When a child resists school, I’ve learned to look first at the space between home and school.

Over the years, first as a teacher and now as Head of School, I’ve sat with many parents who begin the conversation the same way: “He says he doesn’t like school.” “She cried all morning.” “He told me someone was mean.” “She says she doesn’t want to go anymore.” And almost instinctively, the parent begins looking for the problem at school. Is there a friendship issue? Did something happen on the playground? Is the teacher too strict?

Of course, we always take children’s words seriously. But what I’ve come to understand is that resistance to school is often not about school at all. It’s about the difference between home and school life.

Home is deeply personal. It bends around the child. It is flexible, intimate, and responsive. There is often negotiation. There is a different kind of comfort. There is familiarity. School is different, beautifully different, but different nonetheless. It is structured. It is communal. It asks a child to wait, to share, to solve problems, to work independently, and to move within expectations that serve a larger group. For a developing child, that shift can feel big.

Especially in a Montessori environment, where independence is not optional but foundational. We don’t hover. We don’t rescue quickly. We trust children with responsibility. That trust is empowering, but it can also feel heavy on a tired Tuesday morning.

I have watched children cry at drop-off and then walk in, hang up their coat, and fully engage within minutes. I have heard “I don’t like school” in the car and then listened to joyful storytelling at lunch. I have seen children blame a friend when what they were really expressing was fatigue or simply the effort of living in a community. Children do not always have the language to say, “It’s hard to adjust.” “It feels different.” “I’m tired of doing hard things.” “I miss the ease of home.” So instead, they say, “I don’t want to go.”

When I speak with families, I often encourage them to look not for a problem, but for alignment. Are mornings predictable? Is the goodbye calm and confident? Are expectations at home similar to school: independence, clean-up, respectful communication? Are we unintentionally over-processing small social bumps that would otherwise resolve naturally?

Children borrow our emotional temperature. If we sound unsure about school, they will feel unsure. If we sound confident and steady, “Your teachers are ready for you. I’ll see you this afternoon.” They relax more quickly. I also gently remind parents that growth is not linear. The very things we hope for — independence, leadership, resilience require effort. And effort can look like resistance before it looks like mastery.

When home and school send the same quiet message… You are capable. You are safe. We believe in you . . . Children almost always find their footing. And more often than not, once they cross that classroom threshold, they remember exactly why they love being there. It is rarely about a disagreement. Rarely about a teacher.