Hello kind grown-up,

One of the most confusing things about supporting a child through a difficult experience is what happens in the days and weeks after the initial event.

The first day or two, the feelings are usually clear and present and relatively easy to respond to. The child is visibly upset, or embarrassed, or sad - and we know what to do. We sit with them. We listen. We offer comfort.

But then they seem better. They go back to school. They seem fine for a few days. And we quietly exhale.

And then, almost without warning, it comes back.

Not as intensely, perhaps. Not in the same form. Still it’s there - a flatness, a heaviness, a quiet withdrawal that seems disproportionate to what’s happening on the surface.

This is not a setback.

This is how emotional recovery actually works.

Feelings, particularly feelings of embarrassment, shame, disappointment, or failure, don’t process in a single pass. They tend to come in waves - receding when other things occupy the foreground of attention, returning when those distractions fall away, in quiet moments, at the start of the week, in the small hours of the morning.

This wave pattern can be confusing for children, who often conclude that the return of a feeling means they haven’t recovered, or aren’t recovering quickly enough, or that something is wrong with them.

It can also be confusing for parents and carers, who thought the hard part was over.

What helps when recovery doubles back:

Name the wave without alarm.
“Sometimes feelings come back for a little while after we think we’re past them. That doesn’t mean you’re back at the beginning - it means the feeling is still settling.”

Resist the urge to rush past the return.
The instinct, when a child seems worse again after seeming better, is often to redouble efforts at cheering up, fixing, or distracting. This can inadvertently communicate that the return of the feeling is a problem. Sitting with it calmly is almost always more helpful.

Challenge the internal timeline.
Many children - and adults - have absorbed an implicit belief that there is a correct amount of time to feel bad about something, and that exceeding it reflects badly on them. Gently naming this: “whoever decided you should be over this by now?” can be quietly liberating.

Watch for patterns, not individual days.
The question worth asking is not “are they okay today?” it’s “are they generally moving, over time, in a direction of feeling better?” Individual hard days are not evidence of stagnation. A sustained absence of any movement over several weeks may be worth paying closer attention to.

Model your own non-linear recovery.
When you have a hard day following a period of feeling better, say so. “I thought I was past feeling worried about that, and then it came back today. That’s okay - it usually settles again.” Children learn enormously from watching adults navigate the wave.

Recovery takes as long as it takes.

And the time it takes is not a reflection of character, resilience, or effort.

It’s simply the time it takes.

With warmth,
Lenny 🦁

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Pudding wants to say something important this week. 🐾

Sometimes you feel better

- and then you feel worse again.

And that can feel confusing. Like you were almost okay and then something pulled you back.

Here’s what Pudding knows about feelings:

They don’t get better in a straight line.

They go forward and back and sideways and sometimes all the way around before they settle properly.

That’s not you doing it wrong.

That’s just how feelings work.

And the idea that there’s a correct amount of time to feel bad about something?

Most of us made that up.

The rules about how long we’re allowed to feel things are usually much stricter than they need to be.

So this week, if something still feels hard when you thought it should be better:

Let it. You don’t have to be over it yet.

Be kind to yourself the way you’d be kind to a friend who was still hurting.

Remember: feeling it properly, at your own pace, is what actually helps it settle.

There’s no right speed.

You’re doing it exactly right. 🐾🫶

Hello, and welcome. I’m so glad you’ve found us. 🫶

Perhaps you’re here because your child is navigating something difficult.

Perhaps you’re searching for the right words when they’re worried, upset or doubting themselves.

Or perhaps you simply believe, as I do, that helping children understand their feelings is one of the greatest gifts we can give them.

Whatever brought you here, there’s a place for you in our circle.

And you don’t need to have all the answers to belong.

In fact, that’s rather the point.

First, a little about us...

The Dream Big Circle is a gentle space for parents, carers and educators who want to help children navigate life’s big feelings with curiosity, courage, kindness and confidence.

It grew from something deeply personal: my own experiences of navigating life’s difficult moments alongside my daughter, Scarlett, and discovering how much difference the right story, a little understanding and a moment of connection can make.

I’m Kim-adele. A mum, author and someone who believes that sometimes the most powerful thing we can offer a child isn’t an answer, but the space to feel heard.

Together with Scarlett, our rather wonderful cockapoo Pudding, and a wise little lion called Lenny, we’re building a collection of stories, guidance and practical resources to make some of life’s trickier conversations feel a little easier.

No jargon. No perfect parenting. No expectation that anyone gets it right all the time.

Just permission to be human, learn together and grow as we go.

