What PSHE at School Taught Me That I Actually Use as a Parent
The pasta was sticking to the bottom of the pan and Maya was pushing hers around the bowl without eating. She was twelve, and there was a sleepover at the weekend. Everyone else was apparently fine with watching an 18-rated horror film. She was not.
“I just don’t know what to say,” she told me.
I almost came out with “just tell them you don’t want to.” Then I remembered what Year 8 was actually like. Saying no in a kitchen to a parent is easy. Saying no on a sleeping bag in a dark living room, when everyone else is laughing, is not.
That was when I thought about PSHE.
When I was at school, PSHE felt like the lesson where normal work stopped. We watched videos with actors in too-sharp shirts. We moved chairs into circles. Visitors arrived with leaflets about drugs, alcohol, or the dangers of something called “the internet.” A lot of it has gone. But a few things stayed, and I use them more now than I did at the time.
The first was refusal skills.
I can still remember Mrs Carter’s classroom: blue carpet, a strip light that buzzed, and a poster about budgeting that nobody looked at. She split us into threes and made us practise saying no. One person offered, one person refused, one watched. It was excruciating. Her formula was simple: say no, give a short reason if you want one, then leave or suggest something else.
“No thanks, I don’t fancy it. Let’s go outside.”
It sounded nothing like real speech. But about eight months later, in a bus shelter, an older girl offered me a cigarette. I heard myself say, “No thanks, I don’t. I’m meeting my mum.” It was awkward. It worked. I had said the words before, so they came out.
I told Maya she did not need a speech. She could say, “I don’t want to watch that. I’m going to get my sleeping bag.” We practised while loading the dishwasher. She mumbled it the first time, then said it normally. I also gave her a way out: she could text “dog needs food” and I would collect her, no argument and no questions in the car.
At the sleepover, she texted at 9:47. They had put the film on, so she went into the kitchen with the host’s older cousin and made toast. It was not a dramatic stand. It was an exit, and that was enough.
Now, when friendship problems come up, we often practise one sentence in the car, where neither of us has to look at each other. I try to give her two concrete exits: go to the bathroom, get water, find an adult, or text home. If you are a teacher, the same can work in form time: a one-minute role-play with students looking at their desks is less exposing than making someone perform in front of the class.
Another PSHE lesson that stayed was about money. In Year 9, Mr Ahmed gave us fake wage slips and made us pay rent, electricity, and phone bills. My imaginary salary disappeared by week three, and I had to cancel my imaginary phone. I found this deeply unfair at the time. Now I see the point: money choices are easier to practise when they do not actually cost anything.
Maya gets a monthly amount for clothes, toiletries, and things she wants that are not essentials. I do not tie it to chores, because we do not pay her to be part of the household. When she wanted a £45 hoodie last month, I did not say no. I said, “Check your budget and wait three days.” She checked, realised it would take most of her money, and decided against it.
She has also bought things she regretted, including a lip oil that looked better in the video. I did not rescue her. I just said, “That’s annoying. Next month you can choose differently.” We keep payment information off her devices and use a wishlist instead of a checkout button. None of this is a big system. It is just small friction before a purchase.
The relationships lessons were more awkward, but parts of them have lasted too. Mrs Carter used an anonymous question box. If you were too embarrassed to ask something out loud, you wrote it down and put it in the box. I now keep a notebook in the kitchen drawer where Maya can leave questions or notes. She has used it twice, both times for something she said she “just didn’t want to say out loud.”
We also have a rule about asking before physical contact. She does not have to hug relatives if she does not want to, and I try to ask before hugging her, especially when she is hot and tired after school. Recently I forgot and went in for a hug when she was clearly cross. She stepped back.
“Sorry,” I said. “I wanted a hug and I didn’t ask. That wasn’t fair. I’ll ask later.”
That is another thing PSHE gave me: a basic shape for an apology. Name what you did, say what effect it had, and say what you will do differently. It works with children as well as adults. When I snapped at her over a missing PE kit, I said, “I raised my voice because I was running late, not because you were slow. That was unfair. Give me five minutes and then we’ll go.”
Some of the most useful lessons now look almost out of date. We once looked at magazine adverts and the teacher asked, “What is this selling, apart from the product? What feeling is it promising?” I ask a version of that sometimes when Maya and I are sitting with her phone. If an advert or a video appears, I might say, “Is that sponsored? What does it want you to think you’re missing?” I do not do it with every clip, or it would become unbearable. One comment is enough.
We also have a plain rule about messages: before you screenshot or forward something, ask the person who sent it. If they say no, do not send it. And if anyone tells her to keep something from me, especially involving messages, photos, or gifts, she can tell me and will not be in trouble for telling.
When schoolwork gets on top of her, I use another PSHE-style routine. We put the paper down, get a drink, and write three tasks on a scrap of paper. Then she circles the smallest one and does ten minutes with the kitchen timer. It does not fix the whole assignment, but it usually moves her out of panic.
Last Friday, she came home talking about a boy in her form who had been teased for not wanting to play a particular game. She said she told him, “You don’t have to explain yourself.” Then she asked for toast and started showing me a video of a cat.
I do not know where that line came from. It might have been PSHE, or something at home, or simply the way she is. A lot of what children face now is not on any worksheet I remember. The online world changes faster than schools can plan for it, and friendship problems do not arrive as neat role-plays.
But the useful PSHE lessons were never the polished ones. They were the small scripts, the awkward practice, and the permission to leave a situation without giving a full explanation. Maya is still learning how to use them. So am I. Her phone buzzed while she was eating, she smiled, and turned it face down. I did not ask. Some of it is hers to practise now.
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