In 2014, my child’s mother and I made a decision that left many friends and family members shaking their heads: we let our child leave school to participate in non-school-based experimental education (commonly known as homeschool education).

When we made this decision, my child was still young. People around us had similar reactions: “Are you sure?” “What about college admissions later?” “Won’t he become disconnected from society?”

Some people were more polite and spoke more diplomatically. Others said directly: “Aren’t you being too idealistic?”

I don’t blame them. Because in Taiwan’s social context, “leaving school” itself carries a rebellious undertone. It’s as if you’re negating the path everyone else has taken.

But my motivation was actually very practical. As an entrepreneur, I face the forefront of industry transformation every day. The environment is reshaping the definition of work, globalization changing the landscape of competition, and the half-life of knowledge getting shorter and shorter. Then I look back at institutional education—how much of what it spends twelve years teaching children will still be useful ten years later?

This gap is so large that I couldn’t pretend not to see it.

Tearing Off the Romantic Labels

But let me be clear first: homeschool education is not a utopia.

Many narratives about homeschooling online are too romantic. Things like “letting children freely explore their talents,” “learning in nature,” “innovative education that breaks free from frameworks”—these sound beautiful, but if you actually step into it, you’ll find reality is full of gray areas. Including communication conflicts with the children.

After several years of this journey, I’ve summarized a few insights (note: this piece was originally written in 2016).

Homeschooling is accompaniment, not outsourcing. You can’t just pay money to an institution or consultant and then expect them to handle your child’s education for you. That’s no different in essence from sending your child to school. Homeschooling requires deep parental involvement—not the kind of involvement where you supervise homework, but thinking together about “what should we learn today,” “why should we learn this,” and “what meaning does this learning have for his future.”

Homeschooling is not a shortcut to college admission. If you still believe in credentialism at heart—good schools, good degrees, good jobs—then staying within the system is the smarter choice. Because the system’s rules are designed for college admissions, and in that game, children within the system always have home-field advantage. Homeschooling can offer many things, but “efficiently obtaining a diploma” is not one of them.

Homeschooling is co-founding a startup. This is the analogy I use most often. You and your child are together “operating” an educational enterprise, where the product is curriculum and the user is your child. You need to do market research (understand the child’s interests and abilities), develop products (design learning content), conduct user testing (observe the child’s responses and growth), and continuously iterate (adjust direction based on feedback).

And like starting a business, the uncertainty is extremely high. Laws being passed doesn’t mean the system is perfected. Good homeschooling communities that exist today might dissolve tomorrow. You think you’ve found a good learning direction, then half a year later discover your child’s interests have completely changed course.

Choosing homeschooling is a reflection on industrial civilization and capitalist living. It’s not a methodological choice, it’s a philosophical choice. You choose to believe that education is not just about helping children “succeed” within existing systems, but about enabling them to “have the ability to define what success means” in a constantly changing world.

Incompetent Adults

The most difficult thing to handle on the homeschooling journey isn’t curriculum design or learning progress—it’s people.

Specifically, incompetent educators.

Once, my child participated in an overseas learning project with a homeschooling community. He spent a lot of time planning the itinerary, doing research, and preparing materials. Then the supervising teacher took his planning and used it for commercial purposes, without seeking consent at all.

My child was furious. It was his first time encountering an adult with authority over him who did something he felt was wrong. His reaction was: “This is so unfair!”

I completely agreed with him. It truly was unfair.

But this was also an educational opportunity. An educational opportunity that would almost never appear in institutional education.

Gentle and Courteous Resistance

I told my child: You feel it’s unfair, and that’s good. Your anger is justified. But what are you planning to do next?

You can sulk and curse that teacher a hundred times in your mind. You can complain to friends and let everyone know how terrible he is. You can pretend nothing happened and tell yourself “forget it, harmony is precious.”

Or you can do something harder but more valuable: organize your thoughts clearly, then speak to him gently, courteously, but firmly.

I encouraged him to choose the last option. I helped him organize materials, role-play possible conversation scenarios together, and think about how to respond if the other party argued back.

This process took several days. More time than homework for any academic subject.

Finally he mustered the courage to talk to that teacher. The force of what he said was probably only one-third of what we practiced. But he said it. He expressed his position in his own words.

In that moment, I felt this was ten thousand times more important than scoring a hundred on a test.

The Muscle of Resistance

I discussed in “Emotions Are Not Personal Matters” how EQ isn’t developed in isolation—it requires group interaction. Similarly, “resistance” isn’t something you’re born knowing how to do—it’s a muscle that needs practice.

Many adults at thirty or forty years old still choose to swallow unfair treatment. Not because they think fairness isn’t important, but because they’ve never practiced how to express dissent. From childhood through adulthood, institutional education taught them: obey, comply, don’t conflict with teachers, don’t disagree with supervisors.

“Harmony is precious” is a virtue in Taiwanese culture. But if the cost of “harmony” is suppressing all dissenting opinions and tolerating all unfairness, then “harmony” is not harmony but a synonym for oppression.

What I hope my child learns is not “perpetual peace,” but rather “when resistance is necessary, the ability to resist gently and courteously.”

Gentle, because the purpose is not to harm the other person, but to express yourself. Courteous, because respect is mutual, even when the other party doesn’t respect you. But firm, because if you feel something is wrong, you have a responsibility to speak up.

This ability has more opportunities for practice in homeschool education. Because the homeschooling environment itself is full of uncertainty—you’ll encounter good teachers and bad ones. You’ll encounter supportive communities and unfair treatment. Each encounter is an opportunity to practice.

Education Without Standard Answers

After walking this homeschooling path for these years, my greatest realization is: education has no standard answers.

Institutional education has its advantages: clear structure, stable resources, broad social networks. Homeschool education has its values: high flexibility, great depth, closer to “learning for understanding” rather than “learning for testing.”

But regardless of which path, the core question is the same: what kind of person do you want to cultivate?

If the answer is “someone who can get good grades within the existing system,” institutional education is sufficient.

If the answer is “someone who can judge for themselves, make their own choices, and bear their own consequences in an uncertain world”—then whether within or outside the system, you need to deliberately create opportunities for children to face real friction.

Homeschooling is just one way to do this. What matters is not the form, but whether within that form, you bring the “real world” into your child’s learning.

Including the uncomfortable parts. Including incompetent adults. Including unfair treatment. Including moments when you need to stand up and say “no.”

The muscle of resistance, like running, needs practice. And the best time to practice is not after growing up, but now.