Kia ora e te whānau,

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about third spaces. If you’re not familiar with the term, here’s a quick definition: if the home is our primary, ‘first space’ where we spend time, and work/school/university is our ‘second space’, then what is our third? It should be somewhere we feel able to relax and connect with others.

What a third space looks like varies from person to person – it is, you could say, as diverse as first and second spaces – but throughout society the trend is ubiquitous: the use of third spaces is far less common than it used to be. Unsurprisingly, this is a problem. If we’re going straight from work to home, and vice versa, then we’re likely not getting much of a chance to enrich our lives through time spent with others, in the community. Time and again, we as an organisation have seen the sobering effects that this type of isolation has on people – it is, in short, awful for our mental health.

At Waimanako, we express the importance of this through the metaphor of the ‘watering hole’ – the place where people gather together socially, often for a common purpose. Having a watering hole is a key component of our wellbeing; not only can we interact with others, but by doing so regularly, we are also looking after one-another without even realising it. You notice when a regular at the proverbial watering hole doesn’t show up; it may prompt you to ask after them. You notice when that regular does show up, but clearly isn’t doing so well, and you talk things through with them. If this regular isn’t a regular at all and is only oscillating between home and work, who’s going to notice that things are wrong? Who’s going to step in and help them out? Clinical services won’t engage unless the (non)regular’s problems are acute, or if they have a diagnosable condition (although the latter requires a lengthy wait). Their problems aren’t ‘serious enough’ for medical attention, and so in their view, no one cares. Or perhaps they’re the type who simply wouldn’t dream of asking for help, and rely entirely on those at the watering hole to spot the changes. If they do reach that crisis point, we can only hope that they do engage with those services which ignored them until now. In essence, we lack the social safety net we once had.

But why?

In the sociological classic Bowling Alone (a favourite text of mine, and one I like to reference a lot), Robert Putnam investigates this very question. The book’s title references the fact that ‘once we bowled in leagues, usually after work – but no longer. This seemingly small phenomenon symbolises a significant social change’. One of the things that I love about this book is that it was published in 2000, yet seemingly becomes more relevant with every year. At the time, Putnam attributed this decline in community primarily to TV use. Which doesn’t bode well for all of the technology which has sprouted up and become integral to our lives in the 25 years since.

Naturally, social media, phone use – all of the classics – play a role here. We humans are absolute suckers for convenience – and what’s more convenient than doing everything from the comfort of your own home? Right now, I am in fact working from home, because it’s significantly less of a hassle than getting everything I need together for a trip into the office. I can do this, thanks to the advent of laptops and Wi-Fi. My kitchen is right there – I don’t need to prepare lunch in advance – and I even have the comfort of my own toilet. I often find myself guilty of a similar resort to convenience: living with my partner, I find myself neglecting the need for friendships, because I’m spending the large majority of my time with my best friend anyway (great in theory, not recommended in practise: friends are fantastic).

The detrimental role of social media is a surprise to no one, however. Personally, I’m far more interested in the other contributing factors, which include:

• A constantly escalating cost of living, mixed with the commercialisation of public spaces. It’s hard to find many things to do outside of the house that don’t cost money – and a lot of us don’t have the funds to cover that. Sure, you may have been able to see a movie for less than a dollar once upon a time, but $20 per person plus refreshments isn’t an appealing charge. In the past, one income was designed to be enough for a family of four to live well (and afford a house). Nowadays, two incomes are barely enough, which leads me to the fact that…
• We’re all doing what we can to survive – and for many, that means working beyond sustainable means. When you’re exhausted from a week of work, what appeals more? Going out to play bowling, or staying in and switching your brain off whilst you enjoy offerings from leagues of streaming services? Putnam also acknowledges the role of this factor.
• Urban sprawl – another factor included in Putnam’s analysis. Unless you live in the CBD and/or have access to a car, it’s a pain to get anywhere. Even if you do have a car, you may dread facing traffic. New Plymouth is far from a walkable city. I sorely miss the days when I lived in central Auckland – it wasn’t the nicest apartment, but near everything I could possibly want was accessible via a short walk; and if it wasn’t, then there would be a bus arriving within 15 minutes to take me there; and if the buses didn’t quite line up how I liked, there were mostly humane cycle routes available instead.
• Rampant inequality and social hardship. The Spirit Level – another sociological favourite of mine – details in great depth how social inequality results in worse outcomes for everyone, including those in the richer echelons of society, because it damages the very fabric of society. Amongst other things, inequality leads to desperation, crime, polarisation, distrust, and alienation – that is, a whole host of ailments which make interaction with wider society appear greatly unappealing. Unfortunately, it also drives great engagement with news and social media – and exploiting these stressors is a near-guaranteed vote winner for politicians, so these harms are also being significantly magnified at present.
• The Covid pandemic – another classic to blame. Those months of self-isolation and lockdown instilled in us a new impetus to stay inside – one from which we are really struggling to recover.
• Rising rates of mental health issues – this one’s a bit of a vicious cycle! Loneliness and isolation are major contributors toward mental ill health, and the latter makes social interaction much more difficult by, for example, sapping your energy and destroying your confidence in your social ability.

