There was a time when mornings were hard for our daughter.
She loved school once she was there… but that step into school felt really tricky.
So we tried something simple.
Each morning, we started choosing a pin badge for each other.
Nothing fancy — little badges picked up from places like Temu and other online places.
Cacti. Dinosaurs. Axolotls. Cooking ones. Silly ones. Meaningful ones.
The badge became our positive focus for the morning.
Sometimes we chose them the night before.
Sometimes we wrapped them up with a tiny note inside.
Sometimes, when we arrived at school, we'd push the badge onto each other like a power-up button before getting out of the car.
And yes — getting into school is much easier now.
Not because of the pin badges alone, but as part of a whole range of support, time, reassurance and understanding.
Our daughter still finds things tricky at times — and that's ok.
We've kept the pin badges going because they've become a constant, familiar feature of support alongside everything else.
On days when there was something specific happening — like a cooking lesson — we'd choose a badge that linked to it.
It often became a talking point with the teacher or a way to break the ice.
The bit that really stayed with us though?
Our daughter told us that during the day, when something feels hard, she'll look down at her badge and think:
"Mum or Dad picked this for me this morning."
That sense of being held in mind, even when we're not there, really matters.
The last year — supporting our daughter through the end of primary and the start of secondary — has been such a huge part of our life as a family.
It's shaped our routines, our conversations, our worries, and our pride in ways we never really expected.
So recently, both Ali and I decided to have some of those pin badges tattooed on us.
Not because everything has been easy.
Not because the journey is "done".
But as a reminder of:
What started as a tiny morning strategy has become a symbol of connection, resilience and love — for all of us.
It doesn't fix everything.
But it softens the edges.
It adds connection.
And it turns difficult moments into something shared and meaningful.


Sometimes it's not the big strategies —
it's the small, human ones.
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