
When I first embarked on the journey of starting my microschool, I imagined a space where learning could be as free-flowing and creative as the children themselves—where the projects would be endless, and the child-led activities would be the heart of everything. I spent hours researching and curating resources, brainstorming ways to weave in hands-on experiences, interdisciplinary lessons, and community-driven activities. The possibilities were endless, and I couldn’t wait to dive in and watch the children thrive in such an innovative environment.
But as the school year unfolded, something unexpected happened. The most rewarding part of running my microschool turned out to be not the elaborate projects or even the child-led activities (though those are still wonderful). The most powerful reward has been something far simpler—watching the children relax.
When they are at school, there is a profound sense of comfort and security that allows them to step into challenges, explore new ideas, and tackle difficult tasks with a sense of ease that I hadn’t anticipated. There is a quiet magic that happens when children are given the space to feel truly supported—emotionally, mentally, and physically—in their learning.
In a traditional school setting, there’s often an unspoken pressure to perform, meet standards, and excel. At our microschool, Lucas Literacy Lab, the environment is intentionally designed to be different. The class sizes are small, the pace is unhurried, and the emphasis is on nurturing each child’s unique learning process. There are no rigid schedules or overwhelming assignments. Instead, there’s a focus on relationships, emotional well-being, and developing the skills that truly matter: resilience, curiosity, and independence.
When children know they are safe and supported, they are able to embrace challenges with more confidence. I’ve watched kids struggle with a concept for a while, only to find that once they feel secure in the environment, they approach it from a different angle—often with new energy and persistence. The fear of failure is replaced with the willingness to try again. The stress of trying to meet an external expectation disappears, and in its place, there’s a quiet determination to improve at their own pace.
The concept of emotional safety is one that I’ve come to appreciate deeply. We often hear about physical safety, but emotional safety is just as critical—if not more so. In a space where children know they can express their feelings, make mistakes, and ask questions without judgment, something beautiful happens. They begin to trust not only their surroundings but also themselves. The security they feel allows them to stretch their capabilities, to take risks without fear of being harshly critiqued, and to focus on the process rather than the product.
There’s something deeply fulfilling in watching the children grow emotionally, socially, and intellectually in an environment that supports them as whole individuals. The projects and activities we do are important, of course, but the foundation of it all is this sense of safety. The more emotionally secure a child feels, the more likely they are to thrive in every other aspect of their learning journey.
I’ve realized that the true reward of starting my microchool is much deeper and more lasting than any project or activity: it is seeing children grow in an environment where they feel secure, valued, and supported. That feeling, for both them and for me, is what makes this journey so incredibly meaningful.
The freedom to try, to fail, and to try again—without the weight of external pressure—is a gift. It’s the foundation of true learning. And for that, I’m deeply grateful.
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