Suffice to say that a diverse range of societal malaises fuel this problem, but ultimately it all comes down to our much more atomised society. I recently read George Orwell’s Keep the Aspidistra Flying, which was written in 1936. It appears to depict society as it really was back then, notably from the perspective of someone stated to be living on ‘two pounds a week’ (about $270 NZD by modern standards – the inflation since the time this novel was written was rather horrifying to consider). The lack of entertainment available to the protagonist fascinated me. If bored, he would walk the streets of London for miles, go to the pub, or bother his friends. At one point, in an attempt to illustrate the low point this character had reached, the author has him reading trashy paperback after trashy paperback – something that, by our standards, would be considered a half-decent waste of time.

Fortunately, this character had a social safety net – other characters who noted his behaviour and managed to pull him back out again. What if there had been no one to help him? We don’t need to ask; the story tells us. His intention was to sink into homelessness, and possibly imprisonment. Instead, he ended up with a family and a well-paying job. And the focus of this book wasn’t even on the importance of community!

But enough despair about the rotten state of things. How can we improve them, instead? The first step is simple: pure awareness. Is there a third space that you frequent? Think of places you might go to in order to interact with others and, ultimately, relax. Is there one? If not, how might you be able to find one?

Some ideas might include:

• Waimanako, of course! That’s why we’re here; we offer not only a social space but free workshops and support groups
• Trying out group exercise, finding a gym buddy, or even just heading to the gym without your headphones
• Finding a local park or beach you enjoy, noting your fellow regulars, and striking up a conversation with them
• Frequenting a local coffee shop that appeals to you
• Seeking out a hobbyist or interest group such as a book club, activist movement, tabletop gaming group, or a sports club
• If you work remotely, trying a co-working space, the library, or a cafe
• Taking a course in something new – WITT offers a number of free courses
• Browsing Facebook events to see what’s coming up in your area. Seriously, you can find so many cool things
• Forcing yourself into the outdoors when things are feeling hard. It can be genuinely transformational

I say this all as someone who, most days, finishes work, and spends the rest of the evening collapsed on the couch. It’s not easy, especially when society is set up a certain way, and when circumstances – be those health-related, financial, or familial – may be against you. But I know that I never regret those times when I do force myself into a third space. I am, at least, aware of my brain’s very real thirst for a watering hole; actually seeking satiation is an ongoing battle. But it’s a start.

I wish you the best of luck with carving out your own third spaces. We all have the need for them – your job is simply figuring out what yours looks like.

Kia ora whānau,

Just a little lighthearted entry this month. 

Given the theme of one of our biggest fundraisers of the year, which is now fast approaching, it feels appropriate to spend some time waxing lyrical about ducks. Not the plastic bath toys we’re sending down the river in a few weeks, but the real deal. 

I came truly to appreciate ducks when I began to cycle to town via Te Henui walkway. Anyone who’s familiar with this route will know that one particular section – near the bowls club, just before the Coastal Walkway and East End Beach – is home to a thriving flock of ducks. Cycling past them twice almost every day quickly endeared me to them, and before I knew it, ducks had become one of my favourite animals. Simply spotting them doing their thing, going about their day, for a few moments whilst I passed through, is easily the highlight of my commute. 

As such, I’d like to go through some of the reasons why I adore ducks, and why we should all be hyped for the celebration of these magnificently silly creatures at the Duck Race:

Their resounding optimism
I have been lucky enough to have had ducks featuring in my bike commutes in the past – albeit less reliably. When I lived in Auckland, there was a chance that I would spot ducks in the distance as I glided through Tamaki Drive. What I came to love about them was that, after heavy rain, they would flock to flooded fields and even puddles, ready to seize the opportunity for a good swim. Their gorgeous optimism – making the best of, and finding joy in a bad situation – was endlessly delightful to me, particularly around the time of Cyclone Gabrielle and the flooding in Auckland during early 2023, when the weather was utterly heinous. It’s much harder to feel despair about a situation when you spot a handful of ducks happily paddling around a newly formed body of water, made possible only by that bad situation. I don’t know how they manage to find these flooded areas, either – it’s like they have a special radar for it – but it always makes me feel a little better about the world.

Their coexistence with humans
We don’t have a lot of wild animals in New Zealand – not, at least, when you consider hotter climates where snakes, spiders, and other such delights run rampant. Perhaps this is for the best! As such, living in urban New Plymouth, I always find a certain joy in animals who have figured out how to live right alongside us, both in town centres and greener areas (excluding mosquitoes, flies, and other creatures that exist only to make us miserable). And whilst ducks still exercise a healthy caution around humans, the fact that they’re readily visible thriving in their natural habitat, which just happens to be our habitat too, and the fact that they’re incorporated into our lives – with going out to feed the ducks (whilst perhaps not especially healthy for them) being an established activity – is just delightful. We’ve accepted their presence, they’ve accepted ours, and we’re generally happy to let each other be. I wish we could witness more animals like this: comfortable in their natural setting, wild and free. I feel it means that we get to see and learn a lot more about ducks than many other animals – because we live with them!

Their social nature
I love that ducks live in a community, and feel safer when they’re around each other. Something about seeing them sleeping, swimming, and simply standing around in little groups is extremely endearing. In fact, they are sociable to a heartbreaking extent: some (less common these days) duck hunting methods exploit the fact that ducks are more likely to populate areas where other ducks are already present, as it signals safety. So having a pretend duck or a group of tame ducks available to lure wild ducks is a very effective method of capturing them. On a happier note, another delightful aspect of their sociable nature is the way that ducklings hang around their mother in a little group, following her faithfully in a neat line. Cycling past the ducks during spring – at which point a number of tiny, fluffy ducks appeared – was even more of a joy for this reason. I had a similar delight on a previous commute, but in this latter case, the duck and its offspring were shunted to the side of a busy road, subsisting on a small patch of grass and a barely trickling stream; I worried every time I passed them. Seeing these walkway ducks quietly thriving in an area traversed only by pedestrians and careful cyclists is much more heartwarming.  

