In our service, we pride ourselves on being strong advocates for inclusion. We adapt our environments, our daily rhythm, and our teaching to meet the diverse needs of every child in our care. We discuss individual learning styles, walking in step with our children, and scaffolding their experiences so that learning is both meaningful and authentic.

We say things like: 

Children don’t have to sit at group time if they’re not ready.
They don’t have to engage in every planned experience because choice is part of learning.
Every child learns differently.

And yet if these children grew up and were to become early childhood professionals, all those inclusive practices go out the window and suddenly, we would expect sameness.

I have worked in services where every educator is expected to write the same way, reflect the same way, and plan the same way. I’ve seen uniform templates, and it’s been called ‘consistency’. But maybe, the only thing those expectations are doing is stripping away authenticity from not only the documentation but also from the people writing it.

The 2025 Shift

This year, as the Educational Leader of our service, I made a huge change in the way that we document our children’s learning.

For years, our team had worked within a rigid system: monthly observations for every child. It was predictable. It was measurable. We all thought that was what assessors would want to see, and it was the way it had always been done. But was it meaningful? Not really.

Those monthly observations had become a tick and flick process. It was quick, mechanical, and disconnected from the real, living, breathing learning happening right in front of our eyes. Children’s voices were missing. Educators’ passion was fading. Reflection had become repetitive. A few years ago, I even noticed an observation written for a child on a day the child wasn’t in attendance. If we are striving to be recognised as skilled professionals, how does this look to families? How does it reflect the depth of our understanding, the responsiveness of our teaching, and the individual journeys of each child?

So, we stopped monthly observations, and we slowed down. We moved to three monthly planning cycles. We decided to focus on depth rather than frequency. Learning became something we could watch unfold, and we wanted to embrace authenticity. 

But then, something unexpected happened.

One team member approached me to talk about the way I used mind mapping as a documentation approach. She had tried this method and found that it just didn’t work for her. Her approach was becoming hostile; she was frustrated, overwhelmed, and burnt out.

After an hour long conversation, we decided to let her document her children’s learning in a way that suited her, and that was without mind mapping. Almost instantly, her documentation changed. It reflected her voice, her connection to the children, and her joy in her work. She fell in love with documentation all over again.

What About the Educators’ Learning Styles?

It was then that I noticed another educator, who was particularly vibrant, passionate, and deeply connected to the children, falling behind with the documentation side of her role. Writing long, detailed narratives drained her. It wasn’t that she couldn’t do it; it just wasn’t how her brain worked. This educator is neurosparkly, and the pressure to document the same as others was dimming her spark.

So, I encouraged her to use jottings instead: quick, in the moment notes that captured the essence of learning without the overwhelm of long narratives. The difference was remarkable. Her observations were sharp, insightful, and full of genuine understanding. She found her rhythm again.

And it made me wonder why all educators couldn’t document in ways that work for them?

Why can’t one educator write poetic narratives while another captures visual documentation through photos and captions? Why can’t one educator prefer voice recordings or digital reflections? Why must “consistency” mean uniformity?

The Regulations Say

Now, to the question I know you are thinking. What do the regulations say?

Under the Education and Care Services National Regulations, there’s no prescribed format for documentation. Regulation 74 simply requires that each child’s progress and learning be documented and evaluated, and that this information informs the educational program (Australian Children’s Education & Care Quality Authority [ACECQA], 2024).

The National Quality Standard (NQS) speaks of documentation being ‘meaningful’, ‘ongoing’, and reflective of children’s learning journeys. It does not say ‘every educator must write a one-page observation every month’.

In fact, ACECQA encourages services to find systems that are authentic and sustainable and not formulaic.

So if the law gives us flexibility, why are we still clinging to uniformity?

Documentation as Advocacy for Children’s Rights

Loris Malaguzzi, founder of the Reggio Emilia approach, described documentation as a form of advocacy, a way of making children’s learning visible to the world. For Malaguzzi, documentation was never a compliance exercise; it was a democratic act. It gave voice to the child and made visible their right to be seen, heard, and understood (Edwards, Gandini, & Forman, 2012).

