trying to heal things that were never mine or never intended for me to heal.

is some fucked up shit.


. . .

Nothing permanent
Nothing heavy
Nothing like loose ends
Nothing non purposeful

Cos then I’d be a permanent .. attached .. i can lose.

Oh lawd.

Impermanent leaves room for being wrecked .


learning ..

I don’t have to learn or glean a life’s lesson. Or make it all into some righteous learning curb.
Don’t have to commodicise it or make money offve it.
I just gotta enjoy it .
Embrace it.
Love it.
Enjoy it.

& thats fucking hard enough to do .. geezus.



I don’t have to do anything.

not anything I don’t want to.

not anymore.
I don’t have to resign myself .
I don’t have to force myself.

I don’t have to be afraid for the fuck of it or for the greater proverbial good.

The only thing that matters is taking care of me and my safety.


spiritual .. me, my whole self.

Most importantly, my body.

She tired.
Tired of being afraid.


hey you

congrats on having survived 30 odd years of shallow breathing.

*insert eye ball roll*


.. …

what happens when you stop punishing yourself.



btw ..

i dont even like you.

*insert eye ball roll*




decol ..

I realised quite a few years ago, ( as another part of this whole decolonising hikoi ) that all the info I was being ‘fed’, was white. that’s just the way it is, or so I was told.
so I decided to remedy that by filtering out all white white resources .. which means, I don’t do white news, or white movies, or white ‘scientific’ facts, or white medical facts .. my first port of call is ancestors, brown / indigenous & black. white is an after thought.
easy peasy you might think?
but No.
it took about a year, after filtering out the other, to build up decent go-to resources of the BIPOC persuasion.
lately, as I’ve watched our world implode, I’ve realised that Most, not all, but most peeps, even my own, still refer to the white methodologies, resources, references & advice first .. & everything else .. maybe .. as an after thought.
you want to understand? like, really? change who & what you listen too.
it won’t take you long from there, to see & understand the disparity. feel & understand the struggle & the tenacity of survival. watch & witness the resilience & brilliance of thriving.
you can’t fuck with that.
Ps, the whitest resource I own is FB 😂 JS .. & that is coming to a close real soon ✊🏾
(I don’t own & can’t take credit for the picture)



. . .

there is this moment.

thats it.

everything else is a fantasy.

or a memory.

that also means, there is no right and wrong, attainable bs.

there is just, this moment.



. .

hold onto everything loosely.




quote & conversations

the conversations, or lack thereof really, has been completely fucking interesting.

to those that fucked with this on a deep ass level .. who felt it completely .. i hear you!!

dont ever shut your mouth!!

as an addendum, on the original post, i added  .. just so we know <3



psa & self determination

i was raised amongst WW2 veteran whanau, fresh from war & the depression sporting undiagnosed ptsd, who voted social credit & believed the only way to change society was through government. 

i was also raised in a pentecostal christian environment whose theories included revelations & the mark of the beast, the return of christ, a white saviour, racism noting Maori & indigenous peoples being inferior, homophobia & white men being superior.

i was also raised amongst neo-nazism. whereby white supremacist theories hailed hitler as a saviour, jews as evil, & cleansing the population as imperative to the survival of the aryan nation. 

i believe in self determination as did my tipuna.


always ask questions.

always ask the ancestors.

always follow your instincts.

breathe & remain calm af.



.. .. qt .15

just, stop.

completely, stop.

entirely, stop.

now, breathe.



splayed out, splattered out .. me.

shes a messy bitch ..


i’ve realised every time someone has said, be in the moment ,  it makes me feel angry. And then, sad.

My moments have been for 32 plus years, have been something to brace myself for, they’ve been combatant, been a thing done to me that I haven’t been able to control. To be in the moment is to realise and embrace anger, sadness, being subjecated, controlled, it has involved deep loss .. to be in that moment in all that it actually is , would have meant absolute madness .. to be in a moment has always been about holding on .. 

So I missed it.

Missed large portions of supposed happiness? What? What did I miss? Perception, someone else’s perception?

It is cruel to ask someone to be in a moment that they could not bare themselves. 

It is judgemental and belittling of their pain. It is dismissive of their survival.

This decade has been about rest. Space. Realisation.

So i can be in a moment without having to bare it, but to enjoy every little intricacy in it.

At the same time I feel like I am mourning .. grieving.

Nearly ready for more.


reassessing what a decade ‘did’ .. thinking that it was a waste or a rest .. actually it was ..

figuring out what happened.

what i suffered.

remember details.

trying to find good pieces to go along side those stories.

reassembling the stories.

dropping some.

remembering what i wanted.

dropping what i wanted.

trying something else.

dropping something else.

whilst aging.

the body changes.

the hormones. learning about them. and touch sensations .

figuring out what i dont like.

what i dont mind.

what i like.

what is necessary.

what isn’t.


someone once had a dream about me & a broken hand .. the interpretation was that was me, that i needed re breaking to reset the bones to heal properly.


i had a dream recently, that the femoral artery in my leg had been ‘knicked’, & it was bleeding out with my pulse.

i found the bleed, not the site of the wound. i stopped the bleeding. .. by wiping it clean and keeping still.


theres practically no-one saying that i cant do something anymore. there are the odd criticisms but its not a literal, ‘no you cant go here, say that, do that, voice that, parent like that’ etc etc .. theres no-one. so why do i continue to hear it? do it?


so i should, Stop .. telling myself I should be doing more! 