Their surprising capabilities
Ducks are, undeniably, extremely silly looking. Something about the combination of a beak, round body, and stick-thin bird feet is just inherently funny. The fact that they are patently absurd animals makes me love it even more that ducks are adept in a myriad of ways. They are excellent swimmers, with waterproof feathers that are also perfectly engineered to keep them warm; they can fly shockingly high (up to cruising altitude!) and for a good, long time, which – to me – feels like it shouldn’t be possible (given the aforementioned round body); and they can thrive on land, as well. They are also highly adaptable birds, with their bodies’ spectacular thermoregulation abilities allowing them to live comfortably in most parts of the world. In fact, mallard ducks are so good at adapting that they are in some places considered invasive, because they have a tendency to mate with local duck species, harming the successful propagation of the latter – as purebreds, at least.

…Plus a whole load of miscellaneous things
Some additional things to love about ducks which I couldn’t otherwise satisfactorily categorise are as follows:

• They sleep with their beak tucked into their feathers for warmth and safety, which is so cute
• They quack quietly to themselves whilst waddling along – objectively a hilarious sight
• They have really cool colouring: purpley blue under their wings, and – for the drakes – a green head
• They’re naturally curious
• They bob their heads up and down when they’re happy (or in the mood to mate, but let’s focus on the first bit)

So, next time you see a flock of ducks, take a moment to appreciate how delightful they really are – and how lucky we are to coexist with them. Notice their little mannerisms and activities. Enjoy their inherently comedic nature. And then, come and celebrate their existence with us at the duck race, where there will be thousands of rubber duckies racing along, which even have a few traits in common with actual ducks (duck-shaped, has a beak and wings, floats on water). I would say that it’s almost as good as the real thing, but the duck race has prizes and trophies, thousands of participants, and good standing as a great family/community day out – whereas ducks are, well, ducks. Both are joyful in their own way. So you can’t compare them, really.

Kia ora e te whānau – Meri Kirihimete me te Tau Hou!

I just wanted to reflect briefly on the weird little limbo period that comes between Christmas and the New Year. That week during which everything is closed – the city almost goes to sleep. 

Personally, as I mentioned last month, I think that this is a beautiful thing – a time for everyone to catch their breath and recharge for the next year. If there’s one thing that I wish we learned from the barrage of Covid lockdowns experienced in 2020-2021, it’s that we don’t actually need to be constantly hurtling forward with perfect productivity. A lot of our jobs are – dare I say – not as essential as they seem. And those whose work is essential deserve our reverence. Whilst we may have immediately returned to the breakneck speed of modern life, the short limbo period we’re about to approach is the closest thing we have to a continuation of that understanding. It is an opportunity to slow down, and we should embrace that.

So, how do we make the most of this opportunity?

I am very much guilty of major productivity anxiety. If it weren’t obvious by my sprawling monthly blogs on this newsletter, I love to write – as well as indulge in various other creative guilty pleasures – so the moment that work is over, I’m immediately ploughing through as many personal projects as possible. Especially at this time of year, when I decide to overstuff myself with ambitious creative projects for all of my loved ones. 

I think we all yearn for time off from work – a bit of a break – but the moment that any sense of busyness drops off, our brains panic. If you’re like me, you’re immediately searching for new projects in which to sink your time – until you are, once again, so busy that free time becomes an unattainable craving.

So I’m challenging both you, and myself, to use this limbo period as an experiment: an opportunity to resist that productivity drive and see what happens. Here are a few ideas on how to make that happen:

