I felt like a failure when my daughter refused to go to school – but parents aren’t to blame

The education secretary’s plan to toughen up on student absenteeism won’t help when people need understanding, not punishment

It is a moment etched in my mind forever. I was 47, and working for the University of Bristol in a prestigious and well-paid job that I loved. But my teenage daughter – then aged 13 – was at home suffering terrible mental health problems that made it almost impossible to go to school.For weeks I had been sitting through meetings with senior leadership, discussing how to implement important changes at the university, while trying to hide the fact my phone was silently buzzing under my desk with yet another message of desperation from my child. Days spent in my office pretending to work were actually consumed with ringing her to check she was okay, on top of trying to deal with her therapists, talk to the school’s special educational needs coordinator and finding appropriate childcare for the week.  
After months of this, I couldn’t take any more, and after one intense meeting, when yet another stressful message pinged through, I broke down outside the university’s deputy vice chancellor’s office, and a colleague found me sobbing at my desk. I was sent home, and was discharged for six weeks with stress. Not that I knew it at the time, but that was the last day I would work there. And it was all down to my child. 
This tumultuous – and let’s face it, horrific – time has come flooding back to me this month as schools have returned. Of course, for many children, the process is a breeze, but for an alarming number, this is not the case. Fuelled by the Covid pandemic, which created a change in attitude towards attendance, and a subsequent rise in mental health problems, especially anxiety, Government figures now record a “persistent absenteeism” rate of 19 per cent of pupils in 2023/4, which is around 1.4 million children. In an attempt to address this issue, which disproportionately affects disadvantaged children, the new education secretary Bridget Phillipson has revealed she will get “tough” with these ghost children who do not attend, and will possibly implement fines. 
Of course, many will applaud this rhetoric and aim – especially when results show the devastating impact of absenteeism, with only 36 per cent of those who were persistently absent passing five or more GCSEs compared with 78 per cent who attend. I’m sure many readers will also blame parents and wonder why they simply cannot force their children into school. Should they not just be stricter? 
But having been through this with not just one but two children, I can tell you that you cannot physically force a teenager into school. You cannot wrestle them out of the door, and no sanctions or threats will work if they are that determined to refuse. I would also argue that far from blaming parents, we need to understand how difficult and humiliating having a school refuser for a child can be and look at ways to help. In my case, my beautiful daughter, now 18, had struggled with her mental health for a long time, having tried to take her own life for the first time at the age of nine. But as she was so young, we struggled to find support or therapy. We were referred to the national Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service (CAMS) and she was eventually diagnosed with autism in the last week of year six when she was 11.Still, she was academically bright and managed to get through much of year seven at her excellent state secondary school in Bristol. By year eight, however, her mental health had plummeted to the point she was again committing self-harm, threatening suicide and refusing school. She spent a lot of time in her bedroom and became agoraphobic and selective mute, as well as struggling with gender dysmorphia. 
I believe this is because autism can lead to very black and white thinking and a rapid change in mood. But what it meant was that she was suddenly at home as my husband and I still attempted to work, while also trying to secure her an Education, Health and Care Plan (EHCP), which would mean she could access support, and come up with an alternative educational solution. 
It was this bubbling stress that eventually led me to crack and leave my job in the summer of 2019. But it was not an easy decision. I had always worked and done jobs I loved, first with the National Crime Agency, where I had a fantastic 16-year career working in law enforcement, and then with the University of Bristol, where I was a change manager, helping the senior leadership teams implement and manage change. Even lowering my hours to three days a week had not been enough. 
Still, handing in my notice was horrible. I felt that I’d failed, first for having a child who couldn’t attend school, and secondly for losing my job. I felt ashamed that my family didn’t fit with societal norms, and I questioned everything. Had I done something to cause this? Would another parent do better?
On top of these worries, I also had the very real problem of how to pay the mortgage and what I would do for work. It was an incredibly difficult period and there was no magic wand. It also didn’t help that at that time my husband – who worked as a design manager in construction – had just been made redundant, while his mother, who lived with us, had recently been diagnosed with dementia. 
Quitting did prove to be a fortuitous decision, however, because soon after I did, my son – two years younger than my daughter – was also diagnosed with autism. 
In his case, he desperately wanted to attend secondary school but was so anxious he developed obsessive compulsive disorder and couldn’t walk down the stairs without touching the wall 40 times. So then I had two of them at home.
These complications meant I had to find a job that I could do around the children and their needs. So I set up an organisation called Inclusive Change that helps companies, schools and universities understand and work with neurodivergence. Much of my work involves helping others come through a similar journey I’ve been on, and I find it incredibly rewarding.
With the rise in ADHD and autism diagnoses, so many parents are attempting an impossible balancing act, of trying to look after their kids at home while working. They also have to grapple with alternative educational provision – far from easy to access, especially without an EHCP – and trying to get therapy in an overwhelmed system. Even with a financial and intellectual advantage, the process is extremely difficult and the stress of having a child at home can put a huge strain on a marriage.
I would like to reassure parents, however, that as difficult as having a school refuser in the family is, there can be light at the end of the tunnel. My own daughter undertook online learning with a company called Apricot, and has just achieved three A-levels, grades ABB. She has received multiple therapies through CAMHS, which were very time-consuming but a key to her recovery. She also decided to get rid of her mobile phone, which was making her mental health worse, and is in a much better place.
My son too managed to thrive outside school mostly at a Pupil Referral Unit in Gloucestershire. People may think of them as places for troublesome children, but actually many autistic kids who simply can’t cope with mainstream school attend them. He is now in a great place and about to start sixth form in a mainstream school.
As for me, I do miss my old line of work. I miss the people and the challenge and the feeling of being valued, as well as the money (I was earning roughly £45,000, which was not an insignificant sum). I have started working again with the University of Bristol, delivering training for line managers and supervisors in supporting neurodivergent teams, including how to support parents and carers. So it feels like I have come full circle.In the case of my family, I am aware that the story has turned out to be a relative success, but this is not the case for many. So I would just like to urge people assessing rife absenteeism to spare a thought for the parents who all too often are left trying to pick up the pieces, with barely any support at all. 
As told to Gwyneth Rees