The bad and your parenting journey

Is It Really Wasting Time… or Are We Just Reconnecting?

Growing up, I always felt like I was wasting time. I’d procrastinate, put off tasks I knew I needed to do, and end up feeling frustrated with myself. What I didn’t understand back then was that I wasn’t lazy—I was overwhelmed, anxious, and unknowingly managing life as a neurodivergent person without the tools I needed.

Today’s blog prompt asks: How do you waste time in the day?

It’s a funny one because what some might call “wasting time,” I now view as essential. Take scrolling through TikTok, for example. To many, it might seem like a pointless distraction. But to me, as a parent of a toddler and someone who spends a lot of time at home, it’s one of the few ways I stay connected to the world.

Parenting, especially in the early years, can be incredibly isolating. And when you’re also neurodivergent, that isolation hits even harder. Social media has become a lifeline—not just for entertainment but for education, support, and community. My TikTok algorithm is filled with content about parenting, autism, special educational needs, neurodivergence, and prematurity—all the topics that fuel both my lived experience and my work.

So is that really wasting time? Or am I, in the words of Ellie Middleton (author of Unmasked), honing my special interest and growing my knowledge in a way that should be celebrated?

Because let’s be honest—if I weren’t neurodivergent, my level of knowledge would likely be called expertise. But because I am, it gets labelled as a “special interest.” And honestly? That’s a label I wear with pride. Because it’s through that deep interest that I’m building a business, writing books, sharing support, and connecting with others.

So next time you feel guilty for taking a moment for yourself, scrolling on your phone, or diving into your latest hyperfocus—ask yourself: Am I wasting time, or am I meeting a need?

For many of us, especially those who are neurodivergent, that time might just be what keeps us going.

💬 Let’s chat:

Are there things you do that others say are a waste of time but you know they’re not? I’d love to hear about them in the comments.

📌 Call to Action:

If this post resonated with you, please like, share, or subscribe to my blog for more real conversations around parenting, neurodivergence, and everyday life.

How do you waste the most time every day?

Semolina, Safe Foods and Special Memories: A Neurodivergent Reflection

When you’re autistic—whether diagnosed young or later in life—there’s often a comfort found in something called a “safe food.” It’s not always the most exciting thing on the plate. In fact, some people might even say “eww”. But for us, that food becomes a little anchor of calm in a world that can feel overwhelming.

For me, that food was semolina.

Yes—semolina.

Thick, warm, soothing semolina with a swirl of raspberry jam.

It might sound strange, but I loved it. From childhood right up until my Coeliac disease diagnosis in 2012, it was my comfort. I remember sitting at my primary school dinner table where, curiously, none of the other children liked it. We weren’t allowed to leave the table until we’d finished everything on our plates—but on semolina days, the rules worked out in my favour. The other kids would quietly slide their bowls over to me when the teachers weren’t looking. I’d end up with five or six servings, which I happily devoured. Looking back now, I’m sure the teachers knew exactly what was going on—but they let it slide. And honestly, it’s one of my favourite childhood memories.

As I got older, semolina became something more than just a food—it became a ritual. I’d share it with my mum during cosy evenings watching Pride and Prejudice, our shared special interest. That time together was quiet and gentle, just the two of us, the comfort of Austen’s words and that familiar warm bowl in hand.

But when I was diagnosed with Coeliac disease, semolina had to go. It wasn’t just giving up a food—it was saying goodbye to a piece of my history. To comfort. To the calm it gave me during hard days. And now, 13 years on, I still miss it.

What makes it harder is knowing that I won’t be able to share that tradition with Amelia either. Not just because of my Coeliac disease—but because of her own allergies. She’s already navigating a world of food restrictions, and semolina won’t be on her menu.

That realisation brings with it a quiet grief that many neurodivergent and allergy-parent families will understand. It’s not about the pudding itself—it’s about the moments it represented. Safety. Togetherness. Familiarity.

But parenting while neurodivergent teaches you how to adapt. While Amelia and I may not have semolina and Austen nights like I had with my mum, we’ll make our own new rituals. Safe foods that suit her body and soul. Comfort that looks different, but still feels just as deep.

Because in the end, it’s not really about semolina.

