2023 Archive

Leaving

13 November

‘Nowhere is as beautiful as when it’s left. The beauty is part of the leaving.’ Joanna Walsh

The blossoming of jacarandas with their tangled purple carpets is always an omen. It signifies exams and it heralds departures. Bittersweet, it announces a time to let go, of farewells, and the ultimate dance of the in between … the capricious precipice and tightrope walk between the safety net of school and the unfurling lure of a world bigger than the imagination.

It is frightening and fabulous, all at once. It is in this swinging grief cycle that parents and school-leavers vacillate, invariably out of synch with one another, both relishing the finish line and fearing it. No-one ever warned us as parents that joy and grieving could be so entwined and so sharp in their contrast.

This is the moment you have worked towards, anticipated and … now it’s here. Some are bravely celebrating its arrival. Perhaps others, a little like I did more than a decade ago, find yourself unprepared for the reality.

Independence – the end game for us all in the business of raising adolescents, is messy, hard-fought, and not without its complications. The post-school world presents freedoms that eliminate parental control with an abruptness that can take our breath away.

It is no surprise that we thirst to feel wanted, just for a little longer. We would like to regain the equilibrium of the pre-adolescent state, even just for a moment: wouldn’t we?

It’s been a long journey from big backpacks, Velcro shoes and hats able to block out every ray of sunshine, to P Plates, trips away with friends and the lure of post-school life. ‘A blink of an eye’, is the cliché that comes to mind, as we look at photographs that represent each of these phases.

Finishing school is both poignant with promise and, at times, wrought with sadness. It is, after all, one of the ultimate departures. Lunch boxes, end of term drop offs and pick-ups, the scramble to construct a fancy-dress costume at a minute’s notice, late night assignments, lost bags, found bags, computer trouble and the quest for independence all collide messily.

Somewhere, somehow, in the midst of the mire that is childhood and adolescence, there is growth in abundance. Yet, it doesn’t always feel that way. Sometimes it just feels like loss.

Always, at this point in a year, as our Seniors take their leave, reflections stick deeply with all who have crossed their paths. We forgive and forget the challenging moments, landing instead, on the all-encompassing journey, making the words of Shakespeare: “nothing became [her] in this [Fairholme] life, like the leaving of it” high jump to life.

Suddenly, the small moments loom large. For boarding supervisors, memories of dorm rooms filled with the detritus of school life become cute rather than frustrating. Teachers think fondly on the exuberance of some or the reticence of others. United, all see growth – big as an oak tree and collectively nod in alignment – “see how far they have come, see how far they have to go,” they muse.

This is the pause. The moment in between. The suspenseful middle.

Our seniors are stepping across the threshold of safety, certainty, and routine … some at a sprint, some more hesitantly, but they are all taking their leave into the tantalizing world beyond.

One last exam. One last stroll through G Block corridor. One last Assembly. One last wearing of the tartan. That’s how it goes, each and every year. Parents ask, “is it sad for you too?” And it is. Every time. Like you, we are torn between letting go and holding on for one more last.

Thank you for sharing your daughters with us. Thank you for your patience with us, in the tough times, the learning times, the growth times: we will miss you too. But we know that life moves on with unerring speed, and that for now, these young women will move forward with just a few glances backwards from whence they have come.

It will be later, perhaps years later, that a life moment will nudge them back into this space, to connect with their Fairholme sisterhood because, in the words of, Susie Anderson, in her prophetic poem, departure, “they will always have somewhere to return,” and thus it is important that they “don’t forget to take place with [them]” as they go.

‘Nowhere is as beautiful as when it’s left. The beauty is part of the leaving.’ (Joanna Walsh)

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

Be Brave Enough to Begin - Again

13 November

How do you make sense of the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the incomprehensible? An hour glimpse into the life of Rosie Batty, Australian of the Year, 2015, courtesy of the Fairholme Mothers’ Long Lunch, captured the heart of a woman who has spent a decade seeking to change how the world views family and domestic violence.

It’s an unpalatable topic, not one you’d imagine for your regular feel-good mothers’ long lunch speaker. Yet, I am so glad that I heard her speak, gained a glimpse into the pain of her story but, more importantly, a larger window into her resolve to make a difference.

Be brave enough to begin again – Rosie Batty has been.

Her story is one that we need to listen to, take heed of, and not avoid.

For those who may have forgotten, ten years ago, Rosie Batty’s eleven-year-old son Luke was at Cricket practice – here, in a totally unanticipated moment, he was murdered by his own father. The world stopped in its tracks – Australia reeled. Luke’s death prompted us to recognise that family violence can happen to anyone and everyone. Wealth. Education. Background. These things do not protect us.

In the aftermath of the unimaginable, Rosie Batty did the unthinkable – she spoke to the media. She found her voice, less than twelve hours after losing her only child, and spoke. Somewhere within her, she knew that speaking out was the only thing she could do to honour the life of Luke. And so, she did, and she continues to do so. So profound has been the impact of her work, that researchers refer to ‘the Rosie Batty effect’ in reporting on the change in the way we view family and domestic violence.

Consider that one woman a week is murdered by her current or former partner in Australia, one in three women face family violence in their lifetime and one in four children, and that children are often the unseen victims. Their experiences play out as trauma does, throughout their life.

Conversation, education, and expectation of respect are fundamental, she believes, to affecting change. In her view, jail sentences are not the cure – by that point in time, the damage has been done. It is what happens before, not after that requires our focus.

Part of our Senior Thrive program tackles this topic. It’s been a project of Catrina Sharp for a number of years, to bring practitioners in this field together to speak with our students. Local lawyer, Adair Donaldson who works in this area, is a regular presenter. Further, Catrina facilitates the gathering of a panel with local specialists - our girls form questions, run the session, and collectively ponder the unthinkable.

