Guiding The Young Ones

Author: Georgina Young – Early Years Specialist

  • A Love Letter to the Parents on the Hard and Beautiful Days

    A Love Letter to the Parents on the Hard and Beautiful Days

    Whether you have a newborn curled into your chest, a toddler exploring the world with determined little footsteps, an older child who seems to grow and change by the hour, or even one who now towers above you… this is for you.

    For the parent who is doing their best — even on the days where their best feels messy, tired, or not quite enough.

    Parenting is stunning in its beauty and staggering in its intensity. It fills you up and stretches you thin, sometimes in the very same breath. And no matter how much you read, how much experience you have, or how deeply you love your child… there are still moments that knock you sideways.

    There are days where your heart feels full and your patience feels thin.
    Where the love is overwhelming… and so is the noise.
    Where you find yourself wondering how something so magical can also feel so unbelievably hard.

    There are nights where you lie awake replaying the moments you wish had gone differently.
    The raised voice.
    The deep sigh.
    The “I should have handled that better.”
    The quiet ache of wanting to be the calm, patient version of yourself that felt out of reach that day.

    And there are the invisible moments too — the ones no one else sees.
    The tears you blink away.
    The responsibility you carry silently.
    The way you keep showing up, again and again, even when you feel depleted.

    I won’t pretend I don’t feel this too. Parenting has brought me some of my most beautiful moments… and some of my hardest. I’ve had days where I’m proud of the mother I am, and days where I sit with guilt and wish I could go back and redo things. But I’ve learned this truth along the way: even the most patient, loving, knowledgeable parents have moments they aren’t proud of. None of us are perfect. And none of us need to be.

    Here is a truth worth holding onto:
    Every parent feels this way sometimes.

    Doctors.
    Teachers.
    Child psychologists.
    Early years professionals.
    Parents with decades of experience.
    Parents with none.

    No one has it all figured out. No one gets it right every time. And every parent — every single one — has moments they wish they could redo. Because caring deeply will always come with a shadow of self-doubt.

    But your child doesn’t see any of that. They don’t measure you by the moments you replay in your mind. They don’t have a checklist of perfect responses or flawless days.

    In their eyes, you are enough.
    More than enough.
    You are their safe place.
    Their comfort.
    Their certainty in an unpredictable world.

    Your child won’t remember every toy you bought, every activity you planned, or whether the day went smoothly.
    But they will remember how it felt to be loved by you.

    The warmth of your arms.
    The softness of your voice.
    The way you return to them, again and again, even after a hard moment.

    Perfection has never been the goal of parenthood — connection is.
    Presence is.
    Trying again tomorrow is.

    So if you are reading this with a heavy heart, or a tired mind, or a quiet question of, “Am I doing enough?”

    Please hear this clearly:

    You are enough.
    You are doing enough.
    And you are doing better than you think.

    Not because you are perfect — but because you aren’t.
    Because you care.
    Because you reflect.
    Because you love your child with a depth that guides you even on the hardest days.

    None of us have all the answers.
    None of us get it right every time.
    And none of us need to.

    Your child just needs you.
    Exactly as you are.
    Human. Loving. Trying.

    And that is more than enough. 

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    Georgina Young – Early Years Specialist

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  • Holding On to Hope: The Reality and Resilience of Early Years Today

    Holding On to Hope: The Reality and Resilience of Early Years Today

    There is no denying it anymore: the early years sector is standing in the middle of a storm.

    Childminder numbers continue to fall at an alarming rate. Nurseries are closing their doors. Practitioners — some of the most compassionate, dedicated people you could ever hope to meet — are walking away from a job they love because the emotional weight, financial strain, and daily pressures have become simply too much.

    And yet, every morning, across thousands of homes, gardens, nurseries, and classrooms, something extraordinary still happens.

    Children are welcomed into spaces full of warmth and wonder.
    Tiny hands are held.
    Questions are answered with patience.
    Tears are soothed.
    Worries are heard.
    Play is protected.
    Magic is made out of muddy puddles, cardboard boxes, and the everyday moments most adults rush straight past.

    This is the heart of early years.
    And it beats on, even in challenging times.

    The Reality We Can’t Ignore

    And while early years is full of magic, connection, and joy, it also carries a quieter reality that deserves to be heard.

    Because behind every warm welcome in the morning, behind every smile, every moment of play and wonder, early years professionals are quietly carrying far more than most people will ever realise.

    They are navigating constant policy changes and shifting expectations, trying to keep pace with a system that often moves faster than the people working within it.