It’s about the feeling of being safe, seen, and loved.

If this blog resonated with you, I’d love to hear your ‘safe food’ stories—whether from your own childhood or something your child loves now. Let’s celebrate those little comforts that carry so much meaning. And don’t forget to like, share, or subscribe if you’d like more posts like this.

References:

Coeliac UK: www.coeliac.org.uk National Autistic Society: www.autism.org.uk Allergy UK: www.allergyuk.org

Which food, when you eat it, instantly transports you to childhood?

The Night Before the Exam: How Martin Luther King Helped Me Find My Voice

By Laura Johnstone

When I was growing up, I always had this deep sense of what was fair and what wasn’t. Even when I didn’t have the words or the essay-writing skills to explain it, I felt things strongly. I believed – and still believe – in human rights, in fairness, and in standing up for what’s right.

One of my earliest “special interests,” as you’d probably call it now, was Martin Luther King Jr. I was drawn to his story – not just the big speeches and history book moments, but the strength it must have taken to do what he did, in the time he did it. His voice carried truth and hope, even when things were dark.

I’ll never forget my Religious Studies teacher. I don’t even think she knew just how deeply MLK’s story meant to me, but one day she gave me a short book about his life. It wasn’t a big, heavy book – which was perfect because at that time, reading was still something I was building confidence in. I struggled, especially with long texts, but this one felt manageable.

Fast forward to the night before my GCSE Religious Studies exam. I was panicking. My brain was fried. Nothing was going in anymore and I felt completely overwhelmed. So, I decided to step away from the textbooks and picked up the book about Martin Luther King again. I needed something to calm me down – something familiar, something I connected with.

Little did I know that reading that book would be the best revision I could have done.

The very next day, when I opened my exam paper, there it was: an essay question on Martin Luther King’s life. I couldn’t believe it. My heart actually jumped. I may not have been the strongest essay writer – structuring answers was something I found hard – but that day, I knew what I wanted to say. I poured my heart into that answer. I couldn’t write fancy, but I wrote real. And I got one of my best marks.

That experience taught me something I still carry with me now as a parent and as someone who is passionate about helping others: when you stand up for what matters, when you follow your heart, and when someone believes in you – even in quiet ways, like handing you a book – it can change everything.

So today’s daily blog prompt was about people we admire. For me, it’s always been people who stand up – even when it’s uncomfortable. Martin Luther King did that. My teacher – in her own way – did that too. And now I try to do the same, in my work, in my parenting, and in the stories I share.

Because sometimes, the night before your exam, it’s not the textbook that gives you the answers – it’s the person who believed in you, and the story that lit a fire in your heart.

If this post resonated with you, I’d love it if you liked, subscribed or shared it with a friend who might need to hear it.

You’re never alone in this journey – and we all need reminders that our voice matters. ❤️

References:

King, M.L. Jr. (1963). I Have a Dream speech. GCSE Religious Studies curriculum (UK, 1990s-2000s) Personal educational experience of the author

Who is your favorite historical figure?

UK MPs Vote to Remove Criminal Penalties for Abortion – A Historic Shift

On June 17, 2025, the UK’s House of Commons voted by 379 to 137 to decriminalise abortion in England and Wales. This marks the most significant change to abortion law since the 1967 Abortion Act, which allowed terminations under strict conditions, up to 24 weeks, with approval from two doctors .

The new amendment targets the archaic criminal laws from the 1861 Offences Against the Person Act. While abortions still require approvals and respect time limits, women undergoing self-managed terminations will no longer face arrest or imprisonment . Notably, medical practitioners who perform abortions outside the regulated system can still face legal consequences . Campaigners describe this as a landmark moment—finally removing fear from vulnerable women who sought help during miscarriages or used online services .

Of course, this reform must pass through the House of Lords before becoming law, but its passage through the Commons signals a strong political will for change.

Contrast with the United States: The Case of Adriana Smith and “Baby Chance”

Meanwhile, in the United States, abortion restrictions continue to have deeply personal consequences. In Georgia, the ”Living Infants Fairness and Equality Act”—also known as the “heartbeat law”—limits abortions after six weeks and defines fetal cardiac activity as a legal milestone .

