Guiding The Young Ones

Tag: life

  • 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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  • 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 Things They Teach Me

    The Things They Teach Me

    Lessons from little ones — and how they’ve helped me grow, too.

    When I began my journey in early years education, I stepped into it with open arms — ready to nurture, guide, and support children as they grew. Over the years, I’ve worked across many settings, met so many little personalities, and carried countless memories in my heart.

    But what I didn’t fully realise back then was this: the greatest growth wouldn’t just happen in the children I cared for. It would happen in me.

    With every setting I’ve worked in, every child I’ve met, every parent I’ve partnered with, I’ve learned something new — not just about early childhood, but about myself.

    And just as the children have been my greatest teachers, so too have the educators I’ve walked alongside.

    I’ve had the privilege of working with passionate, inspiring professionals whose creativity, care, and commitment have left a lasting mark on me. From the quiet strength of a calm presence to the playful spark of a well-timed idea — I’ve witnessed first-hand how powerful our impact can be when we’re connected and intentional in our practice. And like all of us, I’ve had moments that reminded me what I chose not to carry forward — lessons that nudged me closer to the practice I now hold dear. And I’m constantly reminded that when we learn from one another — the good and the hard — we grow stronger as a sector and better for the children we serve. It’s this shared journey of reflection, connection, and continuous growth that makes our work so meaningful — and so worth celebrating.

    Becoming a parent changed everything again. It shifted my lens. It softened some parts of me, strengthened others. It gave me a deeper compassion, a new kind of patience, and a far greater understanding of just how much we hold — as caregivers, as humans — in the everyday.

    Children have become my everyday teachers.

    They’ve taught me to:

    • Slow down and see magic in the mundane — in the dance of leaves, the wonder of worms, or the joy of mixing mud.
    • Let go of perfection and find meaning in mess, beauty in the becoming.
    • Value emotions, not rush them away — to make space for feelings, and show up with empathy.
    • Keep growing, just like them — wobbly step by wobbly step.

    In their play, I see purpose.
    In their words, wisdom.
    In their trust, a reminder that this work we do matters deeply.

    We speak often of preparing children for the world — but the truth is, they prepare us for something, too. They awaken something in us: a gentleness, a presence, a purpose. Now, with each passing year, I realise how much I’m still learning — how much more whole I am because of the children and educators who’ve walked through my life.

    So, whether you’re a parent, an educator, or someone who shares space with children, I hope you remember this: you are shaping them, yes.
    But they are shaping you too — in the most beautiful, unseen ways.

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  • Filling Their Banks: How Tiny Moments Build a Kinder World

    Filling Their Banks: How Tiny Moments Build a Kinder World

    here’s a beautiful analogy I heard recently that’s stayed with me ever since. It came from Gable House Nursery, and it goes like this:
    Every child has a bank.
    As early years educators, we are responsible for filling it — with moments, memories, first experiences, and feelings that will shape their inner world for the rest of their lives.

    And when I heard that, I thought: Yes. That’s it. That’s exactly what we do.

    We may not always realise it in the rush of routines or the mess of muddy wellies — but every time we kneel down to listen, every time we sit beside a child in their joy or frustration, every time we make space for their questions, their wonder, their play — we are making a deposit.

    And these deposits matter. Because one day, when that child grows up and the world feels hard or uncertain, they’ll have something to draw on. A sense of worth. A memory of being loved. An instinct that tells them: You are seen. You are safe. You are enough.

    That’s the kind of investment we’re making.

    And perhaps more than ever, our world needs that.
    It needs children who grow up feeling emotionally full — so they don’t spend adulthood searching for what they never received. It needs children who’ve known kindness, patience and acceptance — so they can carry those things forward into their relationships, communities, and choices.

    Because when we fill a child’s bank, we’re not just shaping one little life — we’re shaping the future.

    But it’s not just about emotional deposits. It’s also about broadening their world — offering children meaningful experiences that build their sense of identity, connection, and possibility.
    This is the heart of cultural capital — those precious moments and encounters that help children make sense of the world around them, feel part of something bigger, and grow into themselves with confidence.

    So how do we do that? How do we fill these invisible banks in ways that truly last?

    These do not always need to be found in grand gestures or expensive outings.
    But with the tiny, ordinary, everyday things — and by offering children experiences they may never have had the chance to encounter before:
    • The thrill of splashing in a muddy puddle for the very first time.
    • The wonder of holding a snail, planting a seed, or mixing a cake from scratch.
    • The discovery of new words, new stories, new rhythms — shared across cultures and generations.
    • The joy of belonging — of being part of a celebration, a tradition, a shared moment of meaning.

    These are powerful forms of cultural capital — experiences that enrich, connect, and help children feel rooted in both who they are and who they’re becoming.

    They may also be found in those moments of connection, those moments that you show a child they truly matter, how much you care, and how special they are:

    • The warm eye contact when they tell a story.
    • The unhurried time spent spotting worms or clouds.
    • The quiet “I see you” in moments of struggle.
    • The comfort of routines, the spark of curiosity, the laughter that bubbles up mid-play.
    • The way we believe in them — even when they’re still learning how to believe in themselves.