    They are stretching rising costs of food, resources, and utilities — all while funding remains painfully out of step with the true cost of quality care.

    They are pouring emotional labour into other people’s children while still holding space for their own families, their own health, and their own wellbeing — hearts stretched in every direction.

    They feel the weight of responsibility, knowing that these early years shape everything that follows. Every gesture, every moment of connection, every tiny spark of confidence matters.

    They are still, far too often, misunderstood or undervalued — mistaken for “babysitters” despite the skill, knowledge, and professional judgement woven into every day.

    They face the uncertainty of Ofsted, where inconsistency and pressure can sometimes leave dedicated professionals feeling judged rather than supported.

    This is the reality so many early years educators wake up to each morning.
    And still — they show up with love.
    With patience.
    With belief in children.
    With the quiet, steady knowledge that what they do matters.

    And yet, even with all of this, the heart of our profession still beats strong — more resilient and more needed than ever.

    For childminders especially, all of this is intensified.
    Working alone.
    Working from their own homes.

    On top of this comes the reality of inconsistent support, the loneliness and vulnerability of a home-based role, and the pressure of running a small business in a system never truly designed for them.
    It’s no wonder people feel exhausted.
    It’s no wonder numbers are falling.
    It’s no wonder so many are grieving a sector they still love.

    But even in the middle of all this… something else is happening too...

    The Difference We Make — Even When No One’s Looking

    Every single early years professional has a story.

    A child whose confidence grew because you believed in them.
    A family who felt held in their hardest moments.
    A toddler who discovered their voice, their joy, their courage, because you made space for them to shine.
    A shy child who danced for the first time.
    A little one who whispered “I did it” with pride bursting from every inch of their being.

    These aren’t small moments.
    These are life-shaping moments.

    And they happen because you show up — even when you’re exhausted, stretched, or battling your own self-doubt.

    You show up because children deserve the very best start in life.
    You show up because childhood matters.
    You show up because the work you do is love in action, learning in motion, humanity in its purest form.

    And that is something worth fighting for.

    The Shared Weight — and the Shared Hope

    One of the most powerful truths about early years is this:

    We are not alone.

    Nursery practitioners, childminders, teachers, managers, SEND specialists, support workers, forest school leaders, Nannies, wraparound care providers — we are all part of the same heartbeat. We all carry the same responsibility: to nurture, protect, and champion children.

    And yes, the pressures are real.
    Yes, the system needs change.
    Yes, passion can only carry people so far without proper recognition and support.

    But the hope?
    The hope is real too.

    It lives in every child who enters our care.
    It lives in every practitioner who refuses to give up.
    It lives in the conversations happening louder and more public than ever before.
    It lives in the advocacy, the resilience, the refusal to let early childhood become an afterthought.

    Change begins when people care enough to speak up.
    And early years professionals care more than most people will ever understand.

    A Future Worth Fighting For

    If the decline in numbers tells us anything, it is this:

    Early years needs protecting.
    It needs investing in.
    It needs valuing — not in words, but in policy, pay, support, and long-term vision.

    Because when we protect the adults who care for children, we protect childhood itself.

    And despite it all — the exhaustion, the uncertainty, the pressure — there is still something unshakeably beautiful at the heart of this work:

    Children.

    Their laughter.
    Their curiosity.
    Their tiny acts of courage.
    Their absolute belief that the world is a place worth exploring.

    They are why we’re here.
    They are why we keep going.
    They are why this sector is worth fighting for.

    And as long as children fill our homes, gardens, nurseries, and classrooms with joy and wonder…
    There will always be hope.

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    Georgina Young – Early Years Specialist

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  • Suspended, but Silenced: The Hidden Weight of Childminding 

    Suspended, but Silenced: The Hidden Weight of Childminding 

    Recently, I received a heartfelt message from a fellow childminder. Their words have stayed with me, not only because of the pain behind them, but because they shine a light on something rarely spoken about — the quiet, terrifying vulnerability many childminders live with.

    They described how, from one day to the next, their setting was suspended by Ofsted while an investigation took place. They had no warning. No timeframe. No explanation. Overnight, their business was closed, their income stopped, and their world thrown into chaos.

    And here’s the hardest part:
    they didn’t even know why.

    Weeks passed before any details were shared. In that time, bills still needed to be paid. Children and families still needed care. But the childminder was left in silence, unable to work, unable to defend themselves, unable to plan for what lay ahead.