For this age group, it is about discussing coercive control, and power-based actions that can manifest in some girls’ emerging, first and subsequent relationships. Learning how to recognise behaviours of control and manipulation are conversations that need to occur.

Gaslighting – the practice of leading someone to doubt themselves, is a common place term – because it happens, sometimes occurring hand in hand with flattery and gifts. That’s why we need to talk about it. Our Darling Downs’ Principals’ Association makes this topic an annual one – where we hear from those in the field as well as from those in our schools who are proactively tackling the problem.

Of course – a lesson or two, or a presentation on domestic and family violence does not shift the fundamental problem of coercive control, entitlement, or the uneven imposition of power: but it’s a starting point. We also need to value bravery, independence of action and a sisterhood of support. Expecting respect needs to be a given, at all times, in all places. There are gender differences. There should not be a power difference attached.

We want our girls, your daughters, to be able to stand up for themselves and others, when the moment requires it – at any time, in any circumstance they need to make another accountable. It is why the mantra – “I choose to do this because it is hard, not because it is easy” has become ‘Fairholmised’ over the past twenty years.

I am grateful to all those, in my life, who have taught me to expect respect and who have modelled that for me . And we too, need to be a voice for the one in three women and one in four children who require our support. I am grateful for the Rosie Batty effect – a woman who found her voice amidst the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the incomprehensible. I am so grateful to have heard her words.

Be brave enough to begin - again.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal



At Least…

26 October

‘If you want to model and teach your children empathy, forge a positive outlook, and strengthen their understanding of self and others.’

When my daughter emerged from her 262 days of lockdown during six separate lockdowns in Melbourne, she shared her aversion to two words … ‘at least’.

Our family received a stern lecture on the taboo nature of this sentence starter. From Natalie’s perspective, this phrase diminished empathy – a response she craved. ‘At least you had a job.’ ‘At least you could exercise for an hour each day.’ ‘At least you could facetime your family.’

There seemed to be an inexhaustive list of “at least” commentary from well-meaning friends and family (including us), none of whom had any idea what it actually had felt like to be locked down for a period equating to almost nine months.

And, as I became aware of the words, I started to hear them everywhere. ‘At least it’s only three weeks until the school holidays.’ ‘At least you passed.’ ‘At least you’ve got friends.’ Catch those words, they do not, according to popularist author, speaker, and psychologist, Brene Brown, do anything to recognise someone’s feelings and need for empathy.

According to Brown, ‘empathy fuels connection; sympathy drives disconnection.’ When my daughter’s terse lecture to her family was completed, I asked her what might have been a better response – she expressed her yearning for something as uncomplicated as: ‘That must have been tough.’

Can you see the difference? When we jump in with our well-meaning “at least” sentences, we are judgmental in reaching that understanding – we place a value on the experience, diminishing its impact and presuming an understanding of the lived experience of that person.

Whilst sympathy can be defined as ‘feelings of pity and sorrow for someone else’s misfortune,’ empathy can be described very differently: the ‘ability to understand and share the feelings of another.’ (Oxford English Dictionary).

Understanding the feelings of loss and fear associated with elongated lockdowns is quite different from presuming knowledge of the experience – a subtle nuance but an important one.

Language matters. Language is an important mirror of understanding. Language affects the way we see ourselves in relation to others.

I am judicious in the type and frequency of homework that I set my Year 10 English class, always reluctant to set homework just for the sake of it.

But here is some homework for us all. Eliminate some of these phrases from your vocabulary, if you want to model and teach your children empathy, forge a positive outlook, and strengthen their understanding of self and others.

Hit list of delete-worthy phrases

• At least…
• I/we should have… They should have…
• It’s their fault, not mine…
• If only…

Rather

• That must have been tough to hear.
• It would have been good if I had… however, I didn’t.
• This is my part of the problem.
• I am thinking that…

May we all have endured and survived the last of the lockdown world but, like all confronting and difficult situations, there is, (at least) learning to attend to: an idea or even a whisper to note.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

Drop the Rope

30 September

Adolescence is its own season: unique, complex, delightful, difficult … and everything in between. Within it, parents find themselves at one end of tug-of-war disputes when adolescents are pursuing risky behaviour, or making totally unreasonable demands, at other times they may sense the need to ‘drop the rope’ when their adolescent child is legitimately seeking their independence.

The trick is in knowing when to hold on and when to let go. Parenting demands both. It demands that we are attuned to the nuances of teenage or tween life, and able to respond appropriately. It demands more than is possible of us, on some days, and the demands don’t typically dissipate quickly. We are as parents, required to do our best, for some time, however that might look.

For those mums fortunate enough to hear Michelle Mitchell speak at the ‘Tweens’ luncheon on the last day of term, you may well have noted some of her wisdom around parenting through your daughter’s life challenges. A few of her truisms have stayed with me, the greatest echo has been her statement around ‘dropping the rope.’ What a glorious moment that can be when you choose to stop the tussle. If we are honest, and parenting requires its own confronting brand of honesty, doesn’t it, we can find ourselves in a tug-of-war situation in the most trivial of circumstances. The trick is knowing when to hang on to the rope, and when to let go.

We can hold our ground, dig our feet in and draw on the rope of insistence with formidable determination. Retrospect may, at times, pose an interesting question – Why? Why fight the unwinnable? Why fight the insignificant? At other times, we hold on with impressive resolve, because we are required to, because the tug-of-war is about your son or daughter’s need to know that you are in this relationship for the long game and you as the adult, will not concede when it matters, when it really matters. Your adolescent does want to know that you believe that they are worth fighting for, irrespective of the circumstances. In 2015, parenting blogger, Gretchen Schmelzer published a piece entitled, ‘The Letter your Teenager Can’t Write to You.’ It is worth reading – the link is in the reference section. Schmelzer writes a letter in the voice of a teenager: a feisty, fighting, difficult teenager who wants to argue about everything and nothing, but who also wants to know that their parent is playing the long game. That their parent won’t give up, won’t drop the rope. She writes:

And this particular fight will end. Like any storm, it will blow over. And I will forget, and you will forget. And then it will come back. And I will need you to hang on to the rope again. I will need this over and over for years.