• Mindfulness I’m personally terrible at this – my mind is constantly racing with ideas and plans – but practising the discipline of simply ‘noticing’ the world around you: smells, colours, shapes, sounds, tastes etc., not only grows your appreciation for its simple beauty, but also grounds you like nothing else. I was recently made aware of quite how often in life it is that I am distracted. For example, I might go to the supermarket and spend the entire time with my mind elsewhere. Perhaps I have my headphones on, separating me further from where I am. When I return home, the only proof that I even went there are the bags of depressingly-priced food sitting upon the kitchen counter. I couldn’t tell you – not really – what was going on around me. When you try to go about life in a mindful manner – even for a few minutes at a time – it is incredible how much more you notice; how much more of the world around you is stored in your memory, how much richer your experiences become.
• Embracing the moment This is similar to the above. I am constantly thinking and planning ahead, so that I miss what’s going on in the here and now – I forget to appreciate my current position. Learning to focus on what’s beautiful right now is, however, far more fulfilling. My favourite way to do this is a technique I came across in Kurt Vonnegut’s book Timequake: simply reflecting on the moment at hand with the thought: ‘well, if this isn’t nice, what is?’
• GETTING OUT! It’s summer! (Kind of. New Plymouth does seem to be flagging a bit behind everywhere else on this front). Go for a walk, a swim, even just sit on a bench and watch the world go by. Our Lead Coach, Liz, has this well-touted philosophy of adventure, and has taken the time to put together a list of day-to-day adventures to try. Perhaps my favourite – or the one which has stuck in my head the most – is to stop somewhere you would usually rush past. I love to do this wherever I can, which often ends up being on my bike commutes: stopping to admire the way the clouds circled the full moon back when the mornings were dark; enjoying the stunning sunrise over the coastline on the walkway once things started getting lighter; watching the ducks do their thing, trailed by faithful fluffy ducklings once the mornings were beset by a fully risen sun; and, most recently, enjoying the decidedly random phenomenon of a pukeko standing atop someone’s garden fence. I very much regret not photographing this latter experience. Enjoy your temporary freedom (if you’re lucky enough to have it) and indulge in the world around you.
• Remember why you love your loved ones. Being around family can be frustrating – and my brain only seems to want to remember everything I adore about my whānau when we’re apart from each other. Forcing those fond recollections to the present moment, when you’re surrounded by those you love, is so very valuable. This might be simply thinking about what it means to them to experience your appreciation, and making that happen. It might be remembering how much you’ll miss them when you’re next apart – the attributes that you most treasure. When you start to get annoyed by them, it might be remembering how you’ve worked through these disagreements in the past, and deciding to approach this annoyance with kindness – seeing the inevitable imperfections of us as humans, how we tend to clash, taking a step back and seeing its probable triviality in the grand scheme of things; and having the courage simply to extend peace to them.
• Looking after yourself where you can. You may be working during this time, you may be stuck with family members who insist on dragging you down, you may be struggling and dependent on the services who are all helpfully shutting off for a few weeks, leaving you languishing. It’s all well and good doing the above things when you’re in a privileged position. But what to do if you’re not?
  • If you’re working, acknowledge the service you’re providing during this time – and your selflessness and sacrifice in providing that. Take the time between shifts to treat yourself in whatever way you can – perhaps by doing the above-listed things, perhaps by indulging in your favourite food and movies. Take your extra hard work as an invitation to take the pressure off elsewhere.
  • If you’re stuck with difficult whānau, escape where you can. Perhaps that might involve doing the above. Perhaps it means coming along to the St Joseph’s or Bach on Breakwater Christmas day lunch – perhaps it’s by rising above any pettiness and watching the drama around you as if a removed party, without any judgement – imagine you’re watching your favourite sitcom. Approach it with a sense of curiosity.
  • If you’re feeling left behind by the exodus of services, do check out the list of available supports we’ve put together. There are a number of websites – including The Lowdown and Small Steps – which provide tools for you to work through on your own. Before the services you use go offline, seize this opportunity to prepare a list of things you can do which you know will help you: activities, techniques, friends you can contact, etc. Be realistic about what’s achievable, and make it easy to access when you know you’ll need it. You won’t be able to think of these things in the moment, so be prepared! Either have a good think by yourself, or enlist your support worker (or a Listening Ear at Waimanako) to help you out.

Within myself, my self finds recourse. Neglect myself, and to whom could I turn? So says the Dhammapada. As much as I enthusiastically endorse the beauty of community support, it is essential that we also learn how to spend time with ourselves. We often say at Waimanako that our peer support work is all about helping people to find the answers within themselves – because they know themselves best! 

My best recommendation for this time, whatever your circumstances may be, would be that you try spending some time investigating yourself. What do you want? What do you value? How can you best honour yourself? Be curious. Your 2025 will be better for it, I promise.

Kia ora tātou, Zach here!

I’m sure that the last thing you need is another reminder of the fast-approaching festive season – it seems that the moment we hit 12:00am on 1st November, by Christmas magic, every supermarket and department store decked its halls with Christmas displays, chocolates, advent calendars, and seasonal bargains bedecked with tinsel and baubles. Festive events are popping up all over Facebook, many over a month in advance – which, as the main contributor to the Retreat’s Facebook pages, makes me envy their organisational skills. 

I, for one, absolutely adore this time of year. In fact, a part of me has been eagerly anticipating it since mid-January – and not just because of the tantalising prospect of multiple weeks off from work. But I am also readily aware that Christmas can be polarising – maybe you’re like me, living for the obnoxious omnipresence of festive joy, or maybe you’re sick to death of Christmas before it’s even begun, rolling your eyes as I wax lyrical about the season, and dreading the many potential tribulations it can bring.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realise that Christmas is, in essence, diametrically opposed to our day-to-day situation. The majority of our population is atheist; the holiday encourages enthusiastic consumerism in an environmentally crippled world; said consumerism comes with rampant spending, both impractical during this cost of living crisis and – according to economists for a long time now – is an inefficient use of funds, given that we don’t actually know whether the gifts we give will be appreciated; a central theme is its focus on time together, in a world increasingly marred by loneliness and isolation; not to mention that it hails from the Northern Hemisphere, and its connection with winter is so heavily entrenched that the majority of classic Christmas songs and imagery don’t make a jot of sense in the context of our blazing summer. 

Diametrically opposed or not, it also comes with further baggage: the aforementioned focus on togetherness, and the sleepy period of time off work it engenders. Time to cherish whānau is essential – that is, if you have a loving whānau to cherish. If the only good company you’ve got is yourself, then all of these reminders of family time and love can feel like rather a slap in the face – especially when its messaging persists for over a month! And while it is, in my opinion, essential that we are allowed time in the year to press pause on our mahi, any absence comes with its consequences. If there’s a service on which you strongly rely that disappears during this time, then the lovely holiday period becomes tedious. These are inevitable consequences of a time which expects, nay, demands happiness – not all of us can fulfil that demand. And, before I launch into a listicle of how we can enjoy Christmas in the modern day, it’s crucial to acknowledge that these consequences solidly suck.

