Our Story

In my heart, quietly, I knew. I knew that something was different. I just didn't know what to do with that knowing. I didn't know who to tell, or whether anyone would even believe me. Because Aiden didn't look like anything was wrong. He was beautiful and bright and full of life. And I was his mother, lying awake at night, wondering if he was going to one day start speaking. At this point Aiden was around 1.5 and I am sure we have all heard this before, boys start speaking later.

I left work. And for the first time, I had all the time in the world with my son. What I saw during that time broke my heart and filled it at the same time. The brilliance of him. And the gap. So clearly, so undeniably there. I finally started speech therapy but soon after that COVID started.

The online sessions didn't work. He wouldn't sit. He wouldn't concentrate. Sessions that were supposed to help us just reminded me of how far we still had to go. We had to stop.

But during lockdown I knew I could focus on one thing. Teaching Aiden what he was good at. So I taught him everything, every topic I could think of. Numbers, alphabets, planets, dinosaurs, colours, shapes, every type of everything. We just sat at home and learnt it all together.

Aiden is incredibly smart. His memory is remarkable. You could teach him anything and he would hold onto it. Planets. Dinosaurs. Colours. Spellings that children twice his age couldn't manage. He would absorb everything around him like a sponge.

When we moved to Dubai, I threw myself into everything I could find. I read about repetition. About the link between feeding difficulties and language. I tried things at home between every appointment. Some days felt like progress. Other days I sat on the floor and just didn't know what to do next.

The hardest part was not knowing if anyone else understood. I did not have much community and finding other mothers in the same shoes as me was challenging. I just knew I had to keep going. I had to keep doing the work. Wondering when he was thirsty, when he was hungry, trying to pick up on his tells, understanding him when he didn't communicate. The meltdowns and not being able to understand what was causing them. It was all very challenging.

And then, one day, he called me mum.

He was around six and a half years old.

I had waited so long for that word. I had wondered if I would ever hear it the way other mothers did, casually, easily, a hundred times a day. And when it finally came, I couldn't speak. I just held him.

Around that time his little sister arrived in his life, a whirlwind of words and noise and energy, and somehow she reached him in a way nothing else had. She talked constantly and she made sure he responded. She didn't know she was helping him. She was just being herself. And it changed everything.

Every single day he surprises me. Every day there is something new, a word, a sentence, a moment where I catch myself thinking, wow, he can do this now. The hard years were real. The meltdowns in public, the food struggles, the exhaustion of always being close, always watching, always ready. But we kept at it. He kept at it. And here we are. There is still a long way to go, but God sent mothers to this earth because he knew he couldn't be here.

I built My Little Voyager for every child finding their voice, whether that journey looks like everyone else's or not.

Some children need a little more time. Some learn differently. Some just love to explore and discover through play. This platform was built to meet them all exactly where they are.

Every activity, every sound, every story on this platform exists for one reason. To make learning feel like an adventure, and to give every child the joy of communicating, connecting and growing in their own way.

My Little Voyager is for every family. Every child. Every word.