So, when do we hold on, when do we drop the rope, when do we simply say, NO? If it were only that easy to know. I once listened to a great radio segment on the judicious use of NO. The guest speaker – an adolescent psychologist affirmed, that in his view, we only have a few big Nos in our repertoire. There are only a few times when we really need to pull out the BIG NO, the definitive no, the one that matters a great deal to our daughter’s safety, our values, and our peace of mind. Nonetheless, we must also be judicious in its use, because ‘there are only so many times you can say NO’ (McCoy) and maintain a workable relationship.

David Palmiter, a clinical psychologist and professor at Marywood University in Scranton, states that parenting a teen is inherently stressful, even in the best scenarios (cited in Neighmond, 2014). The parent who tells you that their adolescent daughter is always even in temperament, accepts your every word, and happily follows every direction you set – without challenge, either is not being truthful, or their daughter has not yet begun the path to independence that will allow her to become a functioning adult in the future. Palmiter (cited in Neighmond, 2014) offers some reassurance. He says that the challenging, questioning and sometimes patronising manner of our adolescents is in fact ‘healthy’ and may well mean that you are doing things right as parents. Yes, even when it feels otherwise …

At some point, your daughter will depart from the established family narrative, at which time rope -holding or rope-dropping will be called for, because she will, “pick up [her story, the one you have crafted with love and great care] and turn it over in her hands like some dispassionate reviewer composing a cold-hearted analysis of an overhyped novel,” (Cusk, 2015). You will wonder where that easy, compliant, born-to-please child has retreated to, perhaps you may come to realise that the beginning of this new season is about your daughter developing her own narrative, not simply absorbing yours – no matter how meticulous its construction has been.

Hold on, let go, say ‘no’ … endure the tug-of-war moments, drop the rope when the moment demands it – be prepared to vacillate between all three, because this is the season that requires you to do so. “Know that [even when it is hard] you are doing the most important job that anyone could possibly be doing for [them] right now,” (Schmelzer, 2015). 

‘For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven…’ (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

References

Cusk, R. (2015). ‘Teenagers: what’s wrong with them?’ The Australian. April 25, 2015

Neighmond, P. (2014). ‘Want More Stress In Your Life? Try Parenting A Teenager’, July 16, 2014.

Schmelzer, G. (2015). ‘The Letter Your Teenager Can’t Write to You.’

Losing, in a curious way, is winning

11 September

That's what learning is, after all; not whether we lose the game, but how we lose and how we've changed because of it and what we take away from it that we never had before, to apply to other games. Losing, in a curious way, is winning." - Richard Bach

If there were a Science subject around grand finals, I would select it. Having watched about a dozen Fairholme teams in different Grand final matches over the past week or so, I have been reminded, yet again, of the precious lessons learned.

Whether it is on a Netball court on a crisp Saturday at Nellie Robinson courts, on the Touch fields of Kearney’s Spring or Volleyballers seeking out one final win for their captain, Year 12, Katie Brock – there are lessons. For our Senior Vicki Wilson team who played hard Netball until the final whistle blew in favour of a strong Downlands team or for our younger Vicki Wilson players who persevered in extra time to win their final match – there are lessons in achievement and accomplishment. Sport is a great teacher.

In the pressure cooker of a finals match what I love is the palpable expression of effort: the perseverance and determination of those players who accept nothing less than their own best. That is character. That is not about having a higher skill level than someone else – that is about the capacity to play to the end, to finish well: what a gift.

It is the player who makes an error and goes about rectifying it at next opportunity. It is the player who receives a questionable umpiring decision (bless referees and umpires everywhere – we cannot play without you, and we have far too much to say from the sideline – self included) and plays on without a flinch. It is the player who watches on from the sideline and genuinely supports their teammates. I saw all this, over the past week.

In a Grand Final match or its life equivalent we take to the court with anticipation. Depending on our preparation, our team’s skill, past experiences, and the way the game unfolds … we find ourselves in a polarized position at full time – as winners or losers. And as players, and as spectators and coaches, we accept that outcome, variously. It’s always our choice how we respond to the situation, how graciously we accept a win or a defeat.

We choose how the car conversation on the way home unfolds – the deconstruction of the match, the reflection on self or others. We choose. Our response is in our own hands. We can choose accomplishment over achievement – the distinction is an important one.

It's like the joy of the internally motivated over the externally driven - those that can appreciate the journey as much as the outcome, those that can find accomplishment in a grand final loss or win. Certainly, it is a worthy aspiration because life itself is filled up with grand final moments.

Art Historian, Sarah Lewis speaks of the value of ‘the near win’ in her 2014 TED Talk, of gaining mastery “in the reaching, not in the arriving.” Whilst success is motivating, Lewis says that near misses in the things near and dear to our heart can compel us onwards.

I once made a faux pas on a College Assembly and said, ‘winning is a terrible thing’. Before I could give context, the hall had erupted into laughter, and I had lost the opportunity to explain my thinking.

When we win, the pressure mounts exponentially because expectation rises from both within the player and beyond. When we are winning, we are managing expectation whilst simultaneously concentrating on playing the game. When we are losing, our concentration is often singularly focused – on improvement, on finding the next opportunity – there will be one if we seek it out.

Fairy tale finishes and grand final wins don’t occur just because we wish them to, or believe that we are more deserving of the story line than others. There are no promises in sport, and in life itself, and sometimes, our efforts place us a long way from, or alternatively, very close, to success – but not on the target itself. It happens to us all, to everyone.

Embrace the near win. We learn through practice, through taking risks, through making mistakes and eventually we will find ourselves in the right place at the right moment. Canadian author and motivational speaker, Robin Sharma reminds us that, “Our wounds ultimately give us wisdom. Our stumbling blocks inevitably become our stepping stones. And our setbacks lead to our strengths.”