Adriana Smith, a 31-year-old nurse from Atlanta, was declared brain-dead in February while eight to nine weeks pregnant. Because of Georgia’s strict abortion regulations, doctors kept her on life support—even after her family wished to withdraw it . In June, Chance—her baby—was delivered prematurely via C-section at roughly 1 pound 13 ounces . Although Chance survived in neonatal care, the family expressed profound distress. Adriana’s mother spoke of heartbreak, emphasising that they “were not able to grieve the death of their daughter” during this prolonged ordeal .

This case highlights a stark contrast: where UK women are being stripped of criminal penalties for ending pregnancies, US families like Adriana’s find their autonomy overridden—unable even to grieve due to laws that prioritise fetal heartbeat over maternal death.

Why This Matters to Parents in Their 30s and 40s 🌱

Bodily autonomy: In the UK, women now have greater security around their reproductive choices; in the US, laws in states like Georgia can override personal and family decisions—even in tragedies. Emotional wellbeing: Compassionate healthcare isn’t just about medical protocols. The UK move removes fear; but in the US, Adriana’s family endured compounded grief by being unable to decide. Always evolving: This moment shows how reform is possible in one country, while in another, legal frameworks lead to deeply challenging ethical dilemmas.

What Next?

In the UK, the amendment moves to the House of Lords. Supporters will lobby to ensure it’s passed unchanged, ensuring protections for women under legal scrutiny. In the US, the case of Adriana Smith is fueling calls to reform restrictive heartbeat laws—with many crying out for a system that balances fetal rights with maternal agency and family dignity.

💬 Over to You

How do you feel about the emotional and legal consequences of these laws? Do you believe abortion laws should include explicit clauses about consent when a pregnant person is incapacitated?

Let’s keep the conversation going. If this resonates with you, please like, share, and subscribe for more honest conversations on parenting, values, and the balance of rights.

References

UK decriminalisation vote: Commons vote 379–137… Decriminalisation details, protections and remaining regulations… Adriana Smith case background—brain-death, life-support, family grief… Birth of baby Chance and family impact…

🌍 Travelling Abroad with Coeliac Disease: Why Italy and Spain Feel Like a Breath of Fresh (Gluten-Free) Air

Going on holiday when you’ve got coeliac disease can feel more like a military operation than a relaxing getaway. You’re not just thinking about swimsuits and suncream — you’re researching restaurant menus, double-checking ingredients, and carrying snacks everywhere you go. You also end up becoming fluent in explaining the difference between “coeliac disease” and “being gluten-free by choice” — and honestly, it gets exhausting.

But not all countries treat you like you’re being fussy or following a trend. Some truly get it.

Italy — A Place I’d Love to Return To

The last time I went to Italy was before I was diagnosed with coeliac disease. I was working on the cruise ships and absolutely loved the experience… but that’s also when everything started going wrong with my health. I had severe food poisoning, and looking back, I think it was the start of my gut issues.

But here’s what’s funny — or perhaps meant to be.

Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it? I genuinely believe that someone up there was preparing me for something I couldn’t see coming at the time. That experience, tough as it was, started my journey toward understanding my body and learning how to advocate for my health. Now, years later, I have a daughter who we suspect may also have coeliac disease. She’s already got a diagnosed milk allergy, and we’re currently waiting for her blood test results. It’s a lot. But I feel oddly grateful for what I went through, because it’s helped me be the mum she needs.

And the thing is — of all places, Italy is actually one of the best and safest countries to visit if you have coeliac disease. In fact, it’s so widely recognised that they screen children for it routinely, and it’s taken seriously at a national level. Gluten-free food isn’t hard to find — it’s almost standard. Restaurants are educated, menus are clear, and most staff will go above and beyond to avoid cross-contamination.

Spain Gets It Too

I’ve also had great experiences in Spain. Like Italy, they understand coeliac disease and don’t view it as a “fussy eater” request. In some parts of the UK, I still find myself having to say I have a gluten allergy rather than coeliac disease just to be taken seriously. But in Spain? They’re used to it. They get the seriousness. And they do their best to make you feel safe and respected when eating out.

