Not ‘Just’ a Magazine.

When I was 14, I was part of a drama group that met every Thursday after school in the back of the library. We learned circus skills, experimented with different styles of drama, made an enormous amount of noise and, most importantly, found our people. I made friends there who didn’t go to my school and a few who did but had never spoken to me in the corridors. It felt like a little world of our own.

Somewhere between rehearsals and gossip, a few of us decided we were going to create a magazine. It had horoscopes (which I was very into at the time), a problem page called Ask Claire, and I’m fairly sure we sold it for 50p. It was chaotic, enthusiastic and full of possibility.

Then GCSEs arrived, as they do. The laughter faded, the rehearsals stopped, and the magazine dream quietly disappeared under revision guides and coursework deadlines. I forgot about wanting to be a journalist. I forgot about that feeling of creating something just because it felt exciting and needed.

Fast forward a few decades.

A few years ago I tried to write a book. It was centred around stress, burnout and the damage we’re quietly doing to our nervous systems in the name of coping and carrying on. It was part education, part practical ideas. The publishers liked the concept, but I was told there wasn’t really a market for it.

That could have been the end of the story.

Instead, during a slightly exasperated conversation with Co-Pilot about how much money I was spending on magazines that didn’t quite satisfy what I was looking for (part of my self-care routine is sitting down with a brew and something thoughtful to read), it suggested I write my own.

And this time, I listened.

But I didn’t want to create another early years activity magazine. There are already plenty of those. Activity ideas, updates, guidance, admin checklists, all important, all useful, and largely well covered.

What I couldn’t find was something that spoke directly to us.

Not nannies.
Not nursery staff.
Not preschools.

Registered Childminders.

Those of us doing this work from our living rooms. Those of us juggling partners — sometimes also working from home, our own children, neighbours, small spaces, pets, deliveries at the door and the constant hum of life happening around us while we are also running a professional setting. We don’t leave our workplace at the end of the day because it is our home.

We don’t have a staff room.

WhatsApp groups and Facebook groups have become our version of one, and sometimes they are brilliant. Supportive, generous, funny. But sometimes they are noisy, intimidating, or not quite safe enough to admit you’re struggling. There can be fear of judgement, criticism or being told off for asking a “silly” question.

The truth is, most questions aren’t silly. At some point, every single one of us has thought them, asked them or worried about them. And if anyone claims they haven’t, well… liar, liar, pants on fire.

I wanted to create a space that felt different. A corner that quietly says: you are brilliant at what you do. You are allowed to ask questions. You are allowed to need support. You are not behind. You are not failing. You are not alone.

Not Just a Childminder exists because this job deserves to be recognised for what it truly is, skilled, complex, responsible and deeply important. It also needs to be sustainable. We cannot keep pouring from an empty cup while pretending we’re fine and because the way we work matters. If we want to still love this job in five, ten, twenty years, it has to be sustainable.

The childminder magazine brings together reflection, real voices, seasonal rhythm, practical ideas and honest conversations. It shines a light on the professionalism that already exists within our community and reminds us that collectively, we know a huge amount. And when we don’t know something, we are more than resourceful enough to find out.

There are tools that can make this job lighter. There are conversations that can make it feel less isolating. There is pride to be reclaimed.

This is our corner.

And no, I’m not sharing.

We are not, and never will be, “just” childminders. No one truly understands the marvellousness of this role unless they’ve walked in our shoes.

If this feels like you, make a brew and have a look around. You’ll find honest conversations, practical support, real voices and seasonal inspiration designed specifically for childminders. And if you’d like your own copy of the magazine, you can order it here. It was created for you, and it continues because of you.