Despite all this, I think Christmas still has more than enough going to redeem itself. It might just require us to look at it a little differently. So, for those of us who celebrate, here are some ideas for modernising Christmas – and potentially making it suck a little less.

It’s all about community!

While a rhetoric of togetherness can absolutely have damaging consequences, social time is an essential human need. It has become a cliche to comment upon the divided nature of the modern world, and it is true that various factors have made loneliness and polarisation far more common. And this is one of the reasons I love Christmas. I’m not under the impression that with Christmas day comes a magical, peacemaking force which impels us all to put aside our differences and join hands in unity, but I do think that any reminder to spend time with our loved ones is valuable. And while it may not reach a utopian-level strength, I do think that Christmas engenders an element of community. 

Here in Aotearoa, there are very few occasions during which the majority of society comes together to enjoy a special event. Halloween is more for Americans, Thanksgiving is definitely not our thing, Easter is just one weekend, and while we’re lucky enough now to have Matariki recognised as a public holiday, with its popularity as a celebration steadily growing, nothing has the same build-up or spread as Christmas. At minimum, you’re looking at almost a whole month of anticipation (for me, that anticipation starts in mid-October, although I try to keep it under wraps until at least November). Not only that, but it’s everywhere. Songs playing in every shop, decorations strewn about the town centre, public events popping up all over the place. When else are we so unified in anything?

So, naturally, you can roll your eyes at the premature celebration, but I think it’s so much more fun to embrace it, to feel the joy in anticipation. Because that is the best part about Christmas. They say the joy is in the journey, and whoever they are could not be more right! The day itself is important of course, but all of the songs, decorations, events, and so on are for enjoying all month long. Taking a moment to think, ‘hey, it’s actually pretty cool that we’re all stopping to celebrate this’, and appreciating the efforts people are undertaking to make the month special is thoroughly worthwhile.

Given that there’s all this lovely unity going on, it’s a great time to get out there and feel a part of the community. There are so many ways to make this happen:

• Indulging in free-to-attend Christmas events: classics such as Christmas at the Bowl, alongside new initiatives like our Christmas fair fair ;). Keep an eye on Facebook events – you don’t need an account to see them – and pick and choose whatever appeals!
• New Plymouth Community Christmas Charitable Trust holds an annual, free Christmas lunch at St John’s Church on the big day itself – a truly beautiful community event. If you’re looking for something communal to do on the day, it’s really worth keeping an eye out for it – you could volunteer, or enjoy a free meal yourself.
• Through Ngāmotu Street Initiative, on three days over the Christmas-New Year period, we’ll be at Waimanako serving up kai to our street whānau to ensure they have enough to eat while everything’s shut down. If you’d be interested in getting involved – either preparing kai in advance, or serving it up on the day – please get in touch!

Making gifting more sustainable (and affordable!)

It’s becoming harder and harder to justify a holiday which is largely centred around buying and giving gifts when the environment is crumbling before our eyes – knowing that consumerism has a chunky part to play in this. Moreover, money is tight for most of us right now, and spending big on presents feels unrealistic. 

One option, of course, is to ask that people don’t buy you gifts, and switching the holiday’s focus elsewhere – focusing on spirituality or togetherness, for example. But there’s another side of gift-giving which makes this approach difficult (for me, at least!). The majority of my excitement surrounding Christmas comes from the joy of giving to others – figuring out the perfect present – rather than the prospect of receiving presents from others. It is a show of love and care. My whānau are all the same. So, the question becomes: how do we retain that chance to express appreciation to our loved ones while keeping it sustainable?

Over the last few years, my whānau have somewhat changed our approach to gifts. The presents we give, and ask for might be, for example:

• Handmade items (my younger sister is an incredible artist, my older sister a master at crochet)
• Gifts of time (I love to be taught new skills, or have loved ones willingly join me on a photography exhibition)
• Donations to causes we care about
• Practical items we need / will make good use of, bought secondhand wherever possible (obviously not if the item in question is food, for example)

It seems to make for a much more wholesome and creative approach to gift-giving, not to mention that Trade Me and our local op shops are absolute treasure troves, and much cheaper than buying new!

Another example of an alternative approach comes from my extended whānau, this time with a focus on saving money. Given the large number of aunts, uncles, and cousins I (and many families) have, gift-giving can quickly become overwhelming and expensive. The solution in our extended whānau has been twofold: first, that whānau members under the age of 18 get a present from every aunt/uncle, and second, that everyone over 18 takes part in a Secret Santa via drawnames: we’re all randomly assigned someone to buy for, so everyone gets a present, and everyone only has to buy one present! It works out pretty perfectly.

Further twists on gift-giving could include something like:

• Joining in with an initiative like Property Brokers’ Pack the Bus, which invites the community to donate toys, non-perishable food, cat food, and/or dog food to fill up a bus – goods are then donated to local charities
• Delaying gift-giving to make use of the tens of thousands of unwanted presents listed on Trade Me after the big day
• Looking into ethical gifts, such as our Shout a Stay cards 😉

Making it yours

There is no one right way to do Christmas! But I think that what helps make it exciting is having a series of traditions that you only pull out at this time of year: something special that you only allow yourself in December. It can be totally divorced from the mass of decorations, songs, and presents, if you prefer. 

