Inclusion Starts With Us Awards 2026
On Saturday night, Lola and I had the huge honour of attending the Inclusion Starts With Us Awards in Warrington, Cheshire.
And oh my goodness, what a room to be in.
Some events you attend, smile politely, clap at the right moments and head home. And then there are events where you can physically feel something different in the atmosphere. This was one of those nights.
Young people being recognised for resilience.
Parents who have walked mountains for their children.
Teachers and school staff going far beyond their job descriptions.
Businesses choosing to champion accessibility rather than convenience.
Community leaders shining a light on stories that deserve to be seen.
You could feel the pride in the room.
As someone who works in schools every week, supporting children with overwhelmed nervous systems, distressed behaviour and additional needs, I am very aware of how hard inclusion can be in practice. It is not just a policy. It is not a statement on a website. It is daily decisions. It is patience when you are tired. It is curiosity instead of judgement. It is choosing connection before correction.
And on Saturday night, that work was being celebrated.
A huge thank you to Inclusion Starts With Us, especially 15 year old Nathan-Jack and his mum Aimy. What they have created is genuinely powerful. To see a young person lead something that shines a spotlight on others is incredibly moving. It is leadership rooted in lived experience. Advocacy grounded in heart.
Those are the kinds of voices we need.
Lola received a medal that reads, “Keep being amazing. Keep shining in the way only you can.”
I could not be prouder of her.
Every week she walks into schools, sits beside children who feel dysregulated, anxious or shut down, and simply stays. She does not rush. She does not demand. She does not judge. She just shows up, tail wagging, calm and steady. And in that space, children soften. They speak. They try again.
That is the power of safety.
We also had the pleasure of meeting Warrington’s Mayor, Mo Hussain, who Lola has now firmly decided is her favourite human. I suspect snacks may have played a part in that decision.
But humour aside, what stayed with me most was this:
Inclusion, when it is done properly, feels like belonging.
It feels like a child walking onto a stage who might once have struggled to enter a classroom.
It feels like a parent exhaling because their child has been seen, not labelled.
It feels like professionals pausing long enough to understand the nervous system underneath the behaviour.
Inclusion is not a buzzword.
It is lived. It is built. It is defended.
And when communities get it right, it is celebrated.
I will probably spend the rest of this week in a slightly fuzzy haze of loveliness, because nights like that remind me why this work matters so much.
Not because of medals.
But because of moments.
And if you work with children, lead a school, support families or shape policy in any way, here is what I was reminded of:
When children feel safe enough to be themselves, everything shifts.