    And this isn’t even an isolated case! I’ve received several emotional messages from heartbroken and desperate professionals — many who have now left the sector entirely. This is especially painful in a sector already stretched thin. We cannot afford to loose more passionate educators who make such a profound difference to children’s lives.

     The financial toll

    For employed people, suspension pending investigation usually comes with pay and a clear process. For self-employed childminders, there is nothing. No salary. No safety net. Insurance payouts, where available, barely touch the loss. Meanwhile, the weeks — and sometimes months — drag on.

    The emotional toll

    Imagine being dedicated to your work, pouring your heart into children every single day, only to find yourself labelled “under investigation.” And the truth is, it can happen to anyone. It doesn’t matter how committed you are, how high your standards are, or even what Ofsted rating you hold — every single childminder is vulnerable. You’re not told what for, or when it might be resolved. You just sit in limbo. Fear creeps in. Sleep disappears. Anxiety grows. And the isolation is crushing, because unlike those in larger settings, we have no team to lean on.

    Even after the investigation ends — and many are unfounded — the scars remain. Rebuilding confidence, rebuilding trust, and rebuilding your business after months away is not easy.

    The professional toll

    And yet this is a reality many childminders face. As one childminder who wrote to me said so clearly:

    “We are left completely alone to navigate a horrible time with no clear rules, no timeframe, and no support.”

    Why this matters

    This absolutely isn’t about resisting safeguarding — it’s about recognising that child safety and professional wellbeing can and must go hand in hand. Protecting children will always be paramount. It has to be! But safeguarding and fairness should not be polar opposites.

    We need:

    • Clear timeframes so investigations cannot drag on indefinitely.
    • Financial protections so childminders are not left destitute while waiting for outcomes.
    • Mental health support to help childminders cope with the stress and fear of suspension.
    • Accountability from governing bodies who hold our livelihoods in their hands.

    Because right now, childminders are left carrying all the risk, with none of the protections an employed worker would expect.

    The bigger picture

    It’s easy to overlook the hidden pressures childminders face. Parents and families see us as warm, nurturing, flexible care for their children — which we are. But behind that is the stark reality: we shoulder everything alone. No sick pay. No holiday pay. No HR support. No big team behind us.

    When a suspension happens, it isn’t just a business that suffers. It’s families left without care. Its children suddenly pulled from familiar routines. It’s livelihoods thrown into question. And it’s individuals — passionate, dedicated professionals — left broken by a system that shows them no compassion.

    If employers are expected to support their staff during suspension, why should childminders — who form the backbone of childcare for so many families — not be given the same respect?

     A call for change

    If inspections and investigations are truly about safeguarding, then the process should safeguard everyone involved, not destroy those who dedicate their lives to children.

    Childminders love their work. But love alone cannot carry the weight of financial ruin, sleepless nights, and months of uncertainty. We need systems that are just, compassionate, and accountable.

    Until then, too many will live in fear of the “what ifs” — and too many may decide the risk is simply too high.

    Because behind every suspension is not “just a childminder”.
    It’s a human being.
    It’s a family.
    It’s a life turned upside down.

    And that cannot be the price of of a system that protects children in theory, but leaves the adults who care for them unprotected in practice.

    Georgina Young – Early Years Specialist

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  • Beyond the Snapshot 

    Beyond the Snapshot 

    How we long for you to see,
    The futures grown with love, so free.
    In settings big, in settings small,
    We nurture, guide, and give our all.

    How we wish you saw the joy,
    Shaped by patience, love, and toil.
    The endless hours, the years of play,
    The care poured in, day after day.

    But you arrive and only view,
    A fleeting snapshot — an hour or two.
    A single moment, a passing glance,
    And yet from this, you cast your stance.

    How we wish you understood,
    The sleepless nights, the endless ‘shoulds’.
    The shadow cast, the constant weight,
    Of knowing one grade can seal our fate.

    You’ll never see the whispered song,
    The gentle hand when days feel long.
    The battles fought, the fears made small,
    The love that underpins it all.

    This work is heart, it’s sweat, it’s tears,
    It’s hope invested through the years.
    And yet reduced, unfairly guessed,
    By one short visit, one-day test.

    Yes — hold us to account with care,
    But meet us with respect that’s fair.
    A system shaped to guide, not take,
    To honour all that is at stake.

    So, together we raise this hopeful plea:
    There’s so much more than what you see.
    See children thriving, futures bright,
    Held in our hands, our hearts, our light.