Berating myself for resting.

Beating myself up for supposedly not knowing better.


I am allowed to rest. I done did 32 years of being beat down, and yet I still survived. I done 32 years of torment and abuse. I suffered. And I still survived.

I survived 32 years of being groped, raped, suffocated, belittled, not believed, changing tactics, self healing, moving, managing, changing, learning and being degraded and still survived.

I did all that and still managed to achieve shit.

My kids are my greatest achievement.

And then I did more.

I am allowed to rest! Recoup. Heal.

Recalibrate, ponder, soul search, get angry and heal some more.

I am allowed.

I am allowed to manage illness in my own way, finding solutions, getting what I need.

And I’m still allowed to rest.

“Cut yourself some motherfucking slack girl!

Geezus!” is what i keep telling myself. 

Watch the sunsets.

Gaze out the window.





by 11, smoking was my way of silencing my pain and anger and giving the finger to anything that said I couldn’t. It was harm done at my choosing.

And now I’m trying to let it go like an old toxic friend and I can feel its roots pulling out from the base of my spine, my puku.

Like im not in control, but I am. That this is my choice. 

Never to be forced again to do what I don’t want to. To bow for the greater good. To listen for the greater good.

But I feel like screaming, crying, smashing and sleeping, all at the same time.


its some deep rooted fuckery. but better out than in, right ..




the angst.

there is no dispute, not with myself anyways, that i tried to get assistance & protection.


& repeatedly.


up until recently, i hadn’t thought of these incidents as types of attempts to get what i needed. what i deserved. 

but thats exactly what they were.

not just teeny tiny cries for help.

they were loud repeated hollahs to those who should have listened & acted.


but they didn’t.


so what do i do with that?

what do i do with all those words? all those inactions? all those failings? all those reports? all those empty empty words? placating words? condescending & blaming words? condescending and blaming actions??


where do i put all that?




fyi :

inclusiveness means you find a way to include someone / something, so they are a part of the entirety, as they are.

saying you invited them doesnt make it or you inclusive.



home is ..

home is where u feel safe.

feel yourself.

are loved.

but there isn’t necessarily anyone else there.



today .. was ..

i remember when i first got vertigo, just over 10 years ago now .. i hadn’t linked it to anything else other than having a bad case of the flu and my sinuses being blocked ..

i was about 36-37 then.

i also knew my health wasnt right due to the amount i was vomitting and shitting and the amount of weight i was losing .. oh as well as my hair .. again.

so, i did what we all do.

i went to the doctors.

i got a med cert. i tried to recover and move on.

that was the start of something larger that would suck my energy something fierce.

but at 38ish i had more energy to fight.

im 48 now and i can feel my energy depleting.

sometimes i turn myself inside out to find solutions cos thats the kinda bitch i am.

im solution focussed.

in finding a solution i’ll shred the evidence i have to source the suitable solution. if that dont work ill try something else.

but, i still get chronic vertigo.

& its seems like it worsened with the onset of peri menopause .. insert eyeball roll.

& im still trying to find solutions.

but some days .. ohhh some days .. its all i can do to stand. walking is near impossible. & anything above those 2 things is draining af.

but i take notes.

so that when i have a steady day i can find alternative solutions.

today is one of those days.

its actually about day 3.

and i was reminded of stumbling up stairs back in my 30s, trying to hold on to the railing and not topple over. i decided in that moment i needed to find alternatives to how i did things.

that if i couldn’t drive to get the groceries i could utilise online.

if i couldn’t sit on a chair without feeling wonky id sit on the floor.

that id minimise and reorganise what i needed so it was on hand and i didn’t have to make 10 trips downstairs or bend over and stand up a tonne of times.

& that was the start.

i still sit on floor.

i still utilise online services.

& im still trying to find solutions.


today im tired.

tomorrow i hopefully kick ass again .. hopefully.



te maemae mama ..

deep deep grief.

buried in there, somewhere.

i can hear the echoes of it.

hey .. its time.

but it feels sad. too sad.

& aside from ..

theres anger.

deep blood drenched anger.

my anger.

to be torn from the inside out.

more years than i care to remember, but do.

all that time.

all that suffocation.

all that subjugation.

for what?

the pleasure of someone else?

& then the anticipation, joy, excitement, fear & desire of creating life.

new life.


& as she became mine.

she was taken.


ripped away.

thats how i see it.

feel it.

the dishonour of being fucked after being fucked for so long.

to be told i am inadequate.

not an inadequate fuck.

but an inadequate parent.



to have her stolen.

like my life.

like my breath.

like my innocence.

she got took.

& i blamed.

yes, the grief is deep.

the undeniable irony.

is tormenting.





but doesnt go anywhere.

just down.


to fester.



just some more thoughts on deep ass shit ..

covid? sure thing .. let it ride was my thing. & sure, the global reactions fucked me off, but hey .. let it ride.

& it did, & here we are in Level 1 .. better off? fuck knows.


& now the world is imploding, again. but this time its seeping what has been brewing there for eons.

the reactions, not the death, are overwhelming. the ignorance is mind boggling but not surprising.


today i was reminded that for me, racism has been juxtaposed with assault. the covert & overt acts are seedy & similar. the reactions are the also similar. the ignorance is also similar.

paralleling these 2 atrocities have always helped me understand the both.

but here & now, this is about the one. its about me & its not. its about all of us & its not.

to feel the black world screaming at its oppressors is a mighty thing to witness. its also painful af.