Almost exactly a year ago, I was scrolling through my phone and I kept seeing stories about a tragedy that took place at a school not far from where we live. I grew up in Atlanta, and now I’m raising and homeschooling my kids just half an hour from Apalachee High School in Winder. One of the students killed at Apalachee last year was an autistic student and one of the injured was a special education teacher at the school.
I’m not sure how many school shootings have happened since then (I’ve seen a broad range of estimates), but last week, there was another school shooting in Minneapolis. Two students, barely older than my son, were killed during a school Mass, and many others hurt. I read about children taking bullets for their friends, about grieving parents, and I felt sick.
I also felt the same sinking feeling I always do when I read these headlines: relief that my kids are home with me, mixed with guilt that home has to feel like the safer option. I’m privileged to homeschool and still be able to accommodate my children’s support needs, but I know that many families simply can’t. Many families have to rely on their local school systems, and they should feel good about that choice.
The System Feels Unsafe
When the tragedy at Apalachee happened last year, I saw so many parents in local and online groups make the decision pull their kids out of school. Some said that shooting was the final straw. Others pointed to the fact that there have been more than 200 incidents of school gun violence since 2020. I also say many parents of neurodivergent children express fear and concern about their children’s safety.
For me, it was also personal. We’ve homeschooled since the beginning. But when we got our autism diagnoses (two of us are also ADHD and PDA, though I suspect all 3 of us are PDA), it became clear there were many other reasons this was the best choice for us.
As I read through these comments and thought about it, I wondered if I had been naive. Is the system actually equipped to keep kids like mine safe, especially in a crisis?
Lockdown drills? “Run, hide, fight”? Would it be reasonable to demand my PDA child manage that? Can I expect a teacher who may not be well-supported as it is to accommodate my kids the way I can?
I’ve continued to struggle with the uncertainty that kids like mine could safely navigate situations like a school shooting or other emergency. I’m wondering how often neurodivergent and other disabled students get left behind in the name of safety of others, even if these provisions and protections are included in their safety plans.
Other Parents Felt It Too
I was talking to a friend recently who used to be a teacher. She shared with me that at a safety training she was once told that if a child is left in the hallway and a lockdown occurs, they were to leave the child out there. I couldn’t make that choice in real life. I barely passed my intro philosophy class because of hypotheticals like this.
A year ago, I tried to pitch stories about this reality. About the fact that so many parents were worried about their children. Nobody picked the piece up.
So today I’m just writing it here, because my chest still feels heavy and my brain won’t let it go.
When I started talking with other parents, I realized my fears weren’t unique:
One mom, who’s also a trauma therapist, told me the moment that broke her: when her five-year-old was told to wear orange for “school shooting awareness.” Her daughter asked why. She couldn’t bring herself to explain. “That night, I cried. I realized I couldn’t keep sending her to a place that would strip her innocence before she was ready.” They homeschool now—but even her co-op went into lockdown during Apalachee.
A teacher-turned-homeschool parent said she used to scan every classroom she entered, counting doors and windows, planning where she’d hide kids if the worst happened. But when she thought about her own child in that situation, she froze. “It’s paralyzing,” she said.
Another mom told me Uvalde was the breaking point. Her daughter’s IEP didn’t cover safety. She remembers lockdown drills where teachers pretended it was a flood, but her daughter knew better. “She told her classmates if they weren’t quiet they’d all die. A young child should not carry that weight for an entire class.” When they switched to homeschooling—specifically low-demand, PDA-informed homeschooling—her daughter started to heal. “We’ll never go back,” she told me.
One mother shared with me that she withdrew her children during the IEP process, saying, “I don’t plan to re-enroll them anytime in the future.”
It Impacts Our Nervous Systems
I spoke to and interviewed several other professionals, teachers, and parents. That first mom—the trauma therapist—explained something that stuck with me: even if a child isn’t directly in the building when a shooting happens, they can still develop PTSD-like symptoms just from knowing about it. Nightmares. Hypervigilance. Fear of going places.
For neurodivergent kids, this stress can be magnified. Sensory sensitivities, rigid routines, difficulty with sudden changes—all of that makes violent events (and even drills) harder to process. Instead of helping, these plans and drills can traumatize and retraumatize our kids.
She said something I keep turning over: our kids don’t just need a plan, they need us—regulated, present, honest, and gentle with how we talk about hard things.
The Bigger Picture
I wish I could say these tragedies are rare. They’re not.
The more conservative estimates are that there have been close to 50 this year already. And the long arc is even worse: since 1970, school shootings have increased dramatically. One statistic I saw said they’ve quadrupled, and deaths have increased sixfold. It’s staggering to sit with.
Where That Leaves Me
Sure, homeschooling gives me some peace. But it’s not simple. Sometimes I worry I’m not preparing my kids for “real-world” emergencies. Sometimes I wonder what kind of world this even is, where I have to consider that “trade-off.”
Every time another shooting happens, I feel the same contradiction: grateful my kids are home, grieving for the families who aren’t so lucky, and angry that this keeps happening at all.
And I keep coming back to this: when schools fail their most vulnerable, when parents feel they have no choice but to leave, what does that say about who our schools are built for?
If home feels safer than school, then we’ve failed—not just our kids, but the idea of education itself.
Free and appropriate shouldn’t mean unsafe and unprotected.
Friends, I haven’t posted anything in a number of months. There has been a lot going on in my personal life. I’ll share more soon about these recent life changes, health things, and where I’ve been.
I know this might sit differently with some of you. However you read this, let’s keep choosing humanity. May we keep doing our best to live out compassion, especially in complicated places.
Thank you so much for sharing your honest and insightful thoughts. It’s very different here in Australia, but questions of home schooling are always on my mind for different reasons but also because of how hard it is for some neurodivergent children. Thanks for writing.
I feel so much of this. It’s now the biggest reason why my kids are homeschooled rather than their difficulty in accessing education. And I feel the same guilt that I am in a position to do it. As passionate as I am about systemic change in education and as grateful as I am to be able to have my kids home, this was never the life I envisioned for my kids or for myself. I am so heartbroken over the current state of this country and what it means for our children.