The first day of the year always feels a little like standing at the edge of something infinite—an empty page waiting for ink, a road stretching ahead through unknown landscapes. Fireworks crackle in bursts nearby and far off, their sharp pops and fading echoes vibrating in the cold night air. The sparks cast fleeting shadows on the walls, shimmering across the furniture, as my husband and eldest son murmur and laugh softly, voices weaving a warm undercurrent through the quiet. Across the room, my little son sleeps, his slow breaths a gentle rhythm beneath the hush. The faint scent of winter—smoke curling from distant chimneys, pine lingering in the air—clings to the windowpane. I watch the flicker of light dance across the ceiling, letting it mingle with the sound and stillness, lingering on the space between what I assumed and what actually unfolded over the past years. At the start of those years, I believed time would be kind, slow, forgiving. I believed there would always be room ...
From my earliest volunteering experiences to becoming a fully qualified teacher, I have learnt that inclusion is not just a policy—it is a mindset, a practice and a commitment to seeing every child. Working with children like M. and A. has shown me that learning becomes meaningful when it is accessible, celebrated, and owned by the child. It is in the quiet, tender moments of connection that the true magic of education comes alive. In 2019, I started volunteering at a school, and in 2020, despite the disruptions caused by COVID-19, I continued my journey in the school environment, assisting at different schools and gaining broader experience in supporting children with diverse needs. By 2021, I became a teaching assistant, gaining first-hand experience in classrooms and learning how to connect with children in meaningful ways. Two children, in particular, left a lasting impression on me. I worked briefly with M. in Year 3, and then moved to Reception to support A., a child who initiall...