After the nostalgic traditions from childhood (putting food out for Santa’s reindeers, participating in end of year dance shows and nativity plays, heading home from the last day of school for the year, getting our annual sensible Christian advent calendars with Bible verses instead of chocolate from our devout grandparents) withered away, I began to make up new, silly little traditions to enjoy. I insist on baking mince pies every year, for example, because I absolutely love mince pies and they’re even better homemade. I have also insisted that we make mulled wine every Christmas, because it is objectively the only way to make wine taste good. My sister and I have made a habit of watching our favourite Christmas specials together as we frantically draw increasingly elaborate Christmas cards – something I think you never get too old for. Every year I find new places to hide my partner’s presents so that he doesn’t have to wrench with the pain of delayed gratification. Ever since we moved to New Zealand, we as a family have basked in the novelty of going to the beach on Christmas day – which always proves surprisingly empty. 

I’ve heard a lot of people talk about how the magic of Christmas is irrecoverably lost after childhood, and while it will never feel quite so euphoric as when it was possible to believe in Santa, I refuse to accept that it can’t still feel exciting. It’s merely a case of making it fun, in whatever way works for you. 

Naturally, this becomes more complicated if your circumstances limit what’s achievable: if you’re stuck with unbearable family members, if this time of year brings tough memories around. Maybe it’s a case of making December a month of self-care: going that extra mile to look after yourself, de-stressing, taking some time to enjoy solitude. A starter could be coming along to one of our de-stressing workshops: breathwork, mindfulness, or watercolour painting, or hanging out in the Recharge Room at the Confidence Centre. It could be going for a walk in the crisp, early hours of the morning, and listening to the birds sing (and, if you’re lucky enough to live near East End beach, or anywhere else applicable, watching the ducks waddle around with a line of tiny, fluffy ducklings following them doggedly). It could be marathoning your favourite movies. It could be a case of not checking the news for a few days, and enjoying the break from constantly reading about tragedy and politics. Or doing whatever other indulgent pastime you love but never seem to get round to. Give yourself a reason (or, ideally, many!) to look forward to Christmas – because you deserve to enjoy this omnipresent holiday.

Kia ora, whānau, Zach here!

With both Suicide Prevention Day and Mental Health Awareness Week taking place this month, September is a time to be particularly mindful of the importance of good mental health – and of seeking support when things aren’t so good.

I reckon that it’s also a great opportunity to learn more about the wide variety of mental health struggles out there, which is what I’d like to talk about today. In particular, I’d like to discuss a woefully misunderstood condition which is both dear to my heart, and also something I deeply despise. I’m talking about OCD.

If you’re going to take away anything from this blog, let it be this: please don’t use the term ‘OCD’ in jest. That is, if you don’t have OCD, don’t describe yourself as being ‘so OCD’, having ‘OCD tendencies’, or otherwise misappropriate the term. I think I have good reason to request this; read on, and I will explain why in detail.

Obsessive compulsive disorder is a condition I’ve had the misfortune of living with since I was about six years old – young enough, at least, that I struggle to pinpoint the onset of my symptoms. Despite its profoundly damaging impact on my life, I did not know that I had OCD until age 18; and I did not seek help for it until age 21.

So why such a delay in diagnosis and support? The simple answer is that I was terribly misinformed on what OCD actually was. Because the world around me was, and remains, also terribly misinformed.

Think about it: what do you associate with OCD? Chances are that the images which flash into your mind include hand-washing and germophobia; cleanliness; perfectionism; and frustration when things are out of place. Describing oneself as ‘so OCD’, having ‘OCD tendencies’, or blaming ‘my OCD’ for wanting things to be neat and tidy, or having completionist desires is commonplace in the cultural lexicon.

All of the above can indeed be aspects of OCD. But they are only fragments of the full picture.

My roughly eight-year-old self thought the prospect of OCD was hilarious. I imagined a deeply neurotic and distressed individual, insisting that everything remain in order lest they snap. Part of me was rather keen to meet someone with OCD to experience the spectacle for myself. Little did I know that the acute mental distress I’d been subjected to, and the strange, lengthy rituals I had felt compelled to repeat for at least two years at this point was, in fact, OCD; karma was working overtime.

The problem with understanding OCD is that it can take multitudinous forms. The basis of the disorder is: experiencing repeated thoughts which cause distress (obsessions), and feeling compelled to engage in repetitive rituals (mental or physical compulsions) until the distress is alleviated. Since the human brain is so very complicated, this can take all sorts of odd forms – compulsions can be frankly ridiculous, and what they’re trying to prevent can be just as absurd. The factors which group all types of OCD together is the aforementioned obsessive-compulsive cycle, and the fact that, regardless of how absurd it may seem, it is always debilitating and distressing – hideous beyond words.

