Reflect

The story of Punch, the baby macaque at Ichikawa City Zoo in Japan, has struck a global nerve and gone viral, precisely because it disrupts this comforting assumption about the universality of maternal love and acceptance. Rejected by his mother shortly after birth, an event widely described as rare in primate groups, Punch’s experience forces us to confront an uncomfortable truth: maternal behaviour, even in the animal kingdom, is not always predictable, seamless or guaranteed.

In Punch’s case, the rejection didn’t stop there. In fact, over the past weeks, we have watched him being pushed aside, shoved, thumped over the head and excluded by his troop. He appears visibly vulnerable in a social world that one would have imagined would have protected him. The reaction has been visceral; Punch’s social media followers have winced, cried and even threatened to visit the zoo to demand action against the bullies!

Why such intensity? Because Punch’s story collides head on with our expectations. We expect mothers to comfort. To protect. To attach instinctively and reliably. When that expectation is unmet, it tends to unsettle something deep within us. Watching Punch experience rejection in real time felt like witnessing cruelty unfiltered and perhaps it stirred a more personal fear: what if our own children were ever treated that way beyond our reach?

And yet, alongside the distress came something else. When Punch was given a cuddly soft orange orangutan companion reminiscent of a Jellycat toy, we watched him cling to it, carry it around, play with it and draw visible comfort from it. The image was heartbreaking and reassuring in equal measure. The store IKEA quickly responded by selling a similar plush orangutan, a move that initially seemed absurd, then amusing, then commercially astute. But beyond merchandising and marketing innovations lies a more meaningful opportunity.

Punch’s story opens a door for us as parents and educators. It invites us to talk with our children and young people about feelings of loneliness, rejection, social isolation and, critically, the profound need, in mini monkeys and most humans, for comfort and consolations from others.

In my view, there is also merit in exploring Punch’s story from the perspective of what it feels like to be a bystander to bullying. This is something we could explore at every educational stage and age, and at home and in school. The way Punch was treated feels inherently wrong, why? It is tough to witness, why? It might be hard to stop, why? Because group dynamics can mean (in zoos and in human society) that poor behaviour is more easily tolerated. It is tough to step in and stop it when the leader of the pack (literally in Punch’s case) is modelling such unkindness from a position of power and popularity.

When the pack started to groom Punch (a sign of group admission and acceptance), we all heaved a sigh of relief for a happy ending.

Motivate

For millions of devoted parents, the journey begins long after delivery day, through fostering, adoption or kinship care. In these families, love is no less real, in fact it is often more profoundly intentional.

This Mother’s Day, perhaps we might shift the emphasis away from retail ritual and toward genuine reflection. We might express gratitude not only for our children, but for the privilege of becoming a parent, however we arrived at this position. And we might also acknowledge a quieter truth: families are complex, and none of us parent perfectly. There are moments when we may fall short of our own expectations for patience, modelling or composure.

Attachment research has been unequivocal on this point: children do not need us to be perfect; but rather ‘reliably responsive’. Secure attachment is built through repeated moments of warmth and consistency. It grows in the ordinary: lingering in conversation, leaning into difficult feelings, walking alongside rather than directing, allowing a child to lead play, inviting their perspective, offering small stretches of undivided attention. These acts of attunement, noticing, responding and repairing, accumulate over time and exert a powerful developmental impact. Investment in the parent-child relationship is one of the strongest predictors of long-term outcomes across mental health, educational attainment and behaviour.

Psychologist Dr Tara Porter asks us to be “good enough” parents, akin to central heating in a house, providing steady, background warmth that allows everyone else to feel secure. We cannot, and should not, attempt to control every variable in our children’s lives. What we can do is shape the emotional climate, cultivate psychological safety and ensure our children experience themselves as heard, valued and seen.

For some children, the start in life is unsteady. Yet research also tells us that attachments can form later and that corrective relationships mitigate the impact of early adversity. A caring teacher, mentor or coach can help foster psychological safety and nurture the self-belief that underpins resilience and aspiration.

The story of Ian Wright offers a vivid illustration. Growing up in challenging circumstances, it was his teacher, Mr Pidgen, who recognised his potential and took him under his wing, a turning point that helped shape his future. Their reunion decades later is a moving testament to the enduring influence of a single, invested adult. Children need adults who care, who champion them and who create opportunities for them to discover what they are capable of.

So, while Mother’s Day, which is coming up soon, rightly honours mothers, it can also serve as a prompt to recognise the wider constellation of relationships that sustain our children, and to strengthen those connections wherever we can.

Support

My son burst through the door, flung off his coat and headed straight into the garden, announcing that it was far too sunny to attempt homework. Neighbours paused to chat and comment on the weather. Gardeners emerged to hose down driveways. For a few hours, everything felt lighter.

I did feel a flicker of envy toward those who live in warmer climates. Family life seems simpler when being outside together is an everyday possibility rather than a seasonal gift. Sunshine has a way of reassuring us, as though the world is momentarily more manageable. And as adults, I suspect we underestimate how much we need nature ourselves.

I was recently speaking with a teacher who described a headteacher she once worked with who protected weekly unstructured time in the curriculum. This teacher was allowed to spend time on a Friday with the children lying on the grass outside her nursery, watching clouds drift overhead. It helped her, helped them and felt, in her words, like a powerful dose of wellbeing. She even noticed that children were calmer and more receptive when they returned to the classroom.

With its stresses and competing demands of our daily lives, it is easy to forget how much the simplest experiences matter to children and to us. Parents often ask how they can strengthen a child’s self-esteem, reduce anxiety and stay connected with their children. The answer, more often than not, includes the suggestion of shared time outdoors.

Research consistently shows that stress levels reduce in green and blue spaces. Light exposure supports circadian rhythms and mood regulation. Sensory engagement with natural textures and movement grounds the body. Informal social contact, the gentle rhythm of walking side by side and the absence of digital distraction all support connection. Nature creates the conditions in which conversation flows more easily.

Punch clung to a soft toy when he felt alone. Our children, too, reach for comfort, sometimes in obvious ways, sometimes in subtle ones. The question for us is not whether we parent perfectly, but whether we remain available. Perhaps this Mother’s Day is less about the booking or the bouquet and more about presence. A walk. A conversation. An hour outside. Small, ordinary moments that accumulate quietly and shape a life.