What Shapes My Work

I think it matters to know where a practitioner’s knowledge comes from — not just the titles on a page, but the way they approach learning, how they interpret information, and how they integrate it into real family life. So this is a simple introduction to what sits underneath my work.

My qualifications are the backbone of my practice. They anchor me in shared professional standards, core infant care knowledge, and the common language used across health and early years settings. They also mean I stay familiar with mainstream guidance and safety recommendations, and I understand when something belongs in the medical domain and needs referral or further assessment. That matters — because parents deserve support that is both reassuring and responsible.

The value of my work is in the ramifications of my learning — in how far I follow my questions, how I keep expanding my understanding, and in the multiplicity of influences I draw from. It’s in the way I connect what I learn across disciplines, and then translate it into something that makes sense in real family life. I learn in three places at once: in real homes with real families, in the wider world of research and professional literature, and in ongoing observation of other practitioners and schools of thought.

First, I learn from babies and parents. There is no substitute for being close to family life — seeing how a baby’s sleep, feeding, temperament, sensory needs, and regulation unfold across an ordinary day; noticing what changes when a parent is supported or depleted; and listening to the parts of the story that aren’t always spoken out loud. I’m especially attentive to what doesn’t make it online or into theoretical knowledge and books: the quiet self-doubt, the mental load, the constant pressure to “get it right”. Those realities shape what is realistic, ethical, and sustainable.

Second, I learn through study — and I try to hold it with humility. I read widely across disciplines: medicine and infant health, infant feeding and lactation, infant mental health and attachment, child development, psychology, as well as writing and philosophy that helps me think more clearly about values, culture, and what it means to care well. I read research papers when they are relevant, not as a script to follow or a certainty, but as orientation. Research is incredibly useful for building understanding — it can help us see patterns, challenge myths, and make sense of what we are observing — but it rarely gives direct answers for a specific baby in a specific home. Studies are shaped by who was included, what was measured, and the context in which people live; they describe what tends to happen under certain conditions, but they don’t decide what is “best” for every family, or what is right for you. Those decisions involve values, your informed choice, and the day-to-day reality you actually have.

Third, I learn by watching other professionals with curiosity and discernment. There is a lot of good work out there — and also a lot of certainty that doesn’t hold up in real life. I’m interested in different approaches because each lens tends to illuminate something and miss something. Even the most well-meaning method can become a prison when it is followed blindly, especially when it asks parents to ignore their baby’s cues, their own instincts, or the wider context of their lives.

This is why I work integratively. I hold sleep, feeding, regulation, sensory experience, development, and parental wellbeing as parts of one connected system, rather than separate problems to “fix”. I look for the simple, meaningful adjustments that restore balance: more support, clearer rhythms, realistic expectations, and a way of responding that fits your baby’s temperament and your family’s values.

In the end, this is the thread that runs through my learning: staying anchored in shared standards, while continuing to widen the lens; using research as orientation, not instruction; and resisting any single method becoming a rigid framework. The early years are too complex — and too human — for one-size-fits-all answers.