From Isolation to Hope: Our Early Years Journey

When my daughter Eliza* was diagnosed just before her third birthday, I thought the hardest part was behind us. We finally had answers. I assumed support would follow. I live in one of London’s boroughs, a place of wealth and opportunity. Surely there would be services. Surely there would be help.

I was wrong.

Days blurred into each other, heavy with fear and unanswered questions. I had three children, but with Eliza I felt like a first-time mum again — only this time there were no guides, no roadmaps. Just me, scrolling endlessly online, drowning in conflicting advice, trying to piece together a way forward.

The isolation was suffocating. Playgroups were impossible. My family, though loving, couldn’t understand what I was facing. Conversations dwindled. My world narrowed to Eliza and the gnawing sense that I was failing her. I remember clumps of my hair falling out in the shower, my body keeping score of the stress. My relationships were under strain, and at my lowest I felt hopeless — that I was drowning, unable to be the mother I knew Eliza needed.

I was desperate for something real — not just another leaflet or website link, but a place, a person, someone who would understand and guide us. And then came the phone call.

There was a space for us. I remember exactly where I was standing when I heard those words. It felt like a lifeline had been thrown into deep water.

From our very first day, everything shifted. I walked into a space where people didn’t just know what they were doing — they believed in us. They saw Eliza, not a diagnosis. They helped me set goals I could cling to when everything else felt unmanageable.

They taught me practical strategies: how to toilet-train Eliza when she couldn’t yet use words, how to build routines that worked, how to advocate for her at school. Week by week, they gave me tools, confidence, and belief.

And it wasn’t just the professionals. It was the other parents too — people who understood without me having to explain. We supported each other, cheered each other on, and in that shared space I finally felt I belonged. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone.

With that support, I stood up in a tribunal and secured the specialist school Eliza deserved. Me — someone from a Travelling background who had never stepped foot in a courtroom. I walked out knowing I had fought and won for my child.

The impact went far beyond Eliza’s progress. The experience changed me. When I was encouraged to apply for university, I listened. A reference letter got me through the door, but the belief behind it carried me through. I graduated with a first-class degree in developmental psychology.

Today, I’m about to start a new role supporting other families, helping parents whose voices too often go unheard. That thread — from isolation, to empowerment, to advocacy — began with those early days of support.

And Eliza? She’s nearly ten now. After a difficult year, she’s finding her place again — laughing with cousins, swimming alongside peers, forming closer bonds with her siblings. She has an extraordinary gift for sensing other people’s emotions, sometimes even before they do. It can overwhelm her, but it also shows just how deeply she feels. She radiates joy, empathy, and connection — qualities that no report or assessment can ever fully capture.

The truth is, I don’t worry about her future anymore. I know she’ll carve out a meaningful life, one that reflects who she is.

Looking back, the greatest gift we were given was not just practical support. It was the transformation from drowning in isolation to being part of a community that believed in us.

That kind of change can’t be measured in statistics. It’s measured in hope — and in the knowledge that when families like mine reach for help, someone will be there.

Because of those early years, I believe in Eliza’s future. And, for the first time, I believe in mine too.

Why your support matters

Early Years receives no government funding. Families pay only a small fee; your support makes up the difference.

This summer, we aim to raise £30,000 by 31 August — the first step towards the £300,000 required for the 2025/26 academic year. Your gift helps cover the real cost of specialist staff, tailored resources and the extra support families rely on.

Donate here

*Names have been changed to protect privacy.