When we document authentically, we are doing more than recording learning. We are upholding children’s rights. The right to be recognised as capable, to be co-constructors of knowledge, and to have their ideas respected (United Nations, 1989).

When documentation becomes rigid or rushed, those rights can be diluted. We begin writing about children rather than with them. We risk turning their vibrant, messy, complex learning lives into neat paragraphs for the sake of meeting a timeframe.

But when educators are given the freedom to document in ways that match their own learning and communication styles, something changes. Documentation becomes alive again. It becomes collaborative, reflective, and full of curiosity and respect. It becomes a true image of the child and the educator learning together.

Authentic documentation is, at its heart, a pedagogy of listening. A practice that honours both the child’s and the educator’s voice (Rinaldi, 2006).

Autonomy, Trust and Collaboration

When educators are trusted to work to their strengths, when autonomy replaces micromanagement, the energy of your staff will shift.

Documentation becomes richer, more genuine. Teams become more collaborative. Conversations flow more easily. The focus moves back to relationships, which is where it belongs.

And maybe collaboration is the next step.

What if documentation didn’t have to belong to just one person?
What if we could add to each other’s observations in expanding, questioning, or celebrating learning together?

Imagine an educator capturing a moment of play, then another educator adding their reflection: “I noticed this too, and later he built on that idea with me outside.” Suddenly, documentation becomes a living conversation, not a static report.

This kind of shared authorship builds professional trust and honours the reality that learning, for both children and educators, is collective. It invites multiple perspectives, strengthens continuity of learning, and reduces the isolation that often comes with paperwork.

Malaguzzi reminded us that “nothing without joy” should guide our work (Edwards et al., 2012). Collaborative documentation, grounded in joy, curiosity, and respect, becomes not just record-keeping, but a community act of advocacy for children’s rights to be truly seen from many angles.

When adults are given space to learn and express themselves in ways that align with their cognitive and emotional strengths and contribute meaningfully to a shared story, job satisfaction rises. Confidence grows. And that joy inevitably spills over into the classroom.

We talk so much about fostering a “love of learning” in children, but are we fostering that same love in our educators?

Burnout: The Hidden Cost of Over-Documentation

We talk about burnout constantly in our sector. The long hours. The low pay. The emotional labour.

But only sometimes do we name the invisible pressures like documentation. The endless cycle of writing, typing, uploading, meeting deadlines, ticking boxes.

Documentation is important; it connects families with learning and supports reflective practice, but when it becomes excessive, or detached from meaning, it starts to erode the very passion that brings people into this profession (Early Childhood Australia, 2023).

For some educators, writing is joy; it’s where reflection happens. For others, it’s a barrier. If we demand that every educator document in the same way, we’re not just ignoring their learning styles; we’re contributing to their burnout.

Are constant documentation demands a contributing factor to why educators are leaving the field?

I think they might be.

So Where To From Here?

Maybe it’s time to ask harder questions of ourselves as leaders:

• How can we make documentation meaningful and sustainable?
• How can we nurture educators’ autonomy without compromising quality?
• What does trust look like in a professional team?
• What systems truly reflect the values of inclusion we so passionately teach to children?

Maybe the next evolution in documentation in our sector isn’t just about improving documentation for compliance, it’s about reimagining it for connection. Because if we want authentic learning stories for children, we need authentic educators writing them. And authenticity only flourishes where individuality is allowed to exist.

So, I’ll leave you with this question:

If every child’s learning style matters, then why doesn’t every educator’s?

References (APA 7th Edition)

Australian Children’s Education & Care Quality Authority. (2024). National Quality Framework guidance materials.https://www.acecqa.gov.au

Early Childhood Australia. (2023). Staff wellbeing and sustainable documentation practices in ECEC.https://www.earlychildhoodaustralia.org.au

Edwards, C., Gandini, L., & Forman, G. (Eds.). (2012). The hundred languages of children: The Reggio Emilia experience in transformation (3rd ed.). Praeger.

Rinaldi, C. (2006). In dialogue with Reggio Emilia: Listening, researching and learning. Routledge.

United Nations. (1989). Convention on the Rights of the Child. https://www.unicef.org/child-rights-convention