This reo journey is not just about language. It’s about reconnection. It’s about repair. It’s about remembering I’m not too late

I didn’t disconnect to feel in control. I paused. I stayed with myself long enough to ask: Is this real, or is this mine?

I didn’t grow up with safety. But I’m learning to give it to myself now, in how I speak to myself, in how I choose, in how I see what’s real beneath the noise.

I’m not here for half-hearted anything. If it’s not meeting me where I’m at — emotionally, spiritually, energetically — then it’s not for me.

This body has loved me long before I knew how to love her back.

I spent 18 years living in a country that colonised my people. And yet — those people are also my people. I whakapapa to both.

Just because you're growing doesn't mean the old version of you won’t show up. The difference is — now I see her, and I choose differently.

I realised I was treating love like a risk I couldn’t afford.
But love — real love, in all its forms — doesn’t take. It expands.

It softens without weakening. It asks you to stay open, even when it’s uncomfortable.

It was like I was repeating an old story. One that had meant a lot to me in the past, but now felt… distant. Not wrong, just not alive. Not in my bones anymore.

And what landed was this:
This dream isn’t about me.