🌸 Meet Scarlett — our storyteller

Because every child deserves a story that says, “I feel that way too.”

Every week, Scarlett’s Stories explore the everyday experiences that can feel enormous when you’re little.

Friendships that change. Worries that won’t quite go away. Moments of self-doubt. Unexpected sadness. Finding courage when things feel uncertain.

Through gentle, relatable adventures, Scarlett helps children recognise their feelings, understand that they’re not alone and discover that even difficult moments can hold opportunities for growth.

These are stories to read together, talk about afterwards or simply enjoy.

Sometimes a story opens a conversation that a direct question never could.

🌸 Start here: Explore Scarlett’s Stories

🐾 Meet Pudding — our pawsitivity companion

Little paws. Big encouragement.

Pudding is our very real, very loved cockapoo, who has a remarkable talent for reminding us that some of life’s most important lessons can be found in the smallest moments.

Through Pudding’s Pawsitivity, we share bite-sized encouragement, gentle reminders and practical ideas for navigating big feelings.

Things children can understand.

Things grown-ups can use.

And occasionally, things Pudding demonstrates without having the faintest idea he’s teaching us anything.

Because sometimes we all need reminding that it’s okay to have a wobbly day.

🐾 Start here: Explore Pudding’s Pawsitivity

🦁 Meet Lenny — our little lion with a lot of heart

A little wisdom for the grown-ups navigating big feelings, too.

Lenny’s Letters are written for the parents, carers and educators supporting children through life’s ups and downs.

Each letter explores the emotional learning behind our stories, helping us understand what might be happening beneath a child’s behaviour and how we can respond with curiosity rather than rushing to conclusions.

Because knowing what to say isn’t always easy.

And sometimes the grown-ups need a little reassurance, too.

🦁 Start here: Explore Lenny’s Letters

🌱 Sunday Resources — bringing the learning into everyday life

Stories help us understand. Connection helps us grow.

Every Sunday, we bring together the week’s learning with practical guidance, conversation starters and simple ideas to explore at home, in the classroom or wherever children feel safe enough to be themselves.

Our free resources always include meaningful advice and support.

For those who would like additional help putting that learning into practice, our optional Full Circle membership includes companion conversation scripts, printable activities and access to our growing resource library.

Because sometimes knowing what might help is one thing. Finding the words to put it into practice is quite another.

🌱 Start here: Explore our Sunday Resources

Not sure where to begin?

You don’t have to read everything or follow every series.

Start with whatever feels most relevant to your family right now.

If your child is finding friendships tricky, look for a story that helps them feel understood.

If emotions are running high, spend a moment with Pudding.

If you’re wondering how to respond to something your child is experiencing, Lenny might have a little wisdom to share.

And if you’d like to explore something together, our Sunday Resources are there to help.

There’s no right way to use Dream Big Circle.

Take what helps. Leave what doesn’t. Come back whenever you need to.

🤍 A little promise from us

All our essential stories, emotional guidance and everyday support will always be free.

Not as a trial.

As a promise.

Our optional paid memberships simply provide additional resources to help turn that guidance into everyday practice, while supporting us to continue creating and sharing freely.

Because every child deserves to feel seen, heard and understood.

And every grown-up deserves somewhere to turn when they don’t quite know what to do next.

Before you go, can I ask you something?

I’d love for this to become more than a place where I share stories.

I’d love it to become a space where we learn from one another.

So, whether you’re a parent, grandparent, carer, teacher or someone who simply cares about helping little hearts grow, I’d love to know:

What’s one thing you wish someone had told you about big feelings when you were little?

Perhaps it’s something you now try to teach the children in your life.

Perhaps it’s something you’re still learning yourself.

If you feel comfortable, share it in the comments. Your words might be exactly what another grown-up needs to hear today.

And if you’d rather read quietly, that’s absolutely fine, too.

There’s room for everyone in our circle.

With warmth,

Kim-adele, Scarlett, Pudding & Lenny 🫶

Dream big dreams 🤍🙌

New to the circle? Subscribe here — it’s always free to join.

And if you know someone who might appreciate a little encouragement, please share this with them.

Sometimes the smallest invitation opens the door to the most meaningful connection.

By Thursday, the assembly felt further away.

Not gone - Scarlett still felt a small clench in her stomach when she thought about it directly. It had moved from the front of her mind to somewhere slightly behind it, which was progress.

Friday was fine.

The weekend was mostly fine.

And then Monday arrived, and with it, for reasons Scarlett couldn’t entirely explain, the assembly came back.

