I never set out to be a leader. In fact, for much of my early life, I felt like the opposite of what the world told me a leader should be. Leaders, I thought, were composed, structured, methodical. They thrived in systems, excelled in expectations, and followed the well-trodden path to success.

But that wasn’t me.

I was the child who ran outside the classroom, the one who coloured outside the lines – not out of rebellion, but because I saw more than what was on the page. I struggled in school, not because I lacked intelligence, but because my mind didn’t work in neat, linear ways. It wandered, it questioned, it resisted being boxed in.

I spent years feeling like an outsider, trying to fit into systems that weren’t built for me. It wasn’t until I found myself in the world of early years education that I realised something profound – perhaps I wasn’t meant to fit in. Perhaps I was meant to lead differently.

The unexpected journey into leadership

My path into early childhood leadership was not a traditional one. It was shaped by lived experience, by personal struggle, by an unshakable belief that things could – and should – be done differently.

When I took on the responsibility of leading an early years setting, I didn’t just see it as a business or a job. I saw it as an opportunity to create something I never had: a space where difference is celebrated, where children aren’t forced into boxes, and where learning is reimagined as a journey of exploration rather than a series of rigid expectations.

Leadership, I quickly realised, wasn’t about having all the answers. It was about asking better questions.

What if early childhood wasn’t about preparing children for school, but about preparing them for life?

What if we stopped measuring success in test scores and milestones, and started measuring it in curiosity, confidence, and the ability to think independently?

What if instead of trying to mould children into what the system expects, we allowed them to shape the world in their own unique way?

These questions didn’t just shape my leadership – they reshaped my entire approach to early years education.

Reimagining early childhood

Too often, early years education is treated as a stepping stone, a precursor to “real” learning in primary school and beyond. But I see it differently.

The early years are not just preparation. They are the foundation. The way we treat children in these formative years – the way we respond to their curiosity, their emotions, their need for movement and expression – shapes not only their experience of learning but their entire sense of self.

Reimagining early childhood means:

• Honouring movement as learning – A child who runs, climbs, and explores isn’t “restless”; they are discovering their world through action. Learning is not confined to desks and worksheets – it is found in muddy puddles, in hands-on play, in the rhythm of a child’s body in motion.
• Valuing curiosity over compliance – A child who constantly asks “why?” is already thinking critically, questioning, seeking deeper understanding. Instead of silencing their questions, we should encourage them.
• Supporting practitioners in leading with their strengths – Just as children learn differently, so do educators. Creating a culture where early years professionals feel empowered, valued, and able to bring their authentic selves into their work transforms the entire setting.

Reimagining early years isn’t just about changing the way we teach children – it’s about changing the way we see them.

The power of seeing differently

I used to believe that leadership was about control, about having the answers, about knowing the way forward. But now I understand – true leadership is about vision. It’s about seeing what others overlook, about challenging the status quo, about creating something that doesn’t yet exist.

And perhaps that’s why I ended up here. Because I have always seen differently.

• I see potential where others see challenge.
• I see creativity where others see chaos.
• I see movement, curiosity, and exploration not as things to be tamed, but as the very essence of what learning should be.

So now, as a leader in early years education, I don’t try to fit into the mould. I don’t lead by tradition. I lead by asking the questions that matter, by creating spaces where both children and educators are free to thrive, and by ensuring that every child – especially the ones who don’t fit the mould – is seen, valued, and understood.

Because leadership isn’t about fitting in.

It’s about making space for others to belong.