    ©️ – Poem by The Young Ones Childminding 

    *A poem for the Early Years and Education sector, on the unseen weight of inspection, for those who promote, protect and inspire play — written by Georgina Young (The Young Ones Childminding) 

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    • The Hidden Weight We Carry in Early Years

      The Hidden Weight We Carry in Early Years

      Every morning, I open my door with a smile. No matter how little I’ve slept, no matter if my head is heavy with worry, no matter if I’m feeling run down — that first knock on the door is my moment to reset. The children arrive, and I greet them with warmth, because they deserve nothing less.

      What families see is joy, patience, energy, and love. What they don’t see is the hidden weight that sits behind the smile.

      The Many Hats We Wear

      In early years, especially as childminders, we are never just one thing. We are educators, business owners, administrators, cooks, cleaners, entertainers, counsellors, advocates, and playmates. We manage funding, keep training up to date, and complete paperwork that nobody outside our world quite understands.

      Much of this happens unseen: late-night training after our own children are in bed, Saturdays given up for first aid, evenings spent creating invitations to play. Parents don’t see the hours after dark filling in funding forms or reflecting on practice. And they shouldn’t have to — that’s not their weight to carry. But it is ours.

      The Weight That Lingers

      Ofsted is often the word that makes our hearts beat faster. Accountability matters — families deserve transparency, and children deserve the very best. But the weight isn’t only in the grade itself. It’s in the inconsistency.

      On one day, you might be told you’re outstanding. On another day, doing the exact same things, you could be told you’ve fallen short. Not because your practice changed, but because the perspective of the inspector did. That unpredictability leaves us second-guessing ourselves and questioning not only our work, but our worth.

      And even when the inspection ends, the pressure doesn’t. It lingers like a shadow — a reminder that everything we pour ourselves into can hang on the opinion of whoever walks through the door.

      The Unseen Burden

      But the weight isn’t just about inspection. It’s about the way we carry on giving, no matter what’s happening in our own lives.

      We’ve all had those mornings where life feels overwhelming. Maybe we’re exhausted from worries that kept us awake at night. Maybe family challenges are playing on our minds. Yet still, we open the door, dance around the living room, and head outdoors to hunt for conkers or splash in puddles.

      That’s the unseen reality of our role. The children don’t see our tiredness or our struggles — and they shouldn’t have to. They see our smiles, our energy, our willingness to play. We give them the best of us, even when we’re running on empty ourselves. Because that’s what they deserve.

      The Misconceptions We Battle

      And still, despite everything, our profession is often misunderstood.

      How many of us have heard: “Childcare is the easy option”? Or: “You just play all day”? Or been met with the assumption that we’re unskilled or “just babysitters”?

      The reality couldn’t be further from the truth. Play isn’t “just” anything. It is complex, powerful, and deeply rooted in how children learn. To scaffold it well takes observation, reflection, and professional knowledge. Understanding child development, recognising schemas, and following interests — that is skilled work.

      Yet so often, the weight we carry is made heavier by the lack of value placed on what we do.

      Why We Keep Showing Up

      So why do we keep showing up, despite the exhaustion, despite the undervaluing, despite the pressure?

      Because the children matter.

      Because we know the difference we make, even if the world doesn’t always recognise it.

      Because nothing compares to watching a child’s eyes light up when they discover something new, or the pride in their face when they master a skill. Nothing compares to the moment a child runs into your arms for comfort, or when a parent tells you how much their child loves being with you.

      These are the moments that outweigh the struggle.

      I’ve had mornings where I’ve been drained and heavy-hearted, only to find myself laughing uncontrollably as I chased children around the garden pretending to be a dragon. I’ve had days where I’ve questioned myself, only for a child’s hug to remind me that I am exactly what they need.

      This is why we keep showing up. Not because the job is easy — but because the children deserve the best of us, and we refuse to give them anything less.

      Accountability and Respect

      This isn’t about rejecting accountability. I believe in high standards. I believe families deserve clarity, and I believe children deserve excellence.

      But I also believe educators deserve respect.

      We need a system that recognises the heart, knowledge, and commitment we pour into this work. A system that supports us to improve, rather than leaves us fearful of falling. A system that understands the weight we already carry, rather than adding to it.

      Because accountability without respect doesn’t strengthen us — it weakens us. And when educators are depleted, children are the ones who lose out. We are watching too many incredible individuals walk away from the profession, and too many wonderful settings close their doors — not because the love has gone, but simply the pressures have become to heavy to bear.

      The Love That Wins

      The weight we carry in early years is real. The unseen hours, the hidden struggles, the emotional toll — they are all part of our story.