Not as a sharp, hot thing like it had been on Wednesday afternoon. More like a grey, settled heaviness that sat on her chest when she woke up and made getting dressed feel harder than it should.

She sat at breakfast and didn’t eat much.

“You seem a bit flat,” her mum said.

“I’m fine,” said Scarlett, in a voice that didn’t quite convince either of them.

At school, she was quiet. Not visibly upset - just muted. Like someone had turned her volume down slightly.

Maisie noticed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Scarlett said again.

She wasn’t, particularly. She just didn’t have the words for what she was, which was something in between fine and not fine - a grey in-between place that didn’t have a name.

That evening she sat with Lenny and told him about the grey feeling.

“I thought I was getting over it,” she said. “And then it came back. Does that mean I’m not resilient after all?”

Lenny shook his head firmly.

“Recovery doesn’t go in a straight line,” he said. “It goes forward and back and sideways, and sometimes it doubles back on itself entirely before it goes forward again.”

“That sounds exhausting,” said Scarlett.

“It can be,” Lenny agreed. “The doubling back isn’t failure. It’s just the way feelings work. They need time to settle properly, not just time to go quiet for a few days.”

“How much time?”

“Different for different things,” said Lenny. “And different for different people. There’s no right speed.”

Scarlett pulled her knees up to her chest.

“I feel like I should be over it by now.”

Lenny looked at her steadily. “Says who?”

Scarlett opened her mouth. Then closed it again.

She wasn’t sure, actually.

Nobody had said it. It was just a feeling she’d somehow absorbed - that there was a correct amount of time to feel bad about something, and she’d probably exceeded it.

“I made it up,” she said slowly.

“You did,” said Lenny gently. “Most of the rules about how long we’re allowed to feel things - we make them up. And they’re usually much stricter than they need to be.”

Scarlett sat with that for a while.

The grey feeling didn’t disappear.

It loosened, slightly, around the edges.

Like it was allowed to be there now.

And somehow that made it easier to carry.

🫶 Dream big dreams.

Settled doesn’t announce itself.

It arrives quietly, on an ordinary Tuesday, and makes everything feel like yours.

It’s one of the best feelings there is - even though it doesn’t shout or sparkle.

It just makes ordinary feel safe.

And safe, when you’ve worked hard to get there, is everything.

For children:

When you notice the settled feeling, try:

Name it: “I think I feel settled. School feels like mine now.”

Notice the small signs - the morning that felt easy, the day you didn’t think too hard about lunch, the moment you just got on with it without worrying.

Remember how far you’ve come - from the first wobbly days to here.

If you’re not settled yet - that’s okay. There’s no right speed. It’s coming.

For grown-ups:

This week, try:

Naming it when you see it - “You seem really settled now. That took real effort to get to.”

Celebrating quietly - settled is a quiet feeling that deserves a quiet acknowledgement, not a big fuss.

Letting it be enough - resist the urge to immediately look ahead to the next challenge. Let this moment of ease simply be.

If settled hasn’t arrived yet - speak to the class teacher, look at what’s happening around school as well as in it, and return to the basics: routine, rest, connection.

And notice your own settling too - because you’ve been through something as well. The relief you feel when they’re okay is real and it matters.

🌱 A grounding moment - try this together

Sit somewhere comfortable together.

Take one slow breath each.

Then take it in turns to finish this sentence:

“Something that feels normal now that didn’t feel normal in September is...”

Notice how far you’ve both come.

That’s not a small thing. 🫶

Read more

Hello kind grown-up,

There is a moment - different for every child, arriving at different points in the autumn term - when the new school year stops feeling new.

It isn’t dramatic. There’s no announcement.

It’s the morning when your child gets up and gets ready without the stomach ache. The evening when they talk about school without a particular weight to the conversation. The day when they come home and seem simply - fine. Ordinarily, unremarkably fine.

That is settled.

And it is worth noticing, and naming, and celebrating quietly - because the journey to get there asked a great deal of them, even when it didn’t look like it from the outside.

The weeks of managing novelty. The friendship recalibration. The energy of holding it together in a new environment every single day. The adjustments so small and continuous that neither they nor you could easily name them.

All of that led here.

To Tuesday feeling like Tuesday.

What to do when settled arrives:

Name it. “You seem really settled now. I’ve noticed how comfortable you seem — that’s taken real effort to get to.”

Celebrate it quietly. Not a big fuss - settled is a quiet feeling and deserves a quiet celebration. But acknowledged. Named. Marked.

Let it be enough. Resist the urge to immediately look ahead to the next challenge, the next transition, the next thing to prepare for. Let this moment of ease simply be what it is.