I don’t love the above definition, however. Accurate as it is, I find it to be abstract and hard to understand if you haven’t experienced it. So here are some clarifications that I’ve found more helpful:

• OCD is an intolerance of uncertainty. Nothing in life is guaranteed, and if there’s even a tiny chance that something bad will happen, it’s possible to develop an obsessive-compulsive behaviour towards it.
  • Here are a few examples from my own experience: there is a chance that I, or someone I love, will die at any moment; to protect against this, I must avoid thinking certain ‘dangerous’ thoughts. Similarly, given that results take such a long time to show up, there is little certainty over whether I’m exercising ‘enough’ or eating in a sufficiently healthy manner – thus, my diet must be strictly regimented, and my exercise routine extensive; at the same time, I must seek reassurance from those around me that I am doing ‘enough’ to stay fit. I cannot be certain that I put my phone and keys in my bag before I left the house, so I need to check repeatedly that they’re there.
• OCD often occurs in people who have a heightened sense of responsibility; they feel that it is their duty to prevent harm.
• People with OCD often experience repeated, distressing thoughts (which also may be outright disturbing or otherwise in opposition to their moral code), which they feel unable to control. Indeed, another risk-factor for OCD is a tendency to overestimate the importance of thoughts – e.g., believing that thinking about something means it’s going to happen, or that thoughts must always reflect your values.
• People with OCD are also very prone to ruminative thinking: spending an excessive amount of time digging into a certain thought or action. For example, because a chunk of my OCD behaviours are related to death, I will regularly spend a long time speculating about how and when I’ll die, all of the painful ways in which it might happen, what will come after, what it might be like to be dead, what it’ll be like when my loved-ones die, and so on. This speculation is driven not by curiosity, but immense anxiety and fear.
• People with OCD engage in rigid, repetitive rituals. These can be physical (checking repeatedly, handwashing, doing something a certain way until it feels ‘right’, having strict rules for a process to which they must adhere), or mental (repeating words or phrases, replaying past conversations or actions to ensure that no harm was caused, counting, monitoring oneself closely for physical or mental reactions to a distressing stimulus). These rituals can take a long time, potentially eating into other areas of life. Because these rituals are in place to prevent something bad from happening, a person with untreated OCD will feel as if they have no control over the performance of these rituals – even if they’re interfering with other parts of their life, or they find them otherwise distressing.
• Perhaps most importantly, OCD is ego-dystonic: the way it causes people to act is at odds with the way they want to act. It’s possible for a person to be organised, tidy, neat, and a perfectionist, without them having OCD. What marks OCD apart is the distress incurred by the unpleasant thoughts which create a need to engage in rituals; potentially these rituals themselves; and the inability to stop the OCD behaviour, even if the person wants to.

What’s surprising about OCD is that, despite the distress it causes, someone with OCD may be completely unaware of its negative impact on their life. I realised that I had OCD after reading about others’ experiences online; this was then verified for me when I reached out for support after I started having horrendous intrusive thoughts which would take up hours of my day. Once this latter issue was solved, however, I disengaged with professional support and felt content in my position. I described my OCD as ‘mild’, and even ‘positive’; I liked that it made me organised and disciplined. It meant that I exercised a lot, ate very healthily, got excellent grades, and stuck to a productive routine.

It wasn’t until I started seeing a therapist late last year that my perception changed. Over time, she helped me to understand that my OCD was far from mild – it had seized full control of my life. I had multiple untreated injuries and was perpetually exhausted from the exercise; my sugar and cholesterol levels were too low, and I was struggling with low energy availability (a condition resulting from exercising excessively without eating enough to replenish bodily needs, which can lead to severe health issues if not combatted); I sunk endless hours into my studies, unable to stop checking and rewriting assignments; I was neglecting interpersonal relationships; and I was engaging in many, many behaviours and rituals which I didn’t even recognise as being problematic or related to OCD.

There were multiple reasons why I was unaware of how damaging my OCD was for so long. The first is that it’s an incredibly sneaky disorder. What it wants most is to have full control over every moment of your life – and it will achieve this by any means possible. As a child, I felt that I couldn’t share any of the obsessive thoughts which drove me to engage in the compulsions I had at the time, because OCD had me convinced that telling others would make these thoughts more likely to come true. When I started having extremely disturbing obsessive thoughts at age 19, OCD tried to convince me that I couldn’t share them, because people would assume that these thoughts reflected my values and be disgusted by me. When those thoughts were treated, OCD convinced me that my condition was mild and easily self-managed. Even now I’m working on wresting back control, it fights back at every stage, constantly trying to convince me that I’m headed for my doom.

The second is that there is not only a poor understanding of OCD amongst the public – there is also poor understanding in the surface-level medical world. By ‘surface-level’, I mean that, while there are professionals with an excellent, in-depth understanding of OCD, medical definitions and descriptions tend to be simplistic and surface-level. I read through symptom list after symptom list on webpage after webpage; none acknowledged the ways in which my OCD manifested – at least, not in a way I could understand. The average symptom list mentions the obsession and compulsion cycle I described above, and mentions symptoms such as excessive concern with hygiene, disturbing taboo thoughts, and needing things to be arranged in a certain way – none of which was a major problem for me at the time. Sure, I’d had such behaviours in the past, but now my experience was benign.

Since I didn’t see myself in the descriptions of OCD, I figured I was doing rather well. It was only when my therapist showed me a more holistic way of identifying OCD behaviours (i.e., ‘am I doing this because I want to, or because I’m trying to alleviate anxiety/distress?’, and ‘how would I feel if I couldn’t do this?’), that I began to be able to recognise the many ways in which my mental illness controlled me. There are still times when I’ll suddenly realise that a behaviour of mine – past or present – can, or probably can be attributed to OCD.

