Let’s start at the very beginning..
A very good place to start.
When you read, you begin with A, B, C...
And if you know the rest of the words, you might just be one of my people. Double points if you sang that in your head; triple if you couldn’t help but channel your best Fraulein Maria.
Of course, starting at the beginning is exactly what we won’t be doing here today. But for lack of knowing how else to start, naturally it had to be through song. You’re welcome!
Before we dive into this non-beginning, I invite you to grab a cuppa of your favourite tea, find a quiet, comfy place, and take a moment to just be with me. I am here only to be truly helpful — though at times you might find me agitating or provocative. Still, I ask: will you sit and be curious with me?
My great-grandmother, Miriama Tahi, was a mana wahine, a fierce woman. She also served as a priestess in the Ratana church and was deeply respected for her service to my ancestral lands on my mother’s side in Te Kūiti, Aotearoa.
My Aunty Midi told me that all she would do was fix a cup of tea and listen. When they had finished their kōrero (talk) about their maemae (pain), she would ask, “Do you feel better now?”
I am still learning to listen. My own maemae has taken centre stage for so long, so desperately wanting to be heard. Listening is still a developing skill for me — one I hope to expand as I continue to sit with my own pain and the pain of the world around me.
In Māori tradition, it is sacred practice to drink a hot cuppa after leaving the urupā (cemetery) or after certain ceremonies such as a tangi. This helps purify oneself.
I’d love to expand on this — bringing in the biological perspective of supporting yourself with an intentional hot cup of tea.
When we engage with new information, or process it in new ways, we use more energy than usual. We can optimise this demand by staying hydrated and stimulating our system with the nourishing benefits of tea.
It is my hope that by engaging with some of the maemae I offer here, you will feel nourished and held. May whatever pain surfaces within you be met with warm gulps of presence, acknowledgement, awe, and wonder.
(Also — prepare yourself — we are going to nerd out on tea! I’m sipping a gorgeous Saraswati blend made with organic ingredients, which I’ll share more about in time... and why I’m always talking about tea.)
I digress.
A clear beginning will never exist in anything I do — things are too complex for that. Perhaps you’ve picked up on that already — my erratic, darting energy is hard to miss. So buckle up. Maybe add a splash of ginger if you’re prone to motion sickness.
Today’s “non-beginning” will land you exactly where I am today — and plant a few seeds of the messy, chaotic parts that have brought me here.
For the most part, I’ve retreated from the wider world — taking refuge behind what I now call my iron-reinforced boundaries.
I am nourished daily by the rolling hills and cattle country surrounding me, and I live in a fiercely protected bubble of simplicity. I’ve abandoned so many of the things that once bound me to today’s modern world — some easily, some painfully.
Some parts of me had to die so that I could stand here today — and their loss has left scars that still shape how I walk through life. Letting go of those attachments is a daily practice — not because it brings joy, but because it is essential for my sanity.
My rage runs as deep as the slices that tore those hopes and dreams from me. And yet my daily inquiry remains: What will I do with this pain?
The last few years have been gruelling. I’ve walked the unknown path of escaping domestic violence, only to be met with an even more insidious form: the silent violence embedded deep within Australia’s systems.
I have been shattered by fragile, tokenistic leadership — built on emotional power plays and sinister manipulation.
We live with systemic violence in Australia, every single day, in one of the most privileged countries on Earth.
Remember when this was called the land of opportunity? Not so long ago. If someone said that to me now, I’d laugh in their rose-eyed face.
Our beautiful land is crumbling beneath fragile policies that do not serve the people — you or me.
For those who know me: I am a fierce protector. Being of service is in my blood — the warrior spirit traces through all branches of my lineage. I am also innately rebellious — I will defy incongruent leadership as a natural response.
After being seriously injured by cowardly government systems, I buried my head in history books — trying to make sense of it all.
Politics always repelled me — even as a child, I didn’t trust what was broadcast to me as truth, I always questioned. But now, understanding the political landscape feels inevitable — even necessary.
I’ve found myself (whinging all the way) mapping out the coordinates of Australian political history, curious about how things have changed.
Change can represent growth and evolution — but not all change serves us. Some of today’s “evolution” looks more like dissolution. It feels like living in a strange upside-down world. Like every day is Opposite Day — it’s disorienting as hell.
Leadership is packaged as heart-centred and focused on equality — look at The Voice movement, for example (more on that tea another time). But beneath the surface lies a quiet erosion of the freedoms that once allowed us to feel so deeply to begin with.
In February 2023, I was admitted to Step Up Step Down in Bundaberg — a mental health facility — after months of presenting at ER in states of severe mental distress, only to be told “just try not to stress so much.”
I wasn’t surprised — I’ve been treated in both public and private systems for years. But this time, I was fighting for my life in the so-called land of opportunity.
There, I received domestic violence education and resources, like many times before. I used them to get out — and have been fighting the systemic violence ever since.
I met my ride-or-die Tidda, Jhy, an Indigenous Australian. She taught me so much.
Growing up in Beaudesert on Yugambeh country, I’d absorbed biases and fears — and she melted those away just by being her.
She exposed the privilege I carried — privilege I knew I had, but hadn’t fully grasped until experiencing the massive gap between our opportunities.
“Why you gotta use all them big words, Tidda?” she would laugh — always humbling me.
She exposed the truth of our fragile system. There were posters for Indigenous services. Boxes ticked. Resources available “on call.” But beneath it — performative care, and my tidda being silenced.
Still, I left that space hopeful that I was free — grateful for the privilege to stay there and do deep work. I believed I was finally equipped to say no to the silent violence.
I was wrong.
I have now been no-contact with my two eldest sons for over 12 months and maintain limited contact with my younger two.
I’ve set strong boundaries — anyone who leaves the door even slightly open to that man is kept away from me in order for me to protect myself and feel safe.
I engaged with schools, police, child safety — used the very resources I was given — only to be met by the truth of a tokenistic system.
I told my story. They told me, “There’s nothing we can do.”
When I asked the school for support around the trauma my younger children were showing, I was silenced.
When I followed protocols to address bullying towards my daughter, I was punished. The bully received an award at parade — the very same week I had pleaded with the school for help.
When I used my voice to stand up — I was served with papers by the same police I had turned to for protection.
It was crazy-making. Violence so silent, it screamed.
In my rage, I acted poorly — I’ll own that. I posted on social media in a fury, trying to warn other parents, but my anger came across as threatening.
So I retreated, sat with my maemae, let the rage wash over me in the safety of the hills.
I cried with my aunties. I came home to myself.
I wrote a letter, hoping to one day stand before the parents and children impacted by my outburst — because that’s what I would want for my own child.
In reflection, I’ve explored the Bully archetype — noticing that bullies often lash out from unspoken pain. If we can help them find empowered voices, perhaps we can help them name their maemae.
This lens has also helped me see the current climate of systemic silent violence — a bully screaming for attention.
I have waded through trenches, time and again. Punished for following the rules, while those who inflicted so much pain are rewarded.
I’ve had to make the radical choice to mother my children through letters — because I do not feel safe while he remains close.
I am angry. And in my retreat, I have gifted myself a new way of being.
I will not be silent.
I may have been screaming before I understood the true source of my pain — but now I choose to empower my voice, to deliver it constructively.
I am walking my talk — and I call on anyone who holds leadership in any capacity to do the same.
I am sick of a system led by apathy and complacency — .
This is NOT the tea I am here for.
I am here to be truly helpful, and it is my hopes to be a different voice that brings change through growth and learning that is sustainable and integrative overall. There is no space for performance in the change I want to see in the world.
CONGRUENCE is the tea I am here for.
What are you here for?