Travelling with a Possibly Coeliac Child

Travelling with dietary needs is one thing — but now that we’re waiting to see if our daughter has coeliac disease as well, it’s a whole different level. Add in her milk allergy, and suddenly “booking a holiday” becomes “planning a logistical puzzle with food safety warnings.”

But still, I’m not giving up on travelling. I want to show her the world — safely.

Tips That Make It Easier

Here are a few things I’ve learnt that make holidaying with coeliac disease a bit less stressful:

✅ Translation cards – these explain your dietary needs in the local language

✅ Research restaurants ahead of time – look for reviews from other coeliacs

✅ Coeliac associations – check if the country has an official coeliac body or restaurant certification system

✅ Self-catering stays – having your own kitchen makes everything easier

✅ Pack safe snacks – especially for airports and long travel days

✅ Use “gluten allergy” if needed – sometimes it’s the only way to make sure people understand the seriousness

Finding the Joy Again

If you’re living with coeliac disease — or your child is — I see you. It’s not easy. But there are places where it feels less scary. Places where food becomes joy again, not stress. Italy and Spain are high on my list for that reason, and I can’t wait to go back. This time, prepared, informed, and ready to create new memories with my daughter — gluten-free and all.

Have you travelled with coeliac disease or food allergies? I’d love to hear your experience — leave a comment below and let’s support each other. And if you found this helpful, please like and subscribe for more honest parenting, travel, and neurodiversity content. 💜

References & Resources

Coeliac UK – Travel advice and translations AIC (Italy’s Coeliac Association) FACE (Spanish Coeliac Association)

What countries do you want to visit?

Adriana Smith: A Tragic Testament to the Cruelty of the Heartbeat Law 💔

Last Friday, baby Chance was born via C-section, weighing just 1 lb 11 oz. His mother, Adriana Smith, had been declared brain-dead back in February—yet her body was kept on life support for months, not because it was her wish, but because of Georgia’s strict “heartbeat bill.” She was just nine weeks pregnant at the time of her death, and the law didn’t allow doctors or her family to remove her from life support.

Why? Because the moment a foetal heartbeat is detected—often before many people even realise they’re pregnant—the foetus is given legal personhood. It means a dead mother became secondary to a potential life not yet viable outside the womb.

Why was this allowed?

In Georgia, abortion is banned after around six weeks unless the mother is at imminent risk of death. Brain death, horrifyingly, isn’t counted. So Adriana—medically and legally dead—was kept on machines simply because a heartbeat had once been detected. Her mother, April Newkirk, said it plainly: “It’s torture.” She wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye to her daughter. There was no choice, no dignity. Just forced continuation—because the law deemed Adriana a vessel for a pregnancy rather than a person deserving peace.

This isn’t just policy—it’s something from The Handmaid’s Tale

I remember watching Private Practice years ago. There was a similar case. In that storyline, they couldn’t keep the baby alive once the mother died—because pregnancy isn’t just about time passing. It’s about complex hormonal balances, blood flow, organ support, warmth. A baby doesn’t just grow because a clock ticks—they grow because a living mother’s body is doing the miraculous work of supporting them every second.

That’s what makes Adriana’s case so deeply disturbing. It feels like baby Chance was part of an experiment. An attempt to prove that something medical experts know is near-impossible could work—at the cost of one woman’s dignity, autonomy, and rest.

What about her medical team?

I can only imagine the turmoil that her medical team went through. These are people who dedicate their lives to saving others, to offering dignity and comfort in impossible moments. And yet here they were—forced to treat a legally dead woman as a life-support system. No power to act according to their ethics. No room to prioritise Adriana’s humanity. That isn’t medicine. That’s control.

Where was her choice?

What’s most chilling is how the law erased Adriana’s voice. She didn’t get a say. Her family didn’t get a say. Her body was used because the law treated a nine-week-old embryo as more important than her life, her rights, her story.

Doctors were legally trapped. The law didn’t protect Adriana. It forced professionals to do something that many felt was unethical. Even Georgia’s Attorney General later admitted the law might not require this, but it was far too late.

What now?

Chance is alive, but faces a fragile road ahead. Babies born this early often face lifelong medical challenges. And no matter what happens now, he’ll grow up hearing how his mum was treated. That she wasn’t allowed to rest in peace. That she became the centre of a battle she never asked to fight.