The third and final reason is that my most conspicuous compulsions are not just socially acceptable, but admirable. A person who is observed washing their hands repeatedly, for example, causes concern amongst others: this is clearly damaging behaviour. But exercising excessively, eating a very restrictive diet, and getting fantastic grades (or otherwise being overly perfectionist when completing work) are highly-praised behaviours. I have never come across a medical problem to which exercise and/or a healthy diet weren’t suggested as an important solution (seriously: even a webpage I read about concussions suggested exercise as a way to increase balance and thus avoid concussive injuries in future). Moreover, I received an endless flux of compliments: on my body, my dedication, my ability to lift immensely heavy weights, my healthy diet, my academic ability. These not only reinforced my conviction in the idea that I was engaging in highly positive behaviours, they also made me wonder: ‘what would people think of me if I were to stop? How would I shrink in their esteem?’

This final reason is part of a wider conversation on the problematic way in which we perceive health, fitness, and weight-loss, but I digress.

When I think back to my experiences as a child: so often feeling overwhelmingly scared and alone,  put through compulsion after torturous compulsion, I often get angry. I wish there had been a better understanding of OCD. I wish someone had noticed, and I could have received help at an early stage, before this mental disorder took over my life and I forgot how to live without it. I wish someone had told me what OCD actually involved, and even asked whether I had experienced any such symptoms. I wish that someone corrected me when I misused the term.

That said, there is no blame to place for how things turned out. No one could have been expected to guess at what I was experiencing, because I was excellent at hiding it. I am, in a way, lucky to be receiving treatment now, while I’m still young.

The past cannot be changed, but the future can. Mental health has penetrated the realm of social acceptability and understanding, and it’s about time that problems other than anxiety and depression were discussed (although those, too, deserve their place). I write this piece not to lecture anyone, but in the hope that it may spread a bit of understanding on what OCD’s really like.

And so, I return to my initial request: please don’t use the term ‘OCD’ in jest. There are plenty of alternatives, depending on the context: perfectionist, completionist, organised, neat, having aesthetic preferences.

I ask this, because inappropriate use of the term:

• makes light of something which ruins lives and causes extreme distress
• makes it harder for people with OCD to talk about their experiences (how do you make it clear that you’re talking about actual OCD? Are people going to take you seriously, or think you’re making a joke?)
• contributes to a general misunderstanding of what OCD is, which can, in turn, hinder people from recognising actual OCD. It’s disturbingly common for people with OCD to go years, or even decades without seeking help.
• is actually inaccurate! Many people who have OCD are also disorganised, messy, and couldn’t care less about things looking aesthetically pleasing. Conversely, many people who do have these traits don’t have OCD.

If you’re willing to make this change (assuming you used OCD like this in the first place), thank you.

I also ask that you consider calling others out on their usage of the term – making sure (if you don’t know) that they don’t actually have OCD first and were genuinely referring to their condition!

The darker nights, strong winds, and relentless rain tell us all of an approaching inevitability – summer is well and truly past, and the colder months are upon us.

If you’re one of those people who relish this time of year – perhaps you enjoy the cosiness of snuggling under a blanket with a hot drink on a cold day; the absence of flies, mosquitoes, and sticky heat; the beauty of the dark nights; or the chance to bust out your winterwear – more power to you.

Personally, I am firmly in the summer-loving, winter-dreading camp. I originally hail from England, where the blow of biting cold and bleak grey winters was softened by a few factors: it coincided with the holiday season, and could thus be subsumed into an essential part of festive celebrations; there was the occasional snow day; and all British houses possess this godsend of an invention called central heating – much more effective than anything we have here.

While I love a summer-based Christmas as much as the next person, a New Zealand winter has a comparative lack of upsides. It’s cold enough to be miserable, but not so cold that we enjoy the novelty of snow (here in New Plymouth at least), or (apparently) to justify investment in warmer housing infrastructure. The fact remains, however, that this cold period makes up at least three months of our year, through which we still have to live our lives. Additional to this absence of benefits is the fact that winter can be a particularly lonely time, where we have less energy and feel less cheerful – and it can come with a serious financial burden.

So – what to do?

Back in January, I was at the beach with a friend of mine, who told me of her goal to go swimming at least once a week, every week this year. She acknowledged that this would be particularly challenging in winter, but felt it would be of mental benefit overall, revealing that this was part of her grand plan to enjoy the colder months. “I’m making a list of things to do when winter sucks,” she laughed, finding herself already dreading the colder part of the year. This plan of hers really stuck with me. Often, I find myself spending the winter months waiting for summer to swoop in and save me from misery – admittedly not an especially worthwhile way to use my time.

And thus, taking inspiration from my friend’s preparedness – if you can’t bring yourself to look forward to the looming cold, then I think the best way to approach winter is by being ready to face up to it. Like how squirrels gather and store acorns, we can gather and store coping strategies, ready for when those lower temperatures hit. Here are a few of my ideas – I encourage you to use these as a starter, and seek out more of your own, until you have a robust, easy-to-consult, list of ways to calm the winter blues.

Some of the stuff below may seem painfully obvious, but they have this funny tendency (for me at least) to fade from the brain at the very moment you need them – so having a reminder to consult can be a huge help!

Zach’s list of things to do when winter sucks:
Indulge in warmth. Let’s start with a fairly obvious one – there’s nothing better than being able to warm