    These are also the real riches of childhood.
    These are the moments that stay.

    We may never see the full impact of our work — not in certificates, not in test scores.
    But we see it in their joy, their growth, and the beautiful, kind-hearted humans they are becoming.

    So to all of you who show up for children — educators, childminders, parents, grandparents, key workers and co-regulators — thank you.
    Thank you for every tiny deposit. For every ounce of emotional labour. For every patient pause and playful invitation.

    You are building a kinder world.
    One connection, one moment, one full little bank at a time.

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  • A Poem for My First Child

    A Poem for My First Child

    Before there was you,

    Life had less stress.

    No constant worries,

    No cleaning your mess.

    Before there was you,

    I could have a lie in.

    Not up at dawn,

    Taking nappies to the bin.

    Before there was you,

    I could shower alone.

    Stay out til late,

    Spend hours on the phone.

    Before there was you,

    I could choose my tv.

    Instead I watch Mr tumble,

    Each day on repeat.

    Before there was you,

    I could get ready at leisure.

    But my love for you now-

    I simply can’t measure.

    My life has changed completely,

    But this much is true.

    I never knew pure love,

    Until I had you.

    Suddenly you’re not a baby,

    And I’m sat asking why.

    And how we take for granted,

    How fast years go by.

    So I will treasure each second,

    Each sweet memory,

    Because always in my heart,

    You’ll be my baby.

    ©️ – Poem by Georgina Young – Guiding The Young Ones

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  • The First Days: What No One Tells You

    The First Days: What No One Tells You

    You’ve spent months preparing, reading, waiting. Then suddenly, you’re home – with your baby – and everything feels a little surreal. The moment you’ve been anticipating is finally here… but instead of feeling serene or “ready,” you might find yourself staring blankly, baby in arms, wondering: now what?

    No one really tells you just how disorienting those first few days can be.

    The Emotional Avalanche

    The first days are raw. They’re full of contradictions – love so huge it hurts, tears you don’t understand and a fog of exhaustion that makes the smallest things feel impossible. Your hormones are crashing and shifting. Your body is recovering from something monumental. Whether you’ve had a straightforward birth or, like me, needed emergency surgery and intensive postnatal care, your body has been through something big. And your heart is trying to keep up.

    After my youngest was born, I had to be separated from my eldest for a week while I recovered – a week that felt like a lifetime. I was in high dependency care, battling complications and relying on intravenous, topical and oral antibiotics for 12 weeks. It was a frightening time, physically and emotionally. I wasn’t depressed, but I cried – a lot, in fact, if we are being honest, I cried a lot after having my eldest and that was a much smoother journey… Great, heaving sobs that came from somewhere deep inside. My body was healing, my hormones were shifting, and my heart was holding more than it ever had before.

    And that’s the thing: you don’t have to be diagnosed with postnatal depression to struggle…. Sometimes, this time is just hard. That’s okay.

    Sleep Deprivation Is No Joke

    Let’s talk about the tiredness. The kind of tiredness that makes the hours blur, the tears fall faster and the world feel like it’s spinning just a little too fast. The tiredness that makes choosing what to eat feel like a strategic mission and makes you weep because you dropped a spoon.

    When you’re this sleep-deprived, everything feels bigger. Feeding challenges, a crying baby, a messy kitchen – these things can feel overwhelming not because you’re failing, but because you’re utterly depleted.

    Your Body: A New Story

    This part can be really tough, and it isn’t talked about enough. After birth, your body might feel like a stranger’s. It’s sore, tender, changed. Maybe you’re stitched, bandaged, leaking, or scarred. Maybe you’re still in shock. Even without complications, your body has grown and birthed a human – that is enormous!

    There’s sometimes an unnecessary pressure to “bounce back” or be grateful no matter what but it’s okay if you’re grieving the old version of yourself a little. It doesn’t make you any less strong, loving, or grateful.

    It’s Okay to Ask for Help

    You don’t need to do this alone. And even if you can, you shouldn’t have to.

    Help doesn’t always look like someone swooping in and taking over. It can be someone holding the baby while you shower, someone cooking a meal, someone sitting with you and letting you cry. I’ve been so fortunate to have incredible support – my Mum, Grandma, Auntie, and Sister, all stepping in before I even asked… Meals cooked, injections administered, babies rocked, messes cleaned. No task too big, no job too messy.

    Not everyone has a built-in village like that – and even when people do care, they might not know when or how to step in. People worry about interfering. Sometimes, you’ll need to ask. That’s not weakness – that’s wisdom.

    Routines Take Time

    Whether this is your first baby or your fourth, each addition changes the dynamic. Finding a rhythm is hard. It takes time and patience and often a bit of trial and error. Let go of the pressure to “have it all together” by day three. You’re all learning each other, and that’s a process, not a performance.

    You’re Doing Better Than You Think

    If you feel like you’re floundering – you’re not alone. This is a season of wild transformation. You are healing, learning, and loving in ways you never have before.

    There’s no perfect start. No perfect Mum (or Dad). Just you – showing up, loving hard and finding your way.

    And you know what? That’s more than enough.

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