A call to action

If this story has moved you, please:

Support reproductive justice organisations fighting for autonomy and dignity in healthcare. Share Adriana’s story, because this isn’t an isolated case. It could happen again. Speak up. Because every time we stay quiet, this kind of cruelty becomes more normalised.

Sweet dreams, Adriana. You should have been allowed to rest in peace. We will keep telling your story.

References

People.com – Brain-Dead Pregnant Woman Gives Birth AP News – Baby Delivered from Brain-Dead Woman in Georgia People.com – Family’s Heartbreak and Legal Fight

📢 Like and subscribe if you’d like more honest, heartfelt writing about parenting, trauma, and social justice. Together, we can be the voice for those who were silenced.

[AD] “Surviving (and Enjoying!) Long Car Journeys with a Toddler: Our Upcoming Trip to Llandudno”

By Laura Johnstone

AD – This blog contains a referral link to Toniebox. If you choose to buy through my link, I’ll receive a small commission at no extra cost to you.

(And you’ll save £15 on your first Toniebox, so it’s a win for both of us!)

We’re currently preparing for a big trip to Llandudno in North Wales, where I grew up. It’s full of childhood memories for me, and I’m so excited to now make new ones there with Amelia. But let’s be honest—a six-hour car journey with a toddler is no small task!

If you’re planning something similar—visiting family, going away for a break, or just heading off somewhere new—this blog is packed with realistic tips and things that genuinely help when travelling with a little one.

1. Time It with Nap Time

We’re planning to set off just before nap time in the hope that Amelia will sleep through the first stretch. If your toddler still naps, try to plan the journey around that—every minute of peace counts!

2. Snacks Are Essential

We don’t leave home without a good mix of snacks. I like to pack a little snack box with lots of small compartments—grapes (cut), crackers, cubes of cheese, oat bars, rice cakes, and the odd mini treat.

Pro tip: Save something ‘special’ for when boredom really kicks in.

3. Pack a Little Activity Bag

Amelia has her own little rucksack for the journey. Inside we’ve packed:

A couple of sticker books Water-based colouring pads Her favourite board books A cuddly toy And—most importantly—her Toniebox

4. Toniebox Magic (Seriously, It’s a Lifesaver)

Our Toniebox is hands-down one of the best travel items we’ve ever used. It gives her independent control over what she’s listening to, and it feels more like a friend than a gadget.

If you’ve been thinking about getting one for your little one, here’s a lovely little offer:

👉 Use this link and save £15 on your first Toniebox.

My referral code is automatically applied when you use that link—just pick your favourite colour and you’re good to go.

(AD – affiliate link)

5. Play Simple Car Games

Even the old-school games work wonders:

“I spy” (colour-based for toddlers) Guess the animal sound Count the sheep or red cars Make up a story together one line at a time

6. Plan Great Pit Stops

We’re aiming to stop somewhere with green space so Amelia can stretch her legs. A quick runaround, a snack picnic, and some fresh air can reset the mood for everyone.

7. Save Screen Time for Emergencies

We try to stay screen-free for most of the trip, but I do keep an episode of Bluey downloaded just in case we need it during that final hour. No shame in a bit of Paw Patrol when things get tense.

8. Don’t Forget a Spare Set of Clothes (For Everyone!)

Accidents happen, even on the smoothest road trips. I keep a full change of clothes for Amelia—and a clean top for myself—within reach.

9. Lower the Pressure

We’ve decided to just expect a few hiccups. If she’s grumpy, that’s okay. If we need to stop more than planned, that’s okay too. It’s not about a perfect journey—it’s about getting there, ideally with everyone still smiling (or at least fed).

Llandudno holds a special place in my heart, and now I get to share it with my daughter. If we arrive with smiles and only a few snack crumbs down the car seat, I’ll call it a win.

Final Thoughts

Long car journeys with toddlers can feel overwhelming, but with some planning, patience, and a few tricks up your sleeve, they can actually become part of the adventure. I’m so excited to bring Amelia to Llandudno and show her where I grew up.

Call to Action:

Got your own toddler travel tips? I’d love to hear them in the comments below! And if you found this blog helpful, please give it a like and subscribe so you don’t miss future posts on parenting, neurodiversity, and honest family life.