      But so is the love.

      Every morning, despite everything, we open the door with a smile. We choose to give children the best of ourselves, even when it costs us. We carry the weight quietly, because the joy, the learning, and the love matter more.

      The world may never fully see the unseen weight of our role. But every child who has ever felt safe, loved, and celebrated in our care has lived the truth of it.

      And at the end of the day, that’s why we keep showing up. Because the weight is heavy — but the love is heavier. And every day, the love wins. 

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    • Simple Forest School Activities for Little Explorers

      Simple Forest School Activities for Little Explorers

      There’s something magical about the forest — the way the light dances through the trees, the crunch of leaves under little feet, and the freedom children feel when they’re surrounded by nature. Forest School isn’t just about being outside — it’s about being with the outdoors. It’s about curiosity, confidence, and connection.

      Whether you’re running a Forest School session or just heading out to your local woods with little ones, here are some simple yet powerful activities to spark learning, laughter, and a love of the wild.

       1. Stick Man Story Walk

      Inspired by the beloved book Stick Man by Julia Donaldson, take a walk through the woods and encourage children to find their own “Stick Man.” Use sticks to retell the story, act out scenes, or make your own woodland puppet show.

      Extension idea: Collect sticks of different lengths and sizes — can you measure them? Sort them? Build a den?

      2. Playdough & Clay Tree Faces

      Bring along some natural-toned playdough or forest clay and let imaginations run wild! Children can create faces on tree trunks using leaves, twigs, stones, acorns, and other natural treasures. Will it be a friendly forest spirit, a cheeky goblin, or a wise old woodland watcher?

      We’ve even made Gruffalo characters before — it’s a wonderful way to mix storytelling, fine motor skills, and sensory creativity!

      Top tip: Take photos of their creations to revisit and reflect later — especially if the weather changes them!

      3. Nature Potions

      Set up a little “potion station” using bowls, ladles, pestle and mortar, or even just open-ended containers. Encourage children to mix mud, leaves, petals, and water to create magical mixtures.

      Why it matters: This activity supports imaginative play, fine motor skills, and sensory exploration.

      4. Bird Nest Building

      Challenge children to build a nest using only natural materials — twigs, moss, grass, and leaves. Talk about where birds live, and what makes a good home. Compare your nest designs and see how well they hold an “egg” (a small stone or pinecone works well!).

      Learning link: This activity introduces early engineering, problem-solving, and empathy for animals.

       5. Listening Walk

      Slow things down with a mindful listening walk. Ask the children to close their eyes for a few seconds — what can they hear? Birds? Wind? Cracking twigs? Create a sound map by drawing or marking where each sound came from.

      This is a wonderful way to promote mindfulness, awareness, and calm.

       6. Campfire Snacks (With Safety!)

      If you have the training and setup for it, a small campfire can be an unforgettable part of Forest School. Try making chocolate baked banana, popping corn in foil, or even making dampers (twisty bread on a stick).

      REMEMBER — Always follow strict safety guidance, ratios, and permissions — and model respectful, responsible fire use.

       Forest School Is About Being, Not Just Doing

      Some of the most powerful moments in Forest School aren’t planned. They happen when a child crouches to watch an ant carry a leaf, or when they proudly balance on a fallen log for the first time. Let go of outcomes. Follow their lead. Nature is the teacher — we’re just there to walk beside them.

      Final Tip: Bring a journal or camera to document the wonder. The small moments — muddy smiles, a feather found, a whisper of “Look what I made!” — are worth remembering.

      Let’s keep nurturing a generation who loves the earth, plays with purpose, and grows with freedom. 

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    • From My Heart to Yours — On Letting Go

      From My Heart to Yours — On Letting Go

      This week, I say goodbye to a very special little person — a child who has been with me for over three years. Since they were tiny. Since the early wobbly steps and sleepy snuggles. Since those first words, first drawings, first friendships.

      And now… they’re off to school.

      People often ask me how I do it — how I care so deeply, then let go again and again. And truthfully? Sometimes, I don’t know. Despite caring for hundreds of children over the years, nothing truly prepares you for the moment one of your children moves on.

      Because in childminding, they really do become your own — not in name, but in heart.

      We don’t just look after children. We grow with them. We witness them becoming. In a home-from-home setting like ours, where everything is small, familiar, and deeply personal, the bond becomes something powerful and lasting. They come through the door with tiny shoes and wide eyes… and somewhere along the way, they become woven into the fabric of your daily life.

