As a teacher, Charlotte Morbey had always been sceptical about school phobia until her son threatened to jump from the window sill

Six months ago I de-registered my 13-year-old son from school. As a former teacher and head of year, home education had seemed a foolhardy thing to undertake. But as a parent, I had reached the end of the road with mainstream schooling.

I thought I knew about school phobia. In common with colleagues, I used the terms “school phobia” and “school refusal” interchangeably. I was sympathetic but sceptical. I felt it was probably exaggerated and pandered to by parents who colluded with difficult children for a quiet life.

Working closely with the education social worker for my year group, I knew attendance issues could cause intractable problems. We would call meetings and put plans in place, knowing even as we walked away from the room that it wouldn’t work and the child would drift away again within days. I would make phone calls, attempt to cajole and persuade the child to come in, negotiate through car windows in some cases if they wouldn’t get out. It was time-consuming, frustrating and unrewarding. We wanted these children in school, their parents said they did – so why didn’t it happen?

Then my own son developed school phobia. It started with headaches and stomach pains every day. My first thought was that he was making them up, but they seemed genuine. We talked about school – was he being bullied; was the work too hard; did he have friends? Everything was fine, he said. He just felt ill.

With this came the nightmares and I’d hear him shouting in his sleep. He would appear at breakfast looking grey and exhausted. I would jolly him along and tell him to go to school, then go off to work assuming all would be well once he got there. However, I started getting phone calls to say he hadn’t arrived. My colleagues were heroic, covering for me at short notice . But I still felt awful rushing out at 10am. Once home, I’d spend the day trying to get him to school – I’d drive him in and escort him into the reception area where he’d simply turn and flee. I’d drive home, pick him up and we’d start again. One day I did this six times.

By now, lots of people were getting involved. His head of year tried one strategy after another, the Educational Social Work (ESW) service was calling meetings and the GP referred us to the Adolescent Mental Health service. Everyone asked him, “Why won’t you come to school?” Every time he answered: “I don’t know.”

The tension and sadness leached into every aspect of our family life and he barely left his room. He stopped washing and brushing his hair and fought all attempts to get him into clean clothes, insisting on wearing old tracksuit trousers and a huge dressing gown. We worried that his friends were drifting away.

On the advice of the child psychologist, we had a system of rewards and sanctions. No school meant no pocket money, DVDs, computer games or internet. He accepted this without question – one of the ironies was that we knew we could trust him not to breach these conditions. He’d lie on his bed all day reading or, if he felt particularly bad, staring at the ceiling.

By this time, I was on sick leave from work. We battled our way through every morning, sometimes getting as far as the front door before the fear overtook him and he raced upstairs to barricade himself in his room. We talked through his door or, when I could get in, with him sitting on his window sill threatening to jump.

I followed advice given by the child psychologist and told him that I didn’t want him to harm himself but that he had to go to school. He sat weeping and shaking on the window sill until I retreated and he could rebuild his barriers. Only when school was off the agenda would he come downstairs and put his arms around me, sadly repeating, “I don’t know why, I just don’t.”

Do's and don'ts of dealing with phobias
Do
Let school phobics visit the toilet as often as they want.
Acknowledge the effort it takes for them to come to school.
Inform all teachers about the problem and give them appropriate advice.
Explain the problem to the class in a basic and matter-of-fact way so they become understanding and tolerant.
Think carefully about what is said to school phobics because they will be hypersensitive to any criticism, real or perceived.
Lower expectations for school phobics. For example, they may not want to join in with PE or class assemblies.
Intervene immediately if there is any bullying.
Try to anticipate the child’s needs and smooth over any fears.
Try to include the child in group activities, as social isolation will compound any problems.
Educate school phobics in the school’s special unit if the problem becomes severe.

Don’t
Send school phobics home if they complain of being ill without first verifying the symptoms. If you do, they may mistake their panic symptoms for genuine illness.
Punish them because they do not conform to expected behaviour.
Blame the school phobics or their parents or carers.
Make a joke at the expense of the child, or say negative things about their behaviour.
Ignore the child’s hand if it is raised for the first time.
Let pupils choose teams for games. If the child is unpopular, this could make them feel even worse about themselves.
Force school phobics to take part in sports day or school trips, or make them feel bad for not taking part.

www.phobics-society.org.uk

Do you think pupils are trying it on or does school phobia really exist? Tell us what you think: www.tes.co.uk/staffroom/have yoursay and read the full article in this week's TES magazine, out Friday January 19.