References & Useful Links:

👉 Save £15 on your first Toniebox (AD) CBeebies Storytime App National Trust family-friendly stops

A Father’s Day Reflection: For the Dads Who Hold On Through the Hardest Days

By Laura Johnstone | The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey

Father’s Day is meant to be a time of smiles, breakfasts in bed, and handmade cards covered in glitter. But for many families—especially those who’ve had a baby in special care—it’s a bittersweet reminder of everything they’ve been through.

Two years ago, on Ryan’s very first Father’s Day, our daughter Amelia was still in the Special Care Baby Unit. We walked into the unit that morning not knowing what to expect, and there it was: a card that the amazing neonatal staff had made for him. Inside it was Amelia’s first printed photo, with the words Happy Father’s Day.

It meant the world. But it also broke us a little.

Because not having your baby home on milestone days like Father’s Day is heartbreaking. It’s heart-wrenching. That ache of walking out of a hospital with empty arms is something only parents in similar situations can truly understand.

We were lucky—truly. Amelia “only” spent five weeks in special care. But we’d been prepared for the possibility that she might arrive at 23 weeks. Things could have been very different. And that thought has never left us.

So this post is for every dad who is doing Father’s Day differently today.

To the dads sitting beside a hospital cot, watching machines beep and wires twitch.

To the dads scrolling through photos of their babies on their phone because they can’t hold them just yet.

To the dads grieving the loss of a child they never got to bring home.

To the stepdads, godfathers, adoptive fathers, foster fathers, and the ones who never got to meet their little one.

To the dads who are no longer with us, but who are remembered in every smile, every story, and every whispered bedtime “I love you.”

You are all seen. You are all valued. You are all fathers in every beautiful, difficult, loving way.

This journey—especially when touched by prematurity, loss, or hospital stays—is not one anyone would choose. But it’s one that shapes you. And today, we honour that strength, that resilience, and that quiet love that keeps you going.

To Ryan—thank you for being the kind of dad Amelia will always be proud of. And to every other dad reading this today: whether your arms are full or aching, know that you matter, you are loved, and you’re doing an incredible job.

Call to Action

If this post resonated with you, please consider sharing it to support other families who might be navigating similar emotions today. And if you’d like to keep up with stories like this, please like, comment, or subscribe to The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey.

Let’s keep making sure no parent feels alone.

References:

Bliss Charity UK. (2024). Support for Fathers in Neonatal Care. Sands UK. (2023). Baby Loss Support and Awareness. NHS. (2022). Neonatal Services and Special Care Units Explained.

“A Slow Boat to China”: My Journey Through Education as a Neurodivergent Child, to walking across the stage when I got my degree.

I remember being told I was “on a slow boat to China” at school. I didn’t even know what it meant at the time — but the way it was said made it clear it wasn’t meant kindly. It stuck with me, not because I understood it, but because I felt it. It summed up how school made me feel for a long time: slow, behind, and not quite good enough.

I left primary school with a reading age of seven.

But here’s the thing — I don’t think that was my fault. I think that was because of the system. There was a special needs teacher who only came once a week, and my learning style just wasn’t being supported properly at school. If anything, it was my mum and dad who really made the difference.

I got my hearing aids just before my 10th birthday. I know that for certain, because my sister wasn’t allowed to get her ears pierced until she turned 11 — but I got mine done at 10. I was so self-conscious about wearing hearing aids that my parents agreed I could have my ears pierced early, and my sister wasn’t too pleased about that! But for me, it helped me feel a little less “different” at a time when I already felt like I stood out in all the wrong ways.

Things started to shift in secondary school. With hearing aids and the right help, I finally had some support. And with a lot of hard work, I managed to take all but one GCSE by the time I was 16. My parents were incredible advocates. They paid privately for a dyslexia test, but the result came back inconclusive — why? Because I couldn’t read well enough for them to even finish the assessment. 🤦‍♀️

Every test after that put me somewhere on the borderline. Always struggling, always almost qualifying. That continued into my NVQ in beauty therapy. But the real turning point came at university.

