When L walked into our service at three years old, it didn’t take long to notice something was happening. This child was carrying more weight on their shoulders than any child ever should. Always on edge. Always scanning the room like danger was lurking behind every corner and if you took a toy out of L’s hand’s, they were not afraid to throw a punch. What was unfolding before us was what psychologists call ‘fight, flight or freeze mode’. Translation? L’s nervous system was running a marathon all day, every day.

It did not take long for us to understand why L was displaying these behaviours. Home life was marked by significant pressures: financial strain, emotional exhaustion, and the overwhelming logistics of raising three young children with two full time working parents. The family was surviving day to day and only just. For them, life wasn’t about quality family time or weekend playdates, it was about getting through the week without falling apart.

These pressures were particularly visible in the mornings during L’s arrival for the day. L’s parents would rush in, handing L over with comments such as ‘good luck with that today’ and not even a goodbye why L cried and screamed out for any kind of connection. Any thought of having a conversation about L’s morning or showing interest in what L might be doing that day, was never going to happen.

For our educators, these handovers were disheartening. They didn’t just care for L they invested in L, they invested in every child in their care. They celebrated milestones, shared in laughter, and nurtured each child’s growth. Yet the level of disengagement from L’s parents made it feel as though all our passion and dedication had met an unmovable wall.

Building trust with families under stress is no easy task. But for children like L, and families like theirs, we need to explore what sits beneath the surface of their struggles and this starts with building trust slowly and consistently. When we come across disinterested parents using strategies like inviting them into meetings, sharing observations, or suggesting extra support can feel like a burden, rather than a helping hand which can leave educators asking if connection is even possible.

Then, one day, unexpectedly, a small breakthrough arrived. One afternoon, L’s mother mentioned ‘I’m starting to plan our wedding’. Those 5 words were an invitation to connect. Why? Because weddings are universal talking points, full of both joy and stress, and suddenly there was something familiar and approachable that we could build on.

It was at that point L’s handovers became the responsibility of an educator who was also planning her own wedding and slowly, things began to change. What had once been rushed, and distant hand overs became a few minutes of light-hearted conversation about venues, colour schemes and dresses. Those exchanges, though seemingly unrelated to L, paved the way for deeper trust to be built. In time, L’s mother began to share more openly about the family’s challenges, financial pressure, relationship issues, parenting guilt, and the challenges of L’s behaviour while parenting two other young children. What once felt like a wall became a doorway into genuine partnership.

The lesson here is clear: trust can be found in unexpected places. Sometimes, it isn’t a formal meeting or a carefully worded email that forms the bridge of connection.

Sometimes, it’s a wedding dress.

Weaving in the theories

Through the lens of Bronfenbrenner’s ecological systems theory, the pieces begin to fall into place. L’s story is not just about individual behaviours or isolated moments of struggle; it is about the complex interplay of systems. L’s challenges came from the pressures within their microsystem (family life, daily routines, parental stress) spilling into the mesosystem (our service, the handovers, the educator /parent relationship).

By finding common ground through something as simple as wedding planning, we created a positive link between these systems. A stronger connection between home and service began to emerge, and as that relationship softened, L’s sense of security in our environment grew.

Navigating Different Perspectives

Weaving together family and educator perspectives is not always easy or straightforward. Tensions often emerge when priorities seem to compete. Many families emphasise “school readiness”— literacy, numeracy, or ensuring their child can write their name before kindergarten. Educators, on the other hand, advocate strongly for play-based learning in the first five years.

Here’s the important part: both perspectives are valid. Parents want to see their child prepared for the future, while educators understand the foundational power of play. The real risk comes when one side dismisses the other.

We saw this play out in L’s story. At first, L’s family seemed disengaged, focused on simply surviving the daily routine rather than engaging in conversations about learning. Educators, meanwhile, were investing in L’s development through play and relationship building and sometimes feeling that their efforts were overlooked. The turning point came when we found a bridge a shared conversation that opened the door to connection. This shift reminded us that collaboration is rarely about convincing families of our perspective, but about finding common ground and building trust. It is these little moments that can mean the most. Meaningful connection often grows from small, consistent acts, a warm greeting at drop off or remembering a detail about a parent’s day, these gestures say: “You matter here.”

Relationships as the Real Curriculum

Children thrive on consistency and connection. When the adults in their lives work together, even if they don’t always fully agree, children feel safe, secure, and supported.

The real curriculum is not found in frameworks or documents alone, but in the relationships that bring them to life. Frameworks can guide us, but it is empathy, presence, and relational intelligence that transform them into meaningful practice.

In the end, L showed us that trust is the real currency. Relationships are the real curriculum.

So, the next time we encounter a ‘difficult parent’ who appears disengaged, perhaps the question to ask yourself is: what is their wedding dress? What is the small point of connection that might open the door?

Because in the end, children will not remember the frameworks. They will remember how the adults around them, and their families, made them feel.

And isn’t that what matters the most?