To all who have taken to the field, the court, the leadership space in a grand final finish – I hope you have played hard, given it your all and learned through the experience of accomplishment over achievement, and of seeking opportunity.

Embrace the win. Embrace the near win: ‘losing, in a curious way, is winning’.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

References

Lewis, (2014). TED Talk. ‘Embrace the Near Win’.

From little things big things grow…

21 August

In recent years we’ve visited families in Urandangi, Gregory Springs, Hughenden, Mt Isa, Katherine, Darwin, Moree, Narrabri, Roma, Dalby, Tenterfield, North Star, Goondiwindi, Kowanyama, St George, Bollon, Cherbourg, Cunnamulla, Longreach, Winton, Mungindi, Miles, Boomi, Thallon, Taroom, Charleville, Blackall, Warialda, Munduberra, Gayndah, Condamine and more …

Why do Fairholme staff – boarding, academic and leadership, traverse country roads each year, visiting incoming students, their families, and their schools? Because data would tell us that forming relationships prior to school entry, reduces the impact of homesickness.

In 2014 Fairholme undertook a two-year research project through Independent Schools Queensland to understand the structures that best support the transition of boarders from their home to Fairholme. Through this, we came to focus on the transition from home to boarding and to consider this widely across all entry points of the College. We have not stopped our ponderings as a result, and the transition programs that operate across the whole College are under regular review and refinement.

One of the main findings from the Boarder Transition research project was that visits to our incoming boarders’ homes or hometowns in the year prior entry to school, had a powerful and significantly positive impact on our students’ ability to start learning with greater immediacy. It is a self-evident truth that a student who is settled at home or in boarding is better placed to approach learning positively and effectively. Additionally, understanding our student’s background in a real sense, is the first step in establishing a relationship of trust.

Whilst one building block does not create a tower, we believe it does provide the firmest of footings. It nudges us to an understanding of the contrast between the home and the school environment, it introduces us to the significance of pets, the vastness of properties, and the importance of family. It is a lesson in empathy and awareness. Furthermore, it reminds us all, each time, of distance and not just in a literal sense.

After all, we do have to persevere when travelling distance.

As staff we are enlightened and humbled each time as we calculate the kilometres many of our Boarder families undertake to enable a Fairholme education. We have a glimpse of long, tedious straight roads, often pitted with potholes. So too, we encounter kangaroos, bush pigs, and the occasional guileless emus, and road trains that appear endless and impossible to overtake, safely. Travelling west late in the afternoon means blinding sunlight and it also means vast open plains, mountains that appear blue on the horizon, sorghum crops standing to attention, the fluff of cotton crops caught in road grass and cattle that graze, oblivious to the traffic that passes them. We all have to travel distance to get anywhere. We have to travel as staff, to gain insight.

Enduring the potholes, persisting through tedious kilometres, and negotiating an overtake of too many road trains is a means through which we are actually forging connections. For each and every country visit to our new families, we are building relationships and nurturing potential in our incoming students. That’s why we travel north, south, and west each year – thousands and thousands and thousands of kilometres. Because we believe, and data confirms, that it makes a difference.

These visits allow our new boarders, leaving home for the first time, to settle faster and to feel a greater sense of belonging. For their parents, these visits allow the first layer of the fundamental platform of trust to be established. Without it, the journey ahead will be less fruitful.

Travelling distance, is but a small gesture of commitment to our families, but an important reminder that, in Australian singers/songwriters Paul Kelly and Kev Carmody’s prophetic words – ‘from little things, big things grow.’

Dr Linda Evans

Principal (and avid western traveller)

Oh to be perfect…

06 August

'I am not a perfectionist, but I like to feel that things are done well.' Cristiano Ronaldo

Most of us do not need to dip too deeply into our childhood memories to draw on the nubs of wisdom and truisms passed on in conversations – formal and informal. “Practice makes perfect,” is but one. It continues to be a mantra that we casually share with our children and with students – and, implicit within, are two problematic ideas.

The first being that practice does not lead to perfection, if ever, because the notion of ‘perfection’ in any setting, is riddled with the potential for an elevated level of ‘stress sensitivity.’

The second problem is that whilst we often laud perfectionism as a worthy skill, share it proudly in job interviews and other settings, yet it can be a curse and a precursor to a mindset that takes us to places of shame, blame and deep dissatisfaction.

Practice itself when undertaken with commitment can elicit perseverance, aid retention and, at best, practice can give a skill or a learning, ‘permanence’ (Garth Mole, 2023).

The best tangible gift I ever received as a child was a Netball goal – it was for my ninth birthday (yes, a long time ago). Yet, I still remember watching intently as Dad attached it to a timber pole, meticulously measuring the accuracy of height and placing it in the depths of a neatly dug hole on a flat piece of lawn, adjacent to our clothesline.

They say that perfection is merely 10,000 hours of practice away. I think I must have surpassed that time frame – the quest for perfection was a strong drive – as well as an impossible one. Quite honestly, I was OK with that – the thrill of improvement, the hope of achieving one hundred out of one hundred drove me on, to achieve whatever goal I set myself on any given day – even though the outcomes were always different between one afternoon and the next. It kept me busy. It kept me focused. It led to accuracy - but never perfectionism.

If you do not practice you will never achieve perfection. True. If you do practice you will never achieve perfection. True. In a world where perfection is an airbrush away, can be manufactured through technological intervention or artificially constructed, we do need to hold proudly to the reality of our flaws, the learning lessons of perseverance and our ability to fall short of expectation, pick ourselves up, and have another shot – literally or metaphorically: because that is the pattern of life.

Researchers continue to contest the nature versus nurture argument, their dichotomous views place them on a continuum where genetics and

effort are poised at either end.

