Always On: The hidden cost of internal documentation in ECEC

Childcare management systems (CCMS) were developed to support communication and documentation. But over time, their use has shaped new expectations, and changed how educators work and how children experience care.

 

When I wrote the first article in this series, I thought most of the tension around children and content lived on social media. But as I kept reading responses and talking with educators, one thing became clear: the questions don’t stop at Instagram. They live in the everyday too, in the quiet pressure to update families, in the shift from observing to producing, and in the apps we open without a second thought.

 

This article is about that quieter space. Because while these tools have been positioned as supportive, especially when it comes to communication, I think we need to pause and ask, what are we giving up in the process?

 

When documentation is always on

 

I’ve worked in and alongside services that use these apps daily. On paper, they streamline programming and help families feel informed. But in practice, what I keep seeing is this: educators juggling ratios while trying to upload photos in real time. Children noticing the camera before they notice the adult. Learning that starts to feel like performance.

 

Cheyanne Carter, who now works in consultancy but has years of sector experience, put it like this: “The shift to portable, always accessible apps has dramatically changed the dynamic. Educators are now expected to document in real time while supervising children, which dilutes the quality of relationships and reduces attentiveness to the learning environment.”

 

That line resonates. The tools haven’t just made things easier, they’ve raised expectations. More updates. More images. More pressure. And I keep hearing the same thing from educators: “I feel like I’m always switched on.”

 

That shift from presence to production is something we need to talk about. Because when documentation becomes constant, it stops being reflective. When it becomes performative, it stops being ethical. And when it becomes expected, it stops being sustainable.

 

This tension is echoed in research from Curtin University. A 2023 study by Fielding, Murcia and Lowe explored how digital documentation can unintentionally shift educators’ attention away from meaningful engagement with children. Similarly, Wilson et al. (2024) found that while digital platforms were designed to support practice, they often contributed to increased workload and reduced educator presence.

Consent is more than a checkbox

 

Another recurring theme is consent. I’ve explored this in the context of public platforms, but even internally, the same questions apply.

 

We collect parental permission. That part is routine. But what about the child who doesn’t want their photo taken today? Or the one who smiles out of habit, because they’ve learned that’s what happens when the iPad appears?

 

As Cheyanne said, “Meaningful consent from children is about respecting their daily boundaries and their right to choose whether they wish to be photographed or filmed. It’s a relational practice, not a checkbox.”

 

That stuck with me. Because we don’t ask if we can take a photo, we need to ask if we should. And I wonder how often that conversation is happening, not just with families but with children too.

 

There’s also the broader question of data ownership. When we upload an image, who owns that content? The platform? The family? The service? The ACEQCA Online Safety Guide urges services to consider privacy, security and control when using digital tools, and I think that’s a prompt we need to take seriously.

 

What families want, and what I see in practice

 

I hear it constantly, families want to see what their child did today. And I understand that. When you leave your child in someone else’s care, you want reassurance, visibility, connection. A photo or two can go a long way in building trust.

 

But I think we’ve hit a point where that reasonable hope has turned into a silent expectation. And that expectation often lands on educators, who are already stretched thin.

 

I’ve seen what it does. Educators chasing children for updates. Children who automatically pose. Environments that feel more like sets than spaces for play. Are we documenting learning, or are we just collecting content?

 

This isn’t about blaming families. But we do need to recalibrate. Because families deserve insight into their child’s learning. But that doesn’t mean they need 15 photos a day. It’s on us, as a sector, to set those boundaries with kindness and clarity. And it’s on leaders to protect their teams from the emotional and operational load that comes with being “always on.”

 

What change can look like

 

Some services are already shifting. Cheyanne shared an example from NSW where a team, facing staffing shortages, restructured their approach. Instead of daily journals, they created foyer slideshows and weekly reflections. Programming became fortnightly and more tailored. Families were still informed, but educators had space to breathe.

 

It worked, not because they stopped documenting, but because they redefined what documentation needed to do. Wilson et al. (2024) describe similar strategies, showing how documentation reforms can positively impact educator wellbeing, autonomy and time with children.

 

This is not just a practice issue. From September, new regulatory changes will require every service to have policies around digital technologies, including how children’s images are taken, stored and used. And from January, child safety will be written directly into the National Quality Standard.

 

These changes are more than compliance. They’re a sign the sector is taking digital ethics seriously. And that matters for every educator who’s ever felt caught between being present and producing content.

 

Recently released resources like ACECQA’s Online Safety Guide and Child Safe Culture Guide offer clear, up-to-date advice on what safe, respectful documentation looks like. They support services in aligning with upcoming child safety reforms and give leaders practical tools to set stronger boundaries, for children and for teams.

 

So where to from here?

 

I’m not saying we stop documenting. But I am asking, what would documentation look like if it truly honoured children’s rights, supported educators and connected families, without compromising any of them?

 

That’s the question I want to keep exploring. And I hope this article helps others do the same.

 

This isn’t just about individual reflection. It’s a conversation that needs to be happening in staff meetings, policy reviews, family handbooks and leadership planning.

 

Because children are not content. And internal platforms don’t change that.