What to do if settled hasn’t arrived yet:

For some children, settling takes longer. And it’s important to say clearly: that is not a failure - theirs or yours.

Children with anxiety, sensory sensitivities, social difficulties, or those who have experienced significant change or loss may take longer to feel at home in a new environment. The timeline for settling is not universal, and comparing your child’s journey to another child’s is neither helpful nor fair.

If your child is still finding school genuinely hard several weeks in, it may be worth:

A quiet conversation with the class teacher - not to escalate, but to share what you’re observing at home and hear what they’re observing in school. Often these two pictures together reveal something useful.

Looking at what happens around school, not just in it - sleep, appetite, mood at home. A child who is coping well in school but struggling everywhere else may be using all their resources to hold it together in the building, with nothing left for anywhere else.

Returning to the basics - routine, rest, connection, gentle movement. The fundamentals support a settling nervous system more than almost anything else.

Keeping the door open at home - not interrogating, but consistently making it known that there is space to talk whenever they’re ready.

And if you need support - from the school, from your GP, from other parents who’ve been here - please ask for it. You don’t have to figure this out alone.

Settled is coming.

For most children, it arrives quietly, on an ordinary Tuesday, without warning.

And when it does - it’s worth every hard morning that came before it.

With warmth,
Lenny 🦁

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Pudding wants to share something important this week. 🐾

Do you remember the beginning of September?

The fluttery feeling. The new classroom. The not-knowing.

Now think about this week.

Is it still there - that flutter? Or has something shifted?

Have you noticed yourself just - doing school? Without thinking too hard about it. Without the morning worry. Without the lunchtime uncertainty.

That feeling - that quiet, ordinary, unremarkable feeling of just getting on with it - has a name.

It’s called settled.

And it’s one of the best feelings there is, even though it doesn’t shout or sparkle or announce itself.

It just arrives quietly, on an ordinary Tuesday, and makes everything feel like yours.

If you’re not there yet - that’s okay. Settling takes different amounts of time for different people. There’s no right speed.

Just know it’s coming.

And when it arrives - notice it.

Because ordinary, when it finally feels safe, is one of the loveliest things. 🐾🫶

It happened on a Tuesday.

Nothing special about it. Nothing planned, significant, or worth marking on a calendar.

Scarlett woke up when her alarm went off. She put on her uniform without thinking. She ate breakfast, packed her bag, said goodbye to Pudding, asleep on the sofa in his particular Pudding-shaped way, and walked to school with the particular feeling of an ordinary morning.

Not new anymore.

Not strange.

Just Tuesday.

And somewhere between the front door and the school gate, Scarlett noticed it — the absence of the fluttery feeling. The one that had lived just below her ribs for most of September. The one that had arrived with the countdown and stayed through the first week, and the second and most of the third.

It was gone.

Or not gone exactly. Just quiet. Just settled.

She knew the way to her classroom without thinking. She knew which drawer was hers and where to hang her coat, and that on Tuesdays they had art in the afternoon, which she had already started looking forward to on Sunday evening.

She knew that Anya liked the same books she did, and that Maisie still saved her a seat, and that Sam always found her at break time even though they were in different classes.

She knew her teacher’s particular way of explaining things, and which questions she liked being asked, and that if you were having a hard day, she noticed without you having to say.

She knew things.

Not everything. Not yet. Not all the things you could only know from a full year of being somewhere.

Just enough.

Enough to feel like this was her place now.

She walked into the classroom, hung up her bag, sat down, and got out her things.

It was just Tuesday.

And Tuesday felt, quietly and completely, like enough.

That evening she told Lenny about it.

“Something happened today,” she said.

“What?” said Lenny.

“I stopped noticing school,” she said. “I just - did it. Without thinking about it. It felt normal.”

Lenny smiled. Not his small smile or his gentle smile. His proper, full, warm smile.

“That,” he said, “is what settled feels like.”

Scarlett turned that word over in her mind.

Settled.

“I like it,” she said.

“I thought you might,” said Lenny.

🫶 Dream big dreams.

Everyone comes back from the summer slightly changed.

And the friendships have to find their new shape.

That takes a little time. A little patience. A little willingness to show up even when it feels uncertain.

And the good ones always find their way back.

For children:

When September friendships feel wobbly, try:

Give it time - a week or two of uncertainty is normal. It doesn’t mean something is permanently wrong.

Keep showing up - sit with your group, join in, stay present even when it feels a bit exposed.

Stay open to new people - the new shape of your friendship group might have more room in it than the old one.

