Reflection in Practice

Explore my professional journey and the critical reflections that shape my identity, culture and approach to early childhood education. This page highlights my commitment to growth, cultural awareness, and ensuring the children's voices are heard.

Identity: A journey of transformation

As an early childhood teacher, my professional identity is built on a quiet but fierce belief: what we do in the first five years is real teaching, just as important as anything that happens in a primary or high school classroom.

 

I see myself as a professional who is guided by the Early Childhood Australia Code of Ethics (ECA, 2016), which reminds me daily to act with integrity, respect diversity, and always place children’s wellbeing and rights at the centre of every decision.

I used to watch the clock and rush transitions. Now I see time as flexible, ten extra minutes in the sandpit kitchen, build the house for animals with magnets because a child is testing viscosity is more valuable than sticking to the timetable. This change in how I relate to time reflects a deeper shift in who I am as an educator. I once jumped in to solve every problem for children. Now I practise courageous restraint – the professional discipline of witnessing struggle, documenting process, and trusting children’s competence (Langford, 2010; Rinaldi, 2006). This quiet presence has become the cornerstone of who I am.

Being an ethical educator encourages me to pause and reflect: Am I truly seeing each child? Am I honouring their family’s culture and story? Am I using my voice to lift the profession rather than let it be dismissed as “just childcare”? These questions keep me honest. My identity is shaped by my mum’s trust in education, by inspiring leaders like Director Leane at Kirinari, by my wonderful colleagues who remind me that “if the children understand you, that’s what matters”, and by the research and units I studied at university. All of these threads come together to form who I am as the teacher - Chloe.

Identity & Advocate = Inseparable

From modest beginnings, being an early childhood teacher is not just my job – it is my professional identity. I carry it proudly, ethically, and loudly because the children and families we serve nothing less.

Building genuine family partnerships

I advocate when I warmly welcome families and share detailed daily updates with photos and learning stories, showing that our rooms are places of rich education, not “just childcare” (Belonging, Being & Becoming: The Early Years Learning Framework for Australia V2.0, 2022).

Bring music into everyday practice

I advocate through music and song as a core part of our daily practice – Vietnamese lullabies, Mandarin rhymes, Indigenous children’s songs, and our own classroom creations – because research shows music supports language development, emotional regulation, cultural connection, and joy (Niland, 2018; Barrett, 2021).

Honoring Aboriginal and Torres Islander perspectives

I actively advocate for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander perspectives by respectfully embedding First Nations children’s literature, Acknowledgement of Country, and cultural consultations into our program, working towards Reconciliation and the EYLF’s commitment to equity and respect for diversity (Australian Government Department of Education, 2022; SNAICC, 2021).

Respond to individual child's needs

I advocate for every child’s individual needs by using inclusive practices, adjusting the environment, pace, and interactions so that all children, including those with additional needs, diverse cultural backgrounds, or different temperaments can fully participate and shine (United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child, 1989; ECA Code of Ethics, 2016).

Culture: 

When I arrived in Australia as an international student, the Vietnamese culture I grew up with taught me that respect looks like silence, listening carefully, bowing the head, and never questioning the teacher or leader. Children were to be seen and obedient, not always heard. Learning happened when the adult spoke and the child repeated. In many ways, that felt safe, orderly, and loving, because it came from my family and my community.

Then I walked into Australian early childhood rooms and everything turned upside down in the most beautiful way. Here, respect meant trusting children to climb a tree that looked far too high, to pour their own water and spill it ten times, to argue about whose turn it is with the blocks, and to lead the play while the educator knelt beside them as a curious co-researcher, not a director. Mess was celebrated. Risk was assessed, not banned. Children’s ideas were written on planning boards in their own scribbly handwriting and treated as seriously as any adult’s. I remember watching a group of preschoolers spend more than thirty minutes mixing mud, sand, and petals “to make the drink poison” while the educator simply protected the time and space for that wonder. In Vietnam I would have been told to tidy up and sit for circle time. Here, the mud kitchen was the curriculum.

This cultural shift forced a profound reconstruction of my professionalism (Woodrow, 2008; Lim & Torr, 2008). True respect became radical trust in children’s competence (Rinaldi, 2006). True professionalism became relational agency – the courage to speak and be heard in democratic spaces (Langford, 2010). True professionalism is having the courage to step back, to get muddy, to let a day’s plan collapse because a spider on the window is suddenly the most important learning in the room.

The second, even deeper shift was learning to use my voice. In Vietnamese culture (and in my shy personality), silence equalled politeness. Speaking up, especially to someone more experienced, felt rude. My first team meetings in Australia terrified me. But at Kirinari, Director Leane would look straight at me, a casual educator still struggling with English and ask gently "Chloe, do you have any ideas in setting up the room with your team?" and then wait. She really waited. When I finally whispered an idea, the whole team listened as if it mattered. That moment taught me that in this culture, offering a different idea is not disrespect; it is seen as deep care for the children and for the team.