How do you teach your child to rise — when every system is rigged to keep them on their knees?

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Sending Your Child to School in a War Zone (Without Armor)

It takes a certain kind of courage to send your child into a building every day where they are hated. Not disliked. Not unpopular. Hated. Viciously, irrationally, religiously — as if hating your child is a moral obligation for the rest of the student body.

Because if someone dares to be kind? If someone dares to not mock, exclude, or dehumanise your child — then they’ll become the next target. Welcome to the psychology of mob mentality. Welcome to the cowardice of adolescence. Welcome to the failure of a school’s moral backbone.

And still, we send them.

We wipe their tears. Pack their lunches. Zip up their bags and pray. Every morning is an act of faith. Every afternoon, a sigh of relief that they made it home again. Intact.

But resilience? Resilience is not built in peace. It is forged in fire. And my child — my beautiful, brilliant child — is nothing short of flameproof.

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But Then the System Gets Involved — and It Gets Worse

You would think the bullying would be the worst of it. The dirty looks. The whispers. The games of “you can’t sit here.” The celebrations when she’s absent. The fake smiles from teachers who know damn well what’s going on.

But no. It’s the curriculum that breaks you.

Group work.

Every. Single. Class.

Even in maths. Even in science. Even in things that should be about logic, about thinking, about independence — schools have swallowed the lie that “collaboration” is the holy grail of learning. So now, your grades don’t just depend on your mind. They depend on whether your tormentors are willing to let you participate.

Spoiler: they’re not.

Your child becomes the child no one wants in their group. Not because she can’t contribute — she can. She’s brilliant. But because associating with her is social suicide. Because exclusion is currency, and everyone is desperate to buy safety.

And worse? These group assignments aren’t optional. They’re worth 50% of the grade in most subjects.

The school doesn’t care. The teachers shrug. “It’s how the world works,” they say. No, it’s not. In the real world, if someone harasses you at work, you can report them. In the real world, you don’t get forced to co-sign your future with someone who hates your guts. In the real world, abusers don’t get to tank your success because they’re too immature to behave like human beings.

But in school? They do.

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Resilience Is Not Enough When the System Is Rotten

I’ve raised my child to be resilient. I’ve taught her not to crumble when people throw stones. She’s learned to sit alone at lunch. To read when no one wants to talk. To be strong when the world is cruel.

But how do you teach a child to survive a system that is designed to fail them?

When group tasks are mandatory. When friendships are weaponised. When teachers blame the victim because it’s easier than challenging the mob. When being intelligent, kind, or simply different makes you a target.

What then?

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What I’ve Learned: You Can’t Outsmart a Rigged Game, But You Can Call It What It Is

I used to think that if I just taught my child to be stronger, kinder, smarter — we could beat the system. We could outlast the hate. We could rise above it.

But the truth is darker than that.

Because some systems aren’t broken — they’re functioning exactly as designed.

A system that protects bullies and punishes outcasts. A system that rewards silence and punishes advocacy. A system that enforces group tasks and calls it “collaborative learning” — knowing full well that the kids forced into groups are the same kids who get tormented by those groups.

We need to stop pretending this is education. This is sanctioned cruelty with a rubric attached.

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Let This Be Your Reminder: Your Child Deserves Better

If your child is going through this, I see you. I see them.

I know what it’s like to help with an assignment your child will never get credit for because her group shut her out. I know what it’s like to have to write emails you know will be ignored. I know what it’s like to watch your child become a shell of who they once were — not because they’re broken, but because they’re being buried alive under the weight of a cruel, cowardly system.

But this isn’t the end.

Keep advocating. Keep pushing. Keep writing. Keep building your child’s strength. Remind them that being excluded by the heartless doesn’t mean they’re unworthy — it means they’re different. And difference is power.

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Because if they can survive this, they can survive anything. But let’s make damn sure they don’t have to.

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