Talk to someone you trust about how it feels - at home, where there’s no pressure and no audience.

For grown-ups:

In the first few weeks back, try:

Validating without catastrophising - “It makes sense things feel a bit different. Everyone’s finding their feet.”

Resisting the urge to intervene immediately - most September friendship wobbles resolve with a little time.

Encouraging continued presence - gently support your child to keep showing up even when it feels uncertain.

Watching for the difference between temporary uncertainty and genuine isolation - the former needs patience, the latter needs closer attention.

🌱 A grounding moment - try this together

Think of a friendship that has been through something difficult - a wobble, a change, a time when things felt uncertain.

Did it find its way back?

Tell each other about it.

Let that be the reminder: the good ones find their shape again.

They usually do. 🫶

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Hello kind grown-up,

One of the less talked-about challenges of the return to school is the friendship recalibration that happens in the first few weeks of September.

Children arrive back having had different summers. Some have been away and broadened their horizons slightly. Some have spent time with family members who’ve shifted their perspective in subtle ways. Some have simply grown - emotionally, physically, socially - in the six weeks they were apart.

And the friendships they left in July have to accommodate all of that change.

For most children, this recalibration is relatively brief - a week or two of slight uncertainty before the friendship group finds its new shape. But during that period, it can feel significant.

A child might come home reporting that their best friend seems different, or closer to someone else, or that they’re not sure where they fit. They might be quieter than usual. They might seem fine at school but need more from home in the evenings.

This is normal. It is not a sign that something has gone wrong with the friendship - it is simply the friendship adjusting to two people who have both changed slightly over the summer.

What helps:

Validate without catastrophising.
“It makes sense that things feel a bit different at the start of term - everyone’s finding their feet again.” This normalises the wobble without dismissing it.

Resist the urge to intervene immediately.
Unless there is evidence of genuine unkindness or exclusion, friendship wobbles in the first weeks of September usually resolve themselves given a little time and space. Stepping in too quickly can sometimes make the dynamic more complicated.

Encourage showing up.
The child who withdraws when friendship feels uncertain often finds the uncertainty grows. Gently encourage continued presence - sitting with the group, joining in, being available - even when it feels exposing.

Keep an eye on the bigger picture.
If friendship difficulties persist beyond the first few weeks, or if a child seems genuinely isolated rather than temporarily uncertain, that warrants closer attention and possibly a quiet conversation with the class teacher.

Stay curious about new people.
The new child in the class, the slightly shifted group dynamic, the friendship that has expanded to include someone new- these aren’t threats to existing relationships. They’re the natural evolution of a social world that is growing alongside your child.

The shape is still forming.

It almost always finds its way.

With warmth,
Lenny 🦁

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Everyone comes back from the summer slightly different.

New experiences. New ideas. Maybe new friends made along the way.

And sometimes the friendships you left in July need a little time to find their new shape in September.

That can feel wobbly.

It can feel like something has changed and you’re not sure yet if there’s still room for you.

Here’s what Pudding knows:

Friendships that matter find their shape again.

They might look slightly different from before. There might be new people in them. The group might have shifted a little.

And the good ones come back.

And sometimes, not always, sometimes, the new shape has even more room than the old one did.

When September friendships feel wobbly, try:

Give it a little time before deciding something is wrong.

Show up - sit down, join in, be present even when it feels uncertain.

Stay open

- the new person in the group might turn out to be someone wonderful.

The shape is still forming. 🐾🫶

By the end of the first week, Scarlett had found her way around the new classroom.

She knew which drawer was hers. She knew that the teacher liked everyone to line up quietly and didn’t like fuss. She knew that the view from the window showed the corner of the playground where the older children played, and that if you looked at exactly the right moment during afternoon lessons you could sometimes see a pigeon doing something ridiculous on the roof.

So the room was becoming familiar.

Something else felt less settled.

Maisie was in her class, which was wonderful. Maisie had also spent the first week getting to know a girl called Anya, who had moved to the school over the summer and seemed to find Maisie immediately and completely fascinating. They laughed at things Scarlett hadn’t heard. They had conversations that had started somewhere Scarlett hadn’t been.

It wasn’t unkind. Nobody was leaving anyone out on purpose.

It was just different from before.

And Sam was next door, which felt further away than it sounded.

One evening in the second week, Scarlett sat with Lenny and tried to explain it.

“It’s like everyone’s the same but also slightly different,” she said. “Like we all went away for the summer and came back just a tiny bit changed and now we’re all trying to figure out where we fit again.”

“That’s exactly what’s happening,” said Lenny.

