When you remember who you are

When I was much younger, I was in the Air Cadets and a particularly enthusiastic member of the squadron band.

We went on to become national champions. Alongside the usual military numbers, it was The Circle of Life that helped earn us the top spot. I can still remember our names being called as though it happened yesterday and, nearly 30 years later, it remains one of the best moments of my life.

Winning was not a complete shock because we knew we were really good and we had worked incredibly hard. We spent hours playing the same pieces repeatedly and were obsessive about every movement, every inch of our uniforms, every beat and every part of the performance.

There was a split second between the judges announcing second place and announcing first when we realised we had won. It created a feeling I have chased for much of my adult life: the joy of success that was hard-earned, well-deserved and deeply felt.

Not long afterwards, we were involved in a coach crash while attending an Air Cadet camp, and a number of my friends lost their lives.

The cadets had given me such joy, identity and purpose, but after the accident everything changed. The cadets changed, and the rest of my life changed too. I struggled for a very long time. I was sectioned 12 years later, and I suspect it took another five years before I really began to process the accident and reclaim something that resembled a life.

This weekend, my eight-year-old daughter, Alice, had the opportunity to sing a medley from The Lion King outside Sleeping Beauty Castle at Disneyland Paris as part of Stagecoach’s Dance the Dream.

It was emotional for so many reasons. On some of my darkest days, the magic of Disney helped me make it through to the next one. Putting on a DVD gave me an hour or two of hope, joy and escape, and those stories helped me believe in the possibility that happiness might eventually return.

Since meeting my husband and building our family, Disneyland Paris has been home to some of our very best moments. It is where Tony proposed and where we have celebrated Christmases and wedding anniversaries. It is probably the only place where my brain fully leaves work behind.

Being there makes me feel proud because, in many ways, it has become a measure of success, recovery and happiness. I love watching the joy it brings my family, and I treasure the memories we have created there.

Watching Alice sing outside the castle meant something more, though. It made me think about the circle of my own life and the way that moment all those years ago, when we won the national championships, gave me something I could return to when I needed it most. It gave me strength, focus and courage because it reminded me that I had worked hard, achieved something, belonged to something and experienced real joy and success.

It made me wonder whether we sometimes overlook the importance of giving children and young people experiences they can return to when life becomes difficult. Do we give our most vulnerable young people enough sources of pride, confidence and resilience? Do we ensure that every child has the opportunity to experience hard-earned, well-deserved success? Do they have memories of achievement they can reach for when they need reminding of who they are and what they are capable of?

Nowadays, when I feel nervous, sad or full of self-doubt, I can still squeeze my hand, close my eyes and remember who I am. I can remember that I am still the person who worked, achieved, belonged and celebrated.

This weekend, I hope Alice gained something similar: an experience she can return to, a source of hope when she needs it and another building block in her understanding of who she is and who she might become.

Whatever our role and whatever children we serve, we have a responsibility to create these experiences. Children need opportunities that help shape their futures, build self-belief, widen their sense of what is possible and give them hope, regardless of how they may be presenting in a particular moment.

We cannot respond to unwanted behaviour by removing the very things children need in order to develop, achieve and thrive. When the school trip, the performance, the responsibility or the opportunity to belong is withdrawn as a punishment, we may also be taking away the experience that could help a child see themselves differently.

The experience does not have to involve a castle, a national championship or a huge stage. It might be having a piece of work genuinely celebrated, becoming the book monitor, taking part in a class assembly or running the final leg of a sports day race. It might simply be an adult noticing effort, improvement or courage at exactly the moment a child needs someone else to see it.

The small moments can be every bit as powerful as the big ones when they are created with emotional safety, supported by intrinsic motivation and offered with an intentional commitment to developing hope.

Hope is not a luxury to be reserved for children who are already succeeding, and it should never be treated as a reward for those who find it easiest to meet our expectations. It forms part of the foundations of who children are becoming and what they will remember about themselves and their abilities when they need those memories most.

Hope must belong to everyone, and it can come from many places.

I am thankful to Natalie Simmonds, Principal of Stagecoach Weybridge, for creating this opportunity. I am thankful to the families who shared the experience with us, who cheered, celebrated and cried tears of pride for my child as well as their own.

I am also thankful for the extraordinary adults I have met this year who continue to develop hope even when things are hard. They notice what is possible, make space for achievement and help children build memories of themselves as capable, valued and successful. Sometimes, those experiences become the memories children return to when they need to remember who they are.