      And then one day — it’s time to let them go.

      This isn’t just a goodbye. It’s the end of an era. It’s a turning of the page in both of our stories.

      We’ve shared the ordinary magic of childhood — the muddy boots and sticky fingers, the scraped knees and belly laughs. We’ve navigated those big toddler feelings, celebrated the tiny milestones that mean the world, and found joy in the simplest of things. We’ve watched the seasons turn together — planting seeds, jumping in puddles, searching for bugs, reading the same stories again and again.

      In this space, we’ve done more than learn.
      We’ve lived.

      And now they are ready. That’s the hardest part, and the most beautiful.
      They are ready.

      Ready for different challenges, bigger classrooms and new friendships. Ready to step into the next adventure with the confidence and security we’ve nurtured together. That readiness is a gift I’m proud to have helped shape. But that doesn’t make the goodbye any easier.

      I’ll miss the giggles, the little hand reaching for mine, the way they knew exactly where the favourite toys lived. I’ll miss the way they called out my name, the way we had our own little routines and shared stories. I’ll miss the everyday presence of someone who became a part of my world.

      And yet, this is what we’re here for.
      Not just to hold, but to prepare.
      Not just to love, but to launch.

      To the child heading off on your next big adventure:
      Thank you for trusting me.
      Thank you for growing with me.
      Thank you for letting me be part of your beginning.

      You’ve left your footprints on my heart.
      You’ll always be part of my story.
      And I’ll always be cheering you on.

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    • Not Built to Sit Still: Defending Childhood in an Age of Pressure

      Not Built to Sit Still: Defending Childhood in an Age of Pressure

      A Barefoot Conversation

      Why play, presence, and connection matter more than the DFE’s version of “school readiness“

      A barefoot conversation with a ladybird.
      That’s what stopped me in my tracks.

      Tiny toes curled against the grass, a child crouched low and still—whispering gentle words to a ladybird resting on a leaf. No rush. No noise. Just awe. Just presence.

      And in that moment, everything made sense again. This is childhood. Not worksheets. Not school-readiness tick lists. Not quiet hands and still bottoms. But muddy feet, wonder-filled questions, and empathy blooming from the tiniest of encounters.

      We are raising little humans, not robots. And yet across the country, we’re asking four-year-olds to meet expectations built for older children. We’re asking them to sit before they’re ready, to read before they’re developmentally able — to achieve like an adult, rather than explore like a child.

      But the world doesn’t need more children who can sit still at four.
      It needs children who care.
      Children who feel.
      Children who notice the smallest creatures and imagine their stories.

      Because from these early acts of compassion — like chatting to a ladybird — come the roots of kindness, empathy, and responsibility for the world around them.

      What the Research Says

      We don’t have to guess what children need. Decades of child development research is clear: play is not a luxury—it’s a biological necessity.

      • The Harvard Center on the Developing Child highlights that young children learn best through active, joyful, and engaging experiences— not passive instruction.
      • The Alliance for Childhood and UNICEF advocate strongly for delayed formal schooling, with many European countries (like Finland and Sweden) beginning structured academic learning at age 6 or 7 — after a long foundation of play-based early years education.
      • Neurological studies show that movement, exploration, and connection are essential for developing executive function, emotional regulation, and long-term cognitive skills.

      Yet here in England, we’re still pushing four-year-olds (and younger) into formal classrooms. We’re turning play into a performance. Exploration into outcomes. And our children are paying the price.

      A Personal Reflection

      When I think of the children in my care, I think of the ones who can build entire worlds out of sticks and stones. The ones who soothe slugs and rescue worms. The ones who tell me, with complete seriousness, what the ladybirds are saying back.

      And I think of the quiet ones — the ones who thrive when they are not rushed. The ones who don’t always find sitting easy, but who can spend 40 minutes moving conkers from bowl to basket with deep, meaningful concentration.

      These aren’t children who are behind. These are children who are becoming.
      Children who are deeply engaged with their world.
      Children who will grow into compassionate, thoughtful, resilient humans — if we let them.

      And yet I see the increased pressure creeping in. From “school readiness” checklists. From misunderstood expectations. From a system that has forgotten what childhood is meant to be.

      The Bigger Picture

      This isn’t just a professional frustration — it’s a national concern. We are seeing a sharp rise in childhood mental health difficulties, and many professionals in the early years sector are sounding the alarm.