“Is it normal?”

“It’s one of the most normal things about September,” said Lenny. “Everyone comes back from the summer slightly different - and the friendships have to find their new shape.”

“What if the new shape doesn’t have room for me?”

Lenny looked at her steadily. “Do you believe that? Really?”

Scarlett thought about Maisie. Who had been her friend since they were small. Who knew about the feather on the wall and the seagull and had laughed about it for three days running.

“No,” she said slowly. “Not really.”

“Friendships that matter find their shape again,” said Lenny. “They sometimes need a little time and a little space. And the good ones come back.”

The next day at lunch, Scarlett sat down next to Maisie and Anya, who turned out to be funny and kind and to have spent the summer in exactly the kind of place Scarlett had been building on her map.

By the end of lunch, there were three of them talking at once.

The shape had shifted.

But there was still room.

There was, it turned out, more room than before.

🫶 Dream big dreams.

New doesn’t mean frightening.

It just means not yet familiar.

And not yet familiar is something everyone - absolutely everyone - navigates on the first day of a new school year.

For children:

On your first day, remember:

You only have to walk in. That’s all today is asking. Not to have it all figured out - just to walk through the door.

Find one familiar thing to hold onto - a friend’s face, your own pencil case, the feel of your bag on your peg.

Take one slow breath before you walk into something new.

Give it a few days. New things feel unfamiliar before they feel normal. That’s not a sign something is wrong - it’s just how new things work.

Everyone around you is finding their feet too. Even the ones who don’t look like it.

For grown-ups:

In the first week back, try:

A calm, unhurried morning — whatever that takes, it’s worth the effort.

A confident, brief goodbye — warm, certain, short. Then go.

A quiet after-school window — snack, calm space, no immediate questioning.

Different questions — not “how was school?” but “what was the best bit?” or “was anything hard today?”

Extra gentleness in the evenings — the first week back is tiring in a way children can’t always articulate. Earlier bedtimes, quieter evenings, lower expectations at home all help.

🌱 A grounding moment - try this together on the evening before

Sit somewhere comfortable together.

Take one slow breath each.

Then say out loud, taking turns:

“Something I’m looking forward to is...”

“Something I know I can do is...”

“Whatever happens, we’ll work it out together.”

Let that last one land. For both of you. 🫶

Read more

Hello kind grown-up,

The first day of a new school year asks something significant of children.

Not just a return to routine, though that alone takes adjustment; it’s a navigation of genuine unknowns. A new teacher whose expectations and personality are yet to be discovered. A new classroom with a new arrangement, new displays, perhaps a new seat. New groupings of children, new dynamics, new uncertainties about where they fit.

For most children, even confident and well-settled ones, this involves a level of stress that we can easily underestimate because it doesn’t always look the way we expect.

It might look like a stomach ache on the morning of the first day.

It might look like unusual quietness the evening before, or unusual loudness.

It might look like a child who seems fine, coped well, came home chatty, and then falls apart completely at bedtime, when the held-together feeling finally lets go.

All of these are normal. All of them are the body’s response to genuine novelty and effort.

What helps most on the first day and in the first week:

The morning routine matters enormously.
A calm, unhurried morning sets the tone more than almost anything else. Whatever it takes to make the morning feel manageable- earlier wake-up, a favourite breakfast, a consistent leave-the-house routine- is worth the effort.

The goodbye matters.
A confident, warm, brief goodbye is almost always better than a prolonged one. Lingering at the gate, even with the best intentions, can increase, not decrease, separation anxiety. “Have a good day. I’ll be here at home time. Love you.” Then go.

The after-school window matters.
Many children need time to decompress before they can talk about their day. Arriving home to a calm space, a snack, and no immediate questioning, “how was it, who did you sit with, did you like your teacher”, gives them space to land before they’re ready to share.

Ask differently.
Instead of “how was school?” (which almost always gets “fine”) try:
“What was the best bit?”
“What was one thing that surprised you?”
“Was there anything that felt hard today?”
“What are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

Watch for the delayed reaction.
The child who seemed fine all day may need more support in the evenings of the first week as the accumulated effort of managing novelty takes its toll. Extra patience, earlier bedtimes, and gentler expectations at home all help the adjustment.

One more thing:

If your child is starting a completely new school, not just a new year, but a new building, new children, no familiar faces, the adjustment period may be longer and the support needed greater. That is entirely expected. Give it time. The belonging comes.

With warmth,
Lenny 🦁

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Pudding wants to talk about new starts today. 🐾

New classroom. New teacher. Maybe a new school entirely.

