Sometimes the win is space

A Facebook memory popped up the morning we received my son’s matric results. A photo from fifteen years ago, taken on his first day of Grade 1. Same boy. Same face. A very different moment. The timing felt almost pointed.

By the time that photo was taken, we already knew that school was unlikely to be straightforward for him. We’d had enough early experiences, enough careful conversations and raised eyebrows, to understand that this was going to be a long game. So while other parents were swept up in first-day excitement, I was paying attention to the details that tend to matter later on.

School didn’t unfold in clean stages after that. It zigzagged. There were periods where things almost settled, followed by stretches where it became clear that the fit still wasn’t right. His intelligence was evident early on, but it wasn’t always recognised in ways that helped him. Anxiety and sensory overload were often misread. Expectations shifted early and often, usually before he’d had a fair chance to show what he could do.

Over time, our focus narrowed. The next term. The next teacher. The next environment that might hold him a little better than the last. Reports, meetings and emails became familiar territory. Advocacy became part of everyday life. Fatigue followed close behind. You don’t announce any of this. You just keep going.

The later years of school marked a shift. The environment finally suited him. Expectations were clearer. Accountability mattered. Support didn’t mean being shielded from the work. He was expected to show up, take responsibility and persist. And he did. Slowly, steadily, without fuss. Progress showed itself in consistency rather than dramatic turning points.

When the matric results arrived, the reaction wasn’t tidy. There was relief first, the kind you feel in your body before your brain catches up. Then pride. Then the slightly unreal moment of checking again, just to be sure. The results were strong. A Bachelor’s Degree pass. For a young person who had once been described as unschoolable, and for whom these outcomes were never assumed.

Marks don’t define a child, but they do shift what becomes possible.

He now has options, and the one he’s chosen fits how he works. He’s enrolling in a Higher Certificate in a field he genuinely enjoys. The year ahead gives him time to immerse himself in learning, conversation and ideas. To meet people. To think out loud. To spend time in spaces where curiosity and engagement are valued. These have always been his strengths.

I’ve learned that some young people arrive at clarity early, while others need time in the right spaces for things to start clicking. My son has always been the latter. In our world, the important moments tend to happen mid-conversation, not on paper.

For the first time in a long time, decisions aren’t being made from fear or damage control. There’s room now to learn, to grow and to see what unfolds next.

After the road we’ve travelled, that space feels hard-won. And it feels very, very good.