      Children today are growing up in a world that is louder, faster, and more pressured than ever before. Many are struggling with anxiety, attention difficulties, and burnout — at just four or five years old. And instead of responding with care and compassion, we are asking them to sit longer, try harder, be quieter. This is not developmentally appropriate. It is damaging.

      Every child learns in their own way. Some need movement to think clearly. Some need silence. Some learn through messy, sensory exploration, while others thrive in quiet, focused play. They are not carbon copies. They are not data points. And they are certainly not “failing” because they can’t yet conform to adult-driven expectations. If we truly care about children, then their wellbeing, mental health, and right to a childhood must become our top priority — not optional extras squeezed in between phonics and fine motor worksheets.

      Why are we ignoring the mountain of evidence? Why are we still using outdated models of achievement when the world (and the child) has changed?

      It’s time we remembered: school readiness isn’t about sitting still. It’s about being secure, curious, and emotionally equipped to handle new environments. And we build those foundations through love, play, and presence — not pressure.

      A Call to Action

      Unfortunately, we can’t wait for policymakers to catch up — because far too many of the people making decisions about children have little understanding of child development and seem unwilling to listen to those who do. The system won’t fix itself. But we can be the change, from the ground up.

      Here’s how:

      • Speak up. Share your stories, your knowledge, your child-centred practice. Help shift the narrative from achievement to wellbeing.
      • Advocate. When conversations arise about “school readiness,” bring it back to what matters: secure attachments, emotional literacy, and developmentally appropriate expectations.
      • Connect. With parents, with educators, with community leaders. The more unified our voice, the harder it is to ignore.
      • Protect play. Let children be barefoot. Let them talk to ladybirds. Let them carry sticks and ideas and questions. This is not time wasted — it is everything.

      Final Thoughts From an Educator

      One day, our children will look back on these years.

      Will they remember a world that rushed them, silenced them, and tried to make them smaller?
      Or will they remember being seen, heard, and cherished for exactly who they were?

      That gentle whisper to a ladybird might just be the first step in raising a child who will one day protect the planet, comfort a friend, or stand up for what’s right.

      And that begins not with the DFE’s current version of readiness, as described by Bridget Phillipson…
      But by people who truly understand child development and with respect for childhood.

      So, let us be the ones who slowed down.
      Who knelt beside them in the grass.
      Who made space for joy, for wonder, for messy, magnificent becoming.

      Because when we protect childhood, we protect everything that matters.

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    • What Inspires You?

      What Inspires You?

      Inspiration is everywhere — sometimes loud and life-changing, sometimes quiet and steady. Often, we don’t even realise we’ve been inspired until we look back and see how far we’ve come, guided by the encouragement, belief, or example of someone else.

      Throughout my life, I’ve been surrounded by people who have inspired me, lifted me up, and encouraged me to be the best I can be. My family is full of incredible individuals, and I count my lucky stars every day that they’re such a special part of both my life and my children’s lives. From them, I’ve learned about resilience, love, humour, and the value of showing up for one another — lessons that have shaped who I am, both personally and professionally.

      But my inspiration hasn’t stopped there.

      There have been special friends who’ve walked with me through life’s ups and downs. There have been brilliant teachers who saw something in me — who invited me to take additional GCSEs, who encouraged me to pursue further qualifications, who planted seeds of confidence at times I didn’t even realise I needed them. And now, as I look around at the early years community I’ve found myself part of, I’m constantly inspired by the people I meet — educators who pour their hearts into their work, creating rich, meaningful childhoods for the little ones in their care.

      When I decided to become a childminder, it was after a period of deep personal reflection — particularly following the complicated birth of my youngest. Childminding was something I had considered for many years, but life (and a good dose of self-doubt) always seemed to get in the way. After his birth, I realised that life is too short to keep waiting. I wanted to build something that worked for my family and filled my heart — so I took the leap.

      As I began exploring what childminding could look like, I stumbled across some incredible pages and profiles online. They weren’t flashy or commercial — just full of passion. You could feel it in their words, in the love behind the photos, in the intentionality of the spaces they created. I was in awe of the thoughtfulness, the warmth, and the deep care that radiated from these settings. It was inspiring.

      Since then, I’ve come across hundreds — probably thousands — of passionate, dedicated childminders and early years educators. People who give their all to ensure children feel safe, loved, and seen. People who understand that childhood isn’t just preparation for life — it is life.

      Whether it’s designing beautiful, inviting play spaces, planning meaningful, interest-led experiences, heading out on muddy adventures, or simply being that constant, trusted grown-up in a child’s world — what you do matters. You are shaping lives. You are holding space for families. You are showing up, day after day, even when it’s hard.