Everything unfamiliar all at once: the room, the faces, the way things are arranged, the view from the window.

New can feel exciting.

New can also feel really overwhelming.

Here’s something important to remember:

You don’t have to know how it’s going to go.

You just have to walk in.

That’s the only thing today is asking of you: to walk through the door.

Not to have it all figured out. Not to feel completely confident. Not to know how the year will turn out.

Just to walk in.

And if today feels wobbly? That’s okay.

Wobbly is allowed on new start days.

Here’s what helps:

Find one familiar thing — a friend’s face, your own pencil case, the feeling of your bag on your peg.

Take one slow breath before you walk into a new room.

Remember: everyone around you is finding their feet too, even if they don’t look like it.

Pudding says: you walked in. That’s the bravest thing. 🐾🫶

The uniform was clean and pressed and hanging on the back of the door.

The bag was packed.

The pencil case had new pencils in it, proper new ones, not the stubby old ones from the bottom of the drawer, and Scarlett had sharpened them all the night before because sharpening pencils was something to do when you couldn’t sleep.

It was the morning of the first day back.

Scarlett sat on the edge of her bed in her uniform and looked at Lenny.

“I don’t know what classroom I’m in yet,” she said.

“No,” said Lenny.

“I don’t know who my teacher is. I mean, I know her name. I just don’t know what she’s like.“

“No,” said Lenny.

“I don’t know if I’ll sit near Maisie. Or Sam. I don’t know if the classroom will feel right. I don’t know any of it yet.”

“No,” said Lenny. “You don’t.”

Scarlett looked at him. “You’re not going to tell me it’ll be fine?”

“It will probably be fine,” said Lenny. “And you don’t know that yet either. Plus pretending you do won’t help much.”

Scarlett felt something loosen slightly in her chest.

Somehow that was more comforting than fine would have been.

“What do I do with the not knowing?” she asked.

“You walk in anyway,” said Lenny. “That’s all. You don’t have to know how it will go. You just have to walk through the door.”

At school, the corridors smelled exactly as she remembered, that particular school smell that she couldn’t describe to anyone but would know anywhere.

A list of the new class groupings hung on the wall outside the hall.

Scarlett found her name.

Maisie was in her class. Sam wasn’t; he was in the class next door. The list of names alongside hers had a few she recognised and a few she didn’t.

She found her new classroom.

She found her name on a peg, a new peg, lower down than last year’s, with a little label in the teacher’s handwriting.

She hung her bag on it.

And then she stood there for a moment in the doorway of the unfamiliar room, with its unfamiliar arrangement of tables and its unfamiliar display boards and its unfamiliar view from the window.

Unfamiliar. Not frightening.

Just new.

I don’t know how this year will go, she thought.

And then, quietly, from somewhere that felt a lot like Lenny:

And I walked in. That’s enough for today.

🫶 Dream big dreams.

The week before school goes back is its own kind of emotional territory.

Excited and nervous, all mixed up together.

Both feelings are allowed.

Both make complete sense.

For children:

When the fluttery countdown feeling arrives, try:

Name it: “I feel excited and nervous. Both feelings are allowed.”

Remember your own history: Think of something that felt scary before it happened - and turned out okay.

Do something familiar and comforting in the final few days - a favourite meal, a familiar film, something that feels like home.

Talk to someone you trust about what you’re looking forward to and what feels worrying - both deserve a conversation.

For grown-ups:

This final week, try:

Naming the mixed feeling rather than resolving it. “It makes sense to feel both excited and nervous.”

Keeping things gentle and familiar - now is not the week for late nights or big new activities.

Preparing practically - uniform ready, bag packed, the morning route confirmed. Small preparations make a big difference.

Replacing over-reassurance with honest steadiness. “Whatever happens, we’ll work it out together” lands better than “you’ll be absolutely fine.”

Naming your own feelings too - children settle more easily when the adults around them are genuinely calm, not just performing calm.

🌱 A grounding moment - try this together on the Sunday evening

Sit together somewhere comfortable.

Take one slow breath each.

Then take it in turns to say:

“Something I’m looking forward to is...”
“Something I’m a little nervous about is...”
“Something I know I can do is...”

Let all of it be there. The excited and the nervous, side by side. 🫶

Read more

Hello kind grown-up,

The week before school returns is its own particular kind of emotional territory.

For children, it can bring an unsettling mix of feelings that are hard to separate — genuine excitement about seeing friends and returning to routine, sitting right alongside real anxiety about the unknown. A new teacher. A new classroom. A new year with all its uncertainties.

