Why I Pulled My Kid Out Of Montessori School

The apron photo should have been my first sign. After months of teary drop-offs and teachers physically pulling my two-year-old daughter from my arms, I finally sent a note that said, “I’m not sure Lucy is doing well in the Montessori environment.”

“I hope this photo is proof Lucy is thriving,” the brief response said. And there was my expressionless daughter, apron down to her feet, soapy bucket at her side, cleaning a plastic chair in the corner of the room.

I had been initially captivated by the Toronto school and its dedication to Montessori teachings and was thrilled when she was finally offered a spot at this coveted place, its waitlist more than two years long. I was smitten on the tour: the Scandinavian-designed classrooms with natural light pouring in. And I was excited that the school instilled life skills and believed that a child has an innate curiosity to guide their learning.

What is a Montessori school?

Montessori is a more-than-100-year-old teaching philosophy started by Maria Montessori, an Italian physician and educator. It focuses on child-led and self-paced learning, guided by trained instructors. Activities are often based on life skills and gaining independence.

I knew that a long list of creative, successful people had been educated by the same methodology (Bill Gates, Yo-Yo Ma, Larry Page, and even my beloved Taylor Swift.) The idea that there were prepared, specific learning materials that children could choose from for their “work day” fascinated me. And if I’m honest, I enjoyed boasting to my friends that Lucy was going to a Montessori school, not a daycare. I felt like I was setting her up for success.

I had talked to other moms whose children went to other Montessori schools, and heard only rave reviews: the teachers are so gentle and kind, and the kids are riveted by what they discover every day.

But Lucy continued to struggle, and I was convinced that it would get better. She would jump out of the wagon on the walk to school and try to run home. One day, when I had caught up to her, she begged me to find her a new school. She told me, in her tiny voice, that she was all alone there.

She has plenty of friends, her teacher insisted. But when I was invited for my observation—an established Montessori practice of inviting parents to watch videos of their children at work—I saw her cut up paper strips for my entire 40-minute time slot. Other children worked together and seemed engaged in problem-solving, but Lucy was by herself. Yes, the teacher later told me, Lucy excels at the “ribbon cutting station,” a tenet of Montessori.

Not all Montessori schools are created equal

What I soon realized is there is a discrepancy in the way Montessori methods are executed and the overall vibe in some settings is far more rigid than others. To complicate things further, there are no copyrights on the Montessori name, so any daycare or school can claim to be a Montessori and only follow the principles loosely, or not at all.

For months, I remained committed to the school—until the last straw: Lucy and I were drawing on an easel together at home, and I passed my daughter a piece of chalk. She refused to touch it. “My teacher says I can’t touch chalk,” Lucy, now three, told me. “I’m not ready.”

When I called the teacher, I was told Lucy wasn’t mastering the Montessori rods, which demonstrate a child’s understanding of basic quantities. She therefore wasn’t allowed to join all of the other students in tracing numbers on the chalkboard. I maintained that Lucy fully understands the concept of a number: she insists on a minimum of three books at night, at least two pieces of toast in the morning, and counts her baby sister’s fingers and toes regularly.

Still, Lucy must prove it on the rods before joining the other students at the chalkboard, the teacher said. Why wasn’t I trusting the process?

Follow the child

As the founder of this educational philosophy once said, “Follow the child.” I finally took her advice and withdrew my daughter from the school the next day. With a mix of self-doubt and intense mom guilt, I had to come to realize that this was not a fit for my kid, and it was affecting her sense of self: not ready, isolated, alone.

It’s a lesson Maria Johnson* learned after her son spent a year at a certified Montessori school in Mississauga, Ontario. She says in retrospect, she should have pulled her son out much sooner but the Montessori name and elite reputation kept her committed. “I felt like, I’m paying so much, so it has to be the best,” she said.

Johnson was initially enamoured with its way of learning. “The focus on life lessons—folding laundry, serving each other lunches, it all felt so in line with my parenting.” But her five-year-old son perpetually, persistently cried after drop off, and his guides refused to intervene. “How many conversations did I have where I asked them, ‘you don’t have to hug him, but just show some humanity? Try to comfort him with words.’”

She was told that her son was expressing his emotions and no intervention was required, true to the Montessori method. He was always invited to join the rest of the class when he was ready. “They just had him by the cubbies, crying by himself. He would stay there every morning until recess. I’m heartbroken just thinking about it.”

Johnson too, felt shame in admitting it wasn’t a good fit; the method is so often touted, she said, and so trendy, “I felt like a failure. If this is so amazing for everyone else, what had I done wrong?”, she said.

It’s a question I had asked myself many times in Lucy’s journey, and one I’ve felt shame about for a long time. There are very few public detractors of the Montessori method online, and it was hard to find empathy for our situation. “If it didn’t work, it wasn’t Montessori,” one devotee told me online.

Montessori isn't for everyone

But then I read Lilian Burns’s article, on being a Montessori assistant for two years in the U.S. and then realizing she would never enrol her son in the school. “My experience teaching Montessori taught me that while it is a great form of education for some very independent, very self-motivated children (who don’t need reinforcement or praise and who learn best by hands-on learning with very hands-off adult supervision), it definitely isn’t for everyone,” she wrote.

“Not that it’s a cult,” Burns said when I called her at her home in Connecticut, recounting all of the angry Montessori devotees who responded strongly to her essay. “But people just believe in Montessori so much that if you say anything against it you’re immediately ostracized.”

“Instead of them adapting with the times, adapting with the child or adapting with people’s different learning styles… there is just no adaption in Montessori.”

Despite this, I held on to the thought that something must have been wrong with me, or worse, my kid, if Montessori didn’t work for us.

That is until I watched Lucy transform into a different kid at a new school—this one instead guided by a Reggio Emilia approach, with structured play-based learning and emotional intelligence and following a child’s interests at its core.

I watched her tell me every exciting detail of her day. She asked when she could go back and pleaded for playdates with all of her new friends, more than she could count on one hand.

I watched her bring silly putty—perhaps the most opposite thing from wooden, Montessori educational materials—into her new classroom, and I fully expected her new teacher to take it away. Instead, the teacher asked Lucy to give her class a demonstration of all the things she could create with the putty.

As the other kids gathered around my daughter, I watched her face light up like I’ve only seen on Christmas morning and I knew we had found the right school for her.

*name has been changed to protect privacy