I nearly failed my first year — not because I didn’t understand the content, but because I struggled so much with writing essays. It made sense when I stopped to think about it. In secondary school, you’re taught essay skills alongside developing reading fluency. But I was still learning to read. I never got the foundation that others had, so I was thrown into GCSEs without the scaffolding that helps neurotypical learners thrive.

In fact, I remember some classmates doing GCSE English alongside a remedial English class. I often wonder if I’d had access to more tailored help, maybe I’d have had less shame and struggle around my learning. Instead, when I hit my first real academic wall at uni, I was horrified and embarrassed.

But I will never forget what one of my university lecturers said to me:

“You’re on your final chance for this module, and I want to help. Give me your essay a month early, and I’ll support you through it.”

She then booked an appointment with me two days after her due date — not the official hand-in date — so it was still a month early. She gave me the structure, reassurance, and belief that I needed. Then, after reading it, she said:

“Laura, I’ve no doubt at all. You are dyslexic. Let’s get it formalised.”

Everything made sense after that. And with tools like Dragon Dictation, the Notes app, and ClaroSpeak, I finally had the support I needed. I didn’t just pass. I thrived. I walked across that graduation stage with a Bachelor of Science Honours Degree in Podiatry — and I was so proud of myself.

And now? Now I’m here. Writing blogs every day. Helping others who’ve gone through birth trauma, those who are neurodivergent, or parents raising premature babies. I never imagined this is where that “slow boat” would take me. But I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Because it turns out — slow boats still arrive. And sometimes, they’re stronger for the journey.

Call to Action:

If this story resonated with you — whether as a neurodivergent adult, a parent navigating support for your child, or someone who’s just tired of the labels — I’d love you to follow along. Like, share, or subscribe to my blog. I write to help people feel seen and supported — and to remind you that you’re not alone on your journey.

Describe one of your favorite moments.

[AD] Choosing Tonies Over TV: A Small Moment That Felt Huge

By Laura Johnstone

This morning, something really beautiful happened in our home. It wasn’t a big milestone or a fancy outing — just a quiet, simple moment that felt like a real parenting win.

For her birthday, Amelia received a Toniebox. At first, she was a bit unsure about it. We’d tried a couple of characters — We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, The Gruffalo — but she didn’t connect with them straight away. She’d only heard those stories in our voices, so it probably didn’t feel familiar or exciting to her.

But then yesterday, something shifted. A late birthday present arrived from her great uncle — a Tonie from In the Night Garden. I decided to pop it on while we were having snacks, mostly just to keep the telly off. And to my surprise, she lit up the moment she heard that familiar voice. She was engaged, smiling, and really listening. It was the first time I’d seen her connect with her Toniebox in that way.

Fast forward to this morning. It’s 7:20am. I’m sat on the floor with her on my lap. She’s got her drink, her Play-Doh, and instead of reaching for the remote or asking for the TV, she goes straight over to her Toniebox and puts on In the Night Garden all by herself. No prompting, no fuss — just a calm, screen-free start to the day.

It might sound like such a small thing, but it meant the world. We were able to ease into the morning gently, cuddled up, listening to something familiar and soothing while she played. And in that moment, I felt proud — proud that we’re creating space for these calmer, more connected starts to the day.

Parenting is full of moments like this — little shifts that don’t always look like much from the outside but mean everything when you’re in them. Especially when you’re neurodivergent yourself or raising a child who is, these wins matter. Screens can be helpful tools, but it’s lovely to see when other forms of play and comfort begin to take the lead.

We’re not anti-TV — not by a long shot. But I’ll treasure this little change in routine. It reminded me that our children are always evolving. Sometimes, all it takes is the right story, at the right time, in a voice they trust.

Thinking of trying a Toniebox?

If you’ve been curious about whether a Toniebox might be a good fit for your family, this might be the perfect time.

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Have you had a small parenting win lately? I’d love to hear about it. These moments deserve celebrating — they’re what build our everyday joy.

🟣 If you found this post comforting or relatable, please give it a like, share it with someone who might feel the same, and don’t forget to subscribe for more honest reflections from The Good, The Bad, and Your Parenting Journey.

References / Useful Links

National Literacy Trust. (2023). The power of storytelling for early childhood development NHS. (2022). Tips for managing screen time in young children

What notable things happened today?