These feelings don’t cancel each other out. They coexist, often uncomfortably, and children don’t always have the language to explain why they feel both eager and afraid at the same time.

For parents and carers, this week often carries its own mix — relief that routine is returning, anxiety about how the children will settle, guilt about feeling relieved, and the logistical weight of the back-to-school preparation on top of everything else.

What helps children in this final week:

Name the mixed feeling without trying to resolve it.
“It makes sense to feel excited and nervous at the same time - both feelings are allowed.” Trying to talk children out of their nerves, or over-emphasising the excitement, can leave them feeling that one of their feelings isn’t valid. Holding both is more honest and more helpful.

Keep the final days gentle and familiar.
This isn’t the week for big new activities or late nights. The nervous system benefits from predictability in the run-up to change. Familiar foods, familiar routines, familiar comfort objects - all of these help regulate a child who is quietly bracing for something new.

Avoid overloading them with reassurance.
Constant “you’ll be absolutely fine, it’ll be great, don’t worry” can paradoxically increase anxiety by signalling that worry is something to be pushed away quickly. A calmer “whatever happens, we’ll work it out together” holds more genuine reassurance.

Let them talk - or not talk.
Some children process best by talking through every worry in detail. Others go quiet before transitions and need companionable silence rather than conversation. Follow your child’s lead rather than your own need to feel like you’ve helped.

Prepare practically where you can.
The uniform laid out. The bag packed. The route to school walked or driven once. Small practical preparations reduce the cognitive load on the morning itself and give children a sense of agency and readiness.

The countdown is always harder than the day itself.

Almost always, the morning of the first day back is better than the Sunday evening before it.

With warmth,
Lenny 🦁

Read more

Pudding wants to talk about a funny feeling today. 🐾

The one that arrives when something is about to begin.

It lives just below your ribs, it flutters, and it won’t quite settle; and sometimes you can’t tell if it’s excitement or nerves because it feels like both at exactly the same time.

Here’s what Pudding wants you to know:

That feeling is completely normal.

It means your brain is getting ready for something new. It doesn’t know quite what to expect yet, so it sends out a little bit of excitement and a little bit of nerves together, all mixed up.

When that feeling arrives, try this:

Name it: “I feel excited and nervous at the same time. That’s okay.”

Talk to it gently: “Something is starting. My brain is getting ready.”

Remember what you’ve already come through — all the things that felt scary before they happened, and turned out okay.

The fluttery feeling means something is beginning.

And beginnings, even wobbly ones, are always worth having. 🐾🫶

It started on a Tuesday.

Scarlett was eating breakfast when she noticed the calendar on the wall.

Someone - her mum, probably - had written something on one of the squares in red pen.

Back to school.

Scarlett counted the days.

Eight.

She put her spoon down.

The cereal suddenly didn’t seem very interesting.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go back. She did, sort of. She missed her classroom and she missed the structure of the day and she even - though she would never say this out loud - missed the particular smell of the school corridors in the morning.

And she also felt something else. Something fluttery and uncertain that lived just below her ribs and wouldn’t quite settle.

By Thursday it was six days.

By Saturday it was four.

The fluttery feeling got louder.

On Sunday evening Scarlett sat on her bed with Lenny and Pudding and stared at nothing in particular.

“You’re very quiet,” said Lenny.

“Four days,” said Scarlett.

Lenny nodded. He understood immediately.

“Tell me about the feeling,” he said.

Scarlett thought about it carefully. “It’s like excited and scared at the same time. All mixed up together so I can’t tell which one it is.”

“That’s a very accurate description,” said Lenny. “Those two feelings live very close together. Sometimes they’re so mixed up it’s hard to know where one ends and the other begins.”

“Is that normal?”

“Completely,” said Lenny. “Your brain is getting ready for something new. It doesn’t know exactly what to expect yet, so it sends out a little bit of both; excitement because something is starting, nerves because it hasn’t happened yet.”

Scarlett pulled Lenny a little closer.

“What if my teacher is strict?” she said. “What if I don’t sit near my friends? What if everything feels different?”

Lenny was quiet for a moment.

“Those things might happen,” he said honestly. “Some of them probably will. And if they do, you’ll find your way through them. You always do.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” said Lenny, “you found your way through the whole summer. The wobbly first days, and the long afternoons, and the hill, and the seagull, and all of it. You’re much better at finding your way through things than you think.”

Scarlett considered this.

The fluttery feeling was still there.

And somewhere alongside it, something else had arrived too.

Something that felt a little bit like ready.

🫶 Dream big dreams.