      I’ve had the privilege of connecting with so many of you — in person, online, in passing conversations and deep discussions. And I truly hope those connections have planted seeds of friendship too. One of the things I treasure most about this work is the way it brings kind, passionate people together — people who care not only about children, but about each other.

      So to all of my followers, to every childminder, nursery practitioner, and early years professional reading this:

      I see you.
      I see the early starts, the late finishes, the careful planning.
      I see the hours spent researching, reflecting, adjusting, and adapting.
      I see the energy you pour into your environments, the way you tailor your care to each unique child.
      I see the cuddles, the encouragement, the gentle redirections, the joyful laughter.
      And I also see the doubts. The loneliness. The financial worries. The weight of feeling unseen or undervalued in a sector that is often misunderstood.

      Please know this: you inspire others.

      Whether you’ve been doing this for decades or are just finding your feet, the love and care you give matters more than you may ever know. Someone out there is watching your work — learning from you, feeling encouraged by your example, reminded not to give up.

      So whatever — or whoever — inspires you, hold onto it. Let it be your anchor on the hard days and your spark on the good ones.

      And if no one’s told you lately:
      You are doing something incredible.
      And you are truly amazing. 

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    • The Words We Choose: Language, Connection and Childhood

      The Words We Choose: Language, Connection and Childhood

      Not long ago, one of the children in my care was having a quietly difficult morning. There hadn’t been a dramatic outburst or any obvious signs of upset — just a certain stillness in their shoulders, a withdrawn glance, a subtle shift in their play. When I knelt beside them and gently asked how they were feeling, they paused, looked up, and with a quiet voice and simple Makaton signs, they told me: sad.

      In that moment, everything else faded. They trusted me enough to let me in — not with perfect grammar or complicated explanations, but with a small word and a few meaningful signs. And that was all we needed. I mirrored their words, offered comfort, acknowledged the feeling, and gave time. A few minutes later, after our quiet, respectful connection, they leaned in for a cuddle and told me they felt happy.

      Language in the early years is never just about words. It’s about connection, understanding, and helping children feel truly seen.

      Language as an Emotional Bridge

      From the very first gestures and babbles, communication is an emotional act. It’s how children reach out to connect — to be understood, to belong, to share their inner world. In early years settings, we are not just supporting speech and vocabulary; we’re nurturing confidence, trust, and the beginnings of self-expression.

      Whether it’s through spoken language, Makaton, body language, or imaginative play, every child deserves to be heard — in the way that makes sense for them. That means slowing down, tuning in, and remembering that listening is just as powerful as speaking.

      Supporting Early Communication

      A rich language environment isn’t one filled with endless chatter — it’s one full of meaning. Children need us to model language thoughtfully: describing what they’re doing, naming feelings, narrating the day in a gentle rhythm that helps them make sense of the world.

      In my setting, Makaton plays an important role. It gives children another way to communicate, especially when their speech is still developing or their emotions feel too big for words. It empowers them to be part of their world, not just observers of it.

      The Power of Children’s Voices

      Children are full of ideas, questions, stories, and feelings. Honouring their voices means creating space to hear them — not just when it’s convenient, but always.

      This might be pausing to really listen when a child is explaining their block tower, giving them the language to name a feeling, or simply validating their choices. Voice isn’t always verbal — sometimes it’s found in play, in art, in silence. But it’s always there.

      Respectful Narratives and the Language We Model

      Language shapes how we see others — and how they see themselves. That’s why I choose my words carefully when speaking about children, especially around them. I avoid labels, especially negative ones, and instead focus on behaviours, feelings, and needs.

      In the early years, most educators know the importance of moving away from words such as “naughty“. It’s far more constructive and respectful to focus on what a child is expressing through their behaviour — whether we’re encouraging something positive or gently guiding them away from something less helpful. Children are always more than a moment.

      Stories That Bring Us Together

      Books and stories are another powerful part of our language landscape. They build empathy, spark curiosity, and help children make sense of themselves and the world. We read every day — not just for literacy, but for connection. There is something quietly magical about a child leaning in as you read a well-loved book, their body softening as they lose themselves in story. These moments matter.

      A Final Thought

      The words we choose matter. They build connection, foster confidence, and create the emotional blueprint for how children relate to themselves and others.

      Whether we’re signing happy with a small hand gesture, whispering reassurance after a big feeling, or narrating a story in the garden, our language helps children feel safe, respected, and deeply understood.

      And that’s the beginning of everything.

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