attendance means following the rules. We could choose to leave, but if we choose to stay, we choose to abide by their requirements.

He chose to stay.

Throughout the rest of the year, there were tear-filled mornings where he dreaded going.

Full-on battles of will as I tried to encourage him to stand strong when he wanted to hide in his room rather than face another day of overheating.

There were days I kept him home simply to let him breathe and enjoy a warm day without excessive clothing.

And by the end of the year, all seemed well. He loved his classmates and told me he wanted to re-enroll for this current school year.

I wrote a check for the year’s tuition at the end of last school year and, though I still had misgivings, I am teaching my children how to navigate the world through their own decisions so I resolved to support his choice in every way possible.

That all changed on Orientation Day. I’m mid-divorce, separated but living with my husband, running a business that has multiple-x’ed in revenue year after year and trying to survive an extremely intense year. Busy is my entire existence.

I should have read the welcome letter when it was sent a couple of weeks prior, but I had no idea it contained anything world-changing.

That day, I came home from my office early to prepare for the meeting.

I dreaded it. The last orientation I attended there was filled with a longer-than-reasonable exhortation on the importance of gear, with the teacher offering to sit down with us to help us understand how to purchase winter gear.

I rolled my eyes at this, by then a seasoned mother of 4, juggling teens and single digit kids with ease and full trust in their own autonomy…and a budget large enough to buy them whatever gear they thought they wanted. Being considered incapable of making purchasing decisions on something as basic as winter gear really emphasized how it felt the school leadership viewed its parents.

With a few minutes to spare, I sat down to read the letter, the single letter meant to set the intention for the entire school year, and my heart dropped when I read this opening sentence:

Clothing is the most important element to support your child(ren) in this learning environment.

It went on in great detail to explain exactly what would be expected:

Layers will be required each day. Even on summer days, we have cooler mornings where layers are needed. Layers fall under three categories: 1) Base Layer 2) Play Clothes 3) Outer Layer. During our Hearth Semester, children will be required to be in three layers, plus have a waterproof and insulated outer layer. Gloves and boots are the two most important layers overall that need to stay dry and warm, so having multiples of items is key.

It ended with this entirely ironic quote, tone-deaf to the reality that their form of nature-based play resulted in exactly the opposite:

“Being in nature … reduces anger, fear, and stress and increases pleasant feelings. Exposure to nature not only makes you feel better emotionally, it contributes to your physical well-being, reducing blood pressure, heart rate, muscle tension, and the production of stress hormones.”

-University of Minnesota

I fought back tears, remembering how hard won peace was last year. Once I had composed myself, I called my son, 10YO, to read with me. I didn’t give any advance instructions; I wanted to see his natural reaction to this.

He burst into tears and said with a shaky voice, “I guess I’m not going back there.”

I held him, we both cried. I know how much he loves his teacher and how much he was looking forward to returning.

I also know how much it cost him. He describes shutting down, losing the will to fight and quietly donning multiple layers, navigating recess in rivers of sweat because he had no hope his voice would be heard.

He told me of days when someone would do something against the rules and he would be loudly chastised for bringing it to the teacher’s attention, while he watched the teacher’s children do the same and be thanked for their help.

And I came to the understanding that dogma can be found not only in the Christian school of my youth I was so determined to shield them from, but in the less likely places, behind cups of herbal tea and balls of gloriously-scented beeswax.

I emailed the school to inform them of our withdrawal:

After careful reflection, I have made the decision to withdraw [child].

Last year, as you know, he cried many tears and we fought many battles when clothing expectations were enforced in ways that made him physically miserable. At the time, I hoped that things would improve, but in truth, he told me this week that he only “stopped fighting.” He did not adjust, he shut down. That is not growth or healing, and I cannot ask him to bear that emotional cost again.

When we sat together and read this year’s welcome letter and saw how clothing was placed above all other educational considerations, he collapsed into tears, reliving those experiences. It was clear to both of us that this environment, with its emphasis on rules over the lived experience of the child, is not a fit for him. I truly hoped it would be different, and I am saddened at how this unfolded.

I respect the intentions behind the philosophy, but I must put my son’s wellbeing first. For this reason, I am requesting a refund of our tuition for the full year, minus any actual costs already incurred, and minus my donation, which I still intend to stand as a gift to [school]. Please confirm the refund amount and timeline.

I wish the community well in its path, but I need to stand by my child’s truth. His dignity and safety must come before doctrine.

I received a passive aggressive response in return, “thanking” me for the timing:

Thank you for letting us know on Orientation Day that you decided to unenroll [child].

Weeks later, my mother heart is warmed by the enthusiasm he has each and every day as he prepares to go to his new school, a public school where autonomy is strictly respected.

Instead of “dance on your head and wear three layers while parading in front of us to determine your worth as a human being,” his field trip note today began with, “First, check today’s weather and be sure you dress appropriately.”

If dogma hides in unexpected places, so too, it seems, does freedom.