Anders Ericsson in his combined studies with Charness in 1994, argued that intentional and appropriately structured practice leads to ‘perfect’ performance outcomes, outcomes that some researchers had previously attributed to genetics or innate ability.

Their adage that practice makes perfect is contested avidly by other researchers. However, the dangerous downside of perfectionism, as discussed by Ruggeri, 2018, is much more difficult to contest. Ruggeri cites a meta-analysis undertaken by Thomas Curran and Andrew Hill comparing perfectionism across generations from 1989 to 2016 in the US, UK, and Canada.

Their study found significant increases among the most recent undergraduates. Further, Katie Rasmussen, who researches child development and perfectionism at West Virginia University, states that “as many as two in five kids and adolescents are perfectionists,” (cited in Ruggeri,

2018).

Consider the snapchat world of adolescents and their drive to compare, to rate their accomplishments and insta moments against others, and this statistic should not surprise us. So, what do we do about that? Put goal posts in our backyard, take care with the truisms (that may indeed not be true at all) that fall carelessly from our lips or continue to laud that which is perfect?

One needs only to look at a recent Fairholme post which shows our Fairholme cross country runners competing at the state titles to capture how committed practice develops permanence of skill, it nurtures perseverance and the healthy will to improve.

In the literal mud through which they ran, each competitor learned more about the joy of competition – against self and others, the scope and possibilities for their next run and how to manage disappointment when the high bar of expectation is not reached. I trust that each runner had a ‘Cristiano Ronaldo moment,’ where they felt they had done well: and they did, exceptionally so.

Hours of practice led them to run with strength and will and drive – exceptional skills that translate to so many other corners of living.

The Japanese ‘wabi-sabi’ notion of finding beauty in imperfection is worth consideration, it’s worth juxtaposing against the constructed on-line world: fabricated for impact and a hot bed for the development of an unhealthy sense of self.

Practice should not be used as a tool for perfectionism. Practice, at its core, should be about focus, grit and hard work. At best, it is a rehearsal, a means by which permanence of skill or understanding develops and its full value exists when that rehearsal is enjoyable, challenging and innately driven.

My parents would attest to my Netball goal post as one of their wisest fiscal investments in me; it was tangible evidence that practice, in the

seeking of excellence, is an active concept, never an endpoint. Practice and perfectionism are disparate terms, despite the commonality of their pairing.

Practice for permanence of skill acquisition is a much more apt phrase. Learning from what we don’t do well, often provides the greatest learning

of all. Wabi-sabi, however, is the ultimate concept. Imagine if we could all find and celebrate the beauty of flaws and embrace a place or state of being where practice never creates nor seeks perfection and where stress sensitivity does not exist.

As I consider the benefits of embracing mistakes, flaws and imperfections, I am led to yet another childhood truism … ‘we learn through our mistakes’, but therein is another conundrum, for another time …

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

References

Ericsson, K. A., & Charness, N. (1994). Expert performance: Its structure and acquisition »

Konnikova, M. (2016). Practice doesn’t make Perfect »

Ruggeri, A. (2018). The dangerous downsides of perfectionism »

Disconnect…

20 June

Holidays bring with them the tantalizing opportunity to pause, to honour a different rhythm and to disconnect from technology – even partially.

The current ‘unplug movement’ addresses the relationship between technology addiction and poor mental health. Detoxification from our wired life is an essential part of living in 2023 where the push of a button, obsession with image and inability to delay gratification are trademark. The rise of wellbeing as a focus in all forums – within and outside of schools, reflects the need for – pause.

You may not all be aware that Fairholme staff operate under an email communique curfew – one that has been in operation for the past decade. At least once per term all staff are reminded of protocols around emailing colleagues – this is about preserving and respecting one another’s right to pause and to disconnect from this highly wired environment. It is rare for a staff member to ever communicate outside of a 7am to 7pm Monday to Friday timeframe – even rarer for this to occur during holidays. Always, an email sent outside this timeframe will be prefaced by an apology and will contain urgent content required prior to the next school day.

For your interest, I share the conventions that we adhere to, so respectfully.

email@Fairholme College

1. Write Hot. Edit Cold.
2. Emails need to be respectful and timely – more than two paragraphs generally indicate the need for a real time in-person conversation. To author an email essay to a recipient constitutes ‘management by monologue.’
3. It is our right to answer emails at any time; our responsibility to be judicious about when we send them and how they are written.
4. Always ask – Would this be better to talk about in person, or by phone?
5. Consider: Is it important to send this outside of a 7am – to 7pm Monday to Friday timeframe.
6. Does the recipient need to be thinking on this outside of school hours? 

In thinking of the wired world, I am drawn back to mid-December of 2017. I am sitting in a food market in Lisbon, Portugal. A Mum, Dad and tennish year-old son are sitting at a table beside me in this buzzing, vibrant place. It is midday and I am relishing the sights, smells, and differences. That is, until a familiar scene unfolds beside me – the tennish year-old boy begins to wriggle, desperate for mum and dad’s attention.

Engrossed on their iPhones they do not notice as he squirms, pulls faces, and eventually, pushes against the table to make it rock. His parents do not move, respond, or react. For a few excited minutes I am delusional and imagine that I am observing the world’s most skilled parents making a deliberate choice to completely ignore their son’s behaviour. Alas, they are so attached to their iPhones, they have forgotten where they are, or who they are with: they have forgotten that their son is with them. Eventually, their tennish year-old son is able to rock the table hard enough to spill their drinks and scatter their platters of finely sliced pork. The rocking has been constant for minutes, not a word has been spoken until, in this deliberate gesture … he finally gains their attention. Hell, hath no fury than two parents whose social media activity is interrupted. The scene unfolds dramatically: a chaotic mix of yelling, hitting and tears. I optimistically will them some deep breathing which (Dent, 2016) reminds us, creates some much-needed serotonin – the calming neurotransmitter. Whilst tennish year-old ‘Miguel’ had chosen his attention-seeking behaviours unwisely, I wonder how things might have unfolded without the presence of iPhones.

So too, it’s years ago and I am sitting in a restaurant in Toowoomba and watching a marriage proposal unfold. I am conscious of how I am being addictively drawn to the romance of the scene. Nonetheless, I attempt to practice what I see as the requisite privacy for such a situation (my mother’s manners mantra were on repeat in my head). Flowers, a sparkling diamond, champagne, tears – the scene unfolded as you might imagine. And then … mobile phones were retrieved, photographs taken and shared. For the next thirty minutes that couple, newly engaged, deeply in love, did not acknowledge one another. Heads down, fingers swiping and typing frantically, they shared their news online.

Wired. Excited. And … totally disconnected from one another. Again, I wondered how things might have unfolded without the presence of an iPhone. Yes, our devices keep us connected but emotionally they keep us disconnected: such is the tension that we traverse, daily – often unknowingly. Our worlds are lived on gadgets, unless we permit ourselves time to observe the gift of ordinary days, days not filled by gadget checking, and social media diversions, where we privilege connection at a human level. Blaise Pascal wrote in the 1600s of ‘man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone’ and foreshadowed our impulse to ‘turn to something else’ (Kagge, 2017, p. 37) leading us with addictive magnetism to the age of noise: social media noise.

Here’s to the holidays ahead – a time to privilege connection through disconnection with technology: it is time to pause. Book in hand – I intend to do just that.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

References

Dent, M. (2016). The Power of the Parental Pause »

Kagge, E. (2017). Silence: In the Age of Noise. Trans. from Norwegian by Becky L. Crook. China: Penguin.

We need to talk about…

18 May

Yes, uncomfortable as it may be, we do need to talk about consent. We need to talk about how to speak confidently and autonomously. We need to discuss the differences between consent and dissent.

Leesa Waters, Deputy CEO at the National Association for Prevention of Child Abuse and Neglect reminds that “Schools cannot do this alone. Parents cannot do this alone. We all have to say we are committed to this because we want change.” In the compliance culture that underpins conventional schooling and traditional homes, young people need opportunity to exert agency – not just in matters of sex but, from the earliest age, in general decision-making around choices that affect them, directly.

This is not just about being able to say no, it also about engendering the confidence to say yes. I have a memory of being twelve and driving home with my friend and her mother in their bronze-coloured Chrysler Charger. Her mother asked, ‘What would you like to do, Linda – would you like to come back to our house, or go straight home?’ The arrangement had been that we would see a movie and then I would be dropped home straight after. Her question was a departure from the script. I looked at my friend who offered no input – she was used to decision-making, autonomy, and agency. She seemed aligned with her mother’s thinking which was genuinely around this being my decision, not theirs. I replied, ‘I’d like to come back to your house if that’s OK.’ This may seem to be a trite example, yet, in my world, at that time, plans were parent-driven and generally adhered to. Power rested entirely with adults. I felt a small sense of liberation in saying yes, and, in that small moment, I was learning about decision-making.

Conversely, how easily do we say no? How easily do any of us step beyond that which is expected that which has been cultivated in a power discourse, and speak our mind? Recently, I was struck by a conversation with a student whose co-curricular load is expansive. She spoke of another activity of interest, but also of her seemingly impossible time juggle. I asked, ‘How does the idea of saying no sit with you?’ Because we need to learn to say no in situations that are not high stakes, situations where it is safe to decline, because there will be circumstances, throughout our life, where it feels dangerous to say no, yet vital that we do. Having listened to both of Leonie Smith’s Digital Parenting sessions in the past week, I am reminded (how can one forget, really?) of the pervasiveness of the on-line world where agency is diminished, it would seem, as we click our way further into an image culture that is broader and deeper than us. Resistance to this lure takes skill. It does take an ability to self-regulate – to say no. So, our children need to start practicing from an early age - even in the most mundane of circumstances. 

How often do you find yourself saying yes – agreeing to something or someone, when you would rather say no? Broadly, consent exists in places and spaces that have nothing to do with sex. Consent is about choosing agreement, negotiating outcomes, and resisting compliance in circumstances where you actually want to say no. I am not talking about our children declining to do tasks that help a home or school operate well. I am talking about the gaps we might allow in situations of choice – invitations to exert agency. Extrapolating further, this creates a practice field for exercising choice over our bodies. McClung (2022) in his article ‘How do you teach a primary school child about consent? refers to a line from a recommended book that states ‘Your body belongs to you, and you are the boss of it.’ It’s a simple truism but an important one to reinforce.

Waters (cited in Dillon, 2021) says [that] children need to learn they have a choice in how they react to situations, so that when they are older, they do not resort to blaming someone else’s behaviour for their own actions. She gives the example about learning mutual consent through play. 

Waters talks about how to assist your child to negotiate a play stalemate by saying - 

‘It looks like they don’t want to play that right now. Why don’t you talk to them about something you both want to play?’ 

Yes, teaching consent is about empowering agency in young people – in the words they choose, and in the way they confidently articulate yes, or no. We need to begin conversations around respect from the earliest of ages and to allow our children opportunities for real decision-making. An openness to do so and a willingness to discuss that which is uncomfortable sets a sturdy platform for your child’s future self. It may be that these conversations create the cornerstone of the strength to say no, or to say yes, in the most vital of circumstances. Developing an understanding of how to respectfully consent or dissent needs to form an on-going dialogue, and we need to talk about it – often, openly and from the earliest of ages.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

References

Ewen, K. ‘Beyond the Talk: Teaching Your Kids About Consent.’ The Gottman Institute.

Hendriks, J. (2021). ‘Consent isn’t as simple as ‘no means no’. Here’s what you need to know’. ABC News online. 24 Feb 2021. 

Lubis, I. (2021). ‘Navigating the complexity of teaching consent’. Upstart. 11 May 2021.

McClung, J. (2022). ‘How do you teach a primary school child about consent? You can start with these books.’ . The Conversation. 23 September 2022.

Millar, C. (2021). ‘Teaching consent to toddlers: ‘I’m happy we’re starting to have this conversation’’ The Guardian. 2 June 2021. 

Northover, K. (2023). Porn and the ‘manosphere’ SBS series is tough to watch, but it’s must-see TV.

The Sydney Morning Herald. 12 April 2023. 

Dillon, (2021). ‘Teaching consent to children: The joke is where it starts and rape is where it ends.’  The Guardian. 21 March 2021.  Accessed 18/04/2023

SBS On Demand. (2021). ‘Asking For It’: Episode 1 »

Shifting the narrative

14 April

“What went wrong, today?”

When our child is struggling with ‘becoming’ – becoming an adolescent, becoming independent, becoming their own person – and we feel their pain, their indecision, and their doubt, we sometimes enter into that world too wholeheartedly or too full of the milk of ‘good intent’. Here, in this space, we are wont to frame their life in the negative. We are wont to pre-empt the negative. We are wont to describe their life in the negative. We say, inadvertently, implicitly, and not in so many words, when we touch base at the end of day in person or on the phone - “What went wrong, today?” Anticipating their struggle, we reinforce it when we step with both feet, into their world and seek to smooth it out, eliminate the bumps and wrinkles of ‘becoming’.

Of course, they are ‘becoming’ in a world that is, in some ways, foreign to us. There are many elements of commonality, yes, but there are departures that appear like inaccessible chasms. We hark back to our own childhoods which loom in the full rose-hued light of nostalgia as perfect, sun-filled, lazy times. These are the childhoods where our parents said to us, “When I was your age …” – and their parents said to them much the same – always infused with memories of financial struggle. Adolescence, young adulthood, teenagers … call our emerging adults what you will, but be aware that straining to understand this phase of development is not new to the 21st century. Let us not fall victim to the belief that raising healthy, resilient, and courageous young women is an impossibility in the age of ubiquitous technology. To do so robs them of their potential, it paints them as victims of a world where they can and do thrive, a world where they are more socially conscious and more actively seek justice for all, than any generation before – if we allow them.

Socrates, great Greek philosopher foreshadowed this in the wisdom of his words, penned before the birth of Christ (469–399 B.C):

The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their households. They no longer rise when elders enter the room. They contradict their parents, chatter before company, gobble up dainties at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their teachers.

In Ancient Greece, young Athenians aged 18 – 19 were referred to as ‘ephebe’ and the German word, backfisch (baked fish) was coined in the 20th century to describe ‘a giddy, spontaneous, adventurous girl who had an adult's independence’ (Fisher, 2022). Yes, every generation of teens, including backfish and ephebes, is shaped by their environment. Our young people’s lives are constructed – both positively and negatively ‘by a saturation of mobile technology and social media’ (Divecha, 2016), technology that is bigger and more expansive than us. Mobile phones and social media give great strength to the age-old lament of parents who are shocked when their compliant child begins to withdraw or retaliate or seek out other’s company in preference to their own family’s. We are hurt, confused, bewildered when this occurs and seek out reasons why. Inevitably, there is some degree of shame involved when we confront the realisation that our daughter (or son) seeks distance from us – we forget that this is our job: raising strong, independent children. We forget to take a moment of self-congratulations for providing a platform for such independence. Nathanson (1992) represents the shame we sometimes experience when we no longer see ourselves as the central or only reference point for our children’s decision-making. His model - The Compass of Shame Scale was developed to assess use of four shame-coping styles: Attack Self, Withdrawal, Attack Other, and Avoidance (cited in Elison, 2006).

Invariably, in our humanness and hurt we second guess our worth as parents, blame others for our children’s behaviour, retract into ourselves or deny the changes. Possibly, we vacillate between all four modes. Of course, if we place ourselves too fervently in one of these shame-reducing modes, we begin to model behaviours for our adolescents to absorb, behaviours that become their default mechanism. Somehow, we must step back from our roles as fixers, controllers, directors. It is possible to be close to our children and still allow them space for independence. It is possible to allow technology but to emphasise the value of face-to-face interactions. It is possible to teach the human skills of kindness, patience, empathy – but we must demonstrate these first and do so, with consistency. It is possible.

Yet, when our expectation, as we watch them struggle in their becoming, is to assume that things are wrong, others are wrong, then we default to the narrative of ‘What went wrong today?’ instead of ‘What went right today?’ As always, language matters, the delivery of that language matters too. Shifting our expectations as adults and parents allows our children to shift their expectations too, it permits a more positive viewpoint from which to imagine themselves and their world. And always, always, as parents there remains a pivotal place for us – as adults, encouragers, role models – sometimes though, on the sideline, rather than in their centre of their world. Perhaps a powerful beginning point for the term ahead is to reshape the questions we ask our children:

What went well today?

What did you do today of which you are proud?

For what are you most grateful?

We need to deliver those questions with good intent, with expectation that the answer will be more considered than: ‘Nothing went well.’ ‘I can’t think of anything I’m proud of.’ ‘I’m not grateful for anything.’ We cannot accept and settle for the negative, but perhaps, like all things in parenting, we need to begin by modelling our own answers to the same questions. The words will be different for you – for your family, your home, your values – but the intent remains the same … that even in the whirl of becoming, the tussle of finding self-worth there are always things for which we can be grateful, things of which we can be proud and good things that happen. On some days, at some stages, we need to work to find these answers, but they do exist, they are discoverable – if we practice enough.

So, what went well today?

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

Reference

Divecha, D. (2016). ‘How Teens Today Are Different from Past Generations.’ Greater Good Magazine. (accessed 26 March 2023)

Are You Listening?

22 February

“When adults offer up a solution too quickly,” notes Isla, a 15-year-old, “it feels like they’re not really listening or understanding what I’m going through.” (Damour 2020)

My mother is a great listener: what a gift. At various moments in my life, I have also been the beneficiary of that privilege from friends and even health practitioners who have exacted the practice of listening. Archie Roach, in his autobiography ‘Tell Me Why: The Story of My Life and My Music’ tells of the importance of listening deeply. According to Roach, getting rid of all thoughts and noise allows us to hear ‘the truth, the truth which lies on the wind.’ Nonetheless, when we are working with a dysregulated adolescent, the idea of listening deeply takes on a different dimension – impossibility comes to mind. In writing of this very challenge, the Newport Academy explains why listening, or being in conversation with a heightened adolescent can be a fraught experience. Because:

• Your teenager might not want to talk at all.
• Your teenager is finding it hard to empathise with your perspective.
• Conversations with your teen quickly lose focus and devolve into conflict.
• You or your teen are afraid to express what you truly feel.

Welcome to parenting through adolescence: that complex, fraught, challenging passage from childhood to adulthood. It may seem self-evident that one cannot become an adult without first being an adolescent, but it is a truism, nonetheless. You can’t sidestep the inevitable separation of parent from your child: you have to let go. They have to see themselves as separate entities and they have to make choices and face consequences. Without this, your child cannot step across the threshold into independence. How do we allow our adolescents to make autonomous and wise decisions when we know they want to test boundaries; risk take and experiment? How do we stop ourselves from compromising our own expectations in the thirst for alignment or even some peace with our children? After all, the thing they need most from us is permission to be autonomous; to be secure in the knowledge that we ourselves are confident adults, able to set clear boundaries.

Older kids … are going through a process of separating themselves from their parents, shaping who they will be apart from us. In order to do that, they need a certain amount of autonomy, room to stretch, take risks, try things out, and grow. There’s research that reveals kids who are more controlled by their parents lie to [them] more. If we don’t give them room [to separate], they will create it, even through deceit. (Lahey, 2016)

Sometimes, we are told, all too often, and with all too much emphasis, that we are ‘the worst parents on earth’, or ‘that everyone else is allowed to ….’ or we are met with an exaggerated eye roll, the curt conclusion to a phone conversation or a closed bedroom door. At such times we wonder what we have done to attract such a response. We wonder if this reaction is unique to us - because it certainly feels that way. Yet, you are not alone.

More than a decade ago, my freshly nineteen year old daughter (still in the throes of intermittent and perhaps frequent adolescent behaviour) was studying for a semester at San Jose State University. Whilst the costs were shared between us, the bulk fell (no surprise) upon us, her parents. At times it felt that we were giving her far too much through this privilege. Conversely, at other times, we delighted in her growth in global awareness, the international connections and friendships she forged, and her courage in undertaking study overseas. It wasn’t a cheap exercise and when her semester ended, she was keen to holiday a little longer, on our purse strings. She had run out of money, entirely, despite her assurance just weeks before that she had plenty left over. We were torn, torn between denying her ‘a once-in-a-lifetime’ opportunity and drawing a line in the sand. Yet, we chose to draw a line in the sand. We resisted the urge to align with her, or to briefly enjoy feeling close and generous. It cost money to rebook her an earlier flight home - which seemed counterintuitive, but we felt compelled to make it clear that the parent bank was not limitless. It felt mean and it also felt appropriate. Was it the right action? Who knows? We don’t get a trial run at parenting. Years on, she remains deeply grateful for the San Jose experience and, surprisingly, she never resented the early flight home, she actually accepted our reasoning. Amazing! Sometimes hard decisions reap surprisingly positive rewards. 

When Sue Chandler from Transformative Schools met with our Year 12 parents recently, she spoke a lot about how best to frame conversations with our autonomy-seeking adolescents. There were reminders about utilising initial ‘I’ statements to frame frustrations or concerns:

“I’ve noticed that…” 

“…you’ve been finding it hard to get up in the morning…”

“…you didn’t get the jobs done that I asked you to…” 

“…you were really short with me in the car this morning…”

“…you don’t seem yourself…” 

Finish by asking, “Can you fill me in?” or “What’s going on?”

Further, Sue suggests that you let your daughter know why you are bringing up the problem. Share your concerns and be specific – Is it about her learning? Is it about friends? Is it about school or family expectations? Has the family dynamic shifted significantly?

“So, the thing is…” or “I’m worried that…” or “If this was to continue, my concern is…”

Frame the problem: “I wonder if there is a way, we can address…(your concern)…AND…(my concern)?” 

Give your daughter first go. “Do you have any ideas?” Provide help if needed or ask if you can offer some suggestions. Any idea is a good idea. Litmus test: Does it address the concern for both your daughter and for you? Finally, agree on a solution worth trying.

Oh, if it were that simple! It’s not – it is parenting after all. But those small steps in framing conversations even just a little differently, remembering that our tone of voice often matters more than our actual words, along with utilising the Archie Roach deep listening methodology, when combined, do make an effective recipe for positive communication. Damour (2020) reminds us that “much of what bothers [adolescents] cannot be solved. We can’t fix their broken hearts, prevent their social dramas, or do anything about the fact that they have three huge tests scheduled for the same day. But having a problem is not nearly so bad as feeling utterly alone with it.” Listen well but don’t take over their troubles – to do so robs them of the gift of autonomy.

Dr Linda Evans | Principal

References

A Parents’ Guide to Dealing with Difficult Teenage Daughters » Newport Academy.

Damour, L. (2020). Why Teenagers Reject Parents’ Solutions to Their Problems »  The New York Times

Lahey, J. (2016). The Gift of Failure: How the Best Parents Learn to Let Go So Their Children Can Succeed. New York. NY. Harper Collins

Ward, D. (2022). 10 Tips to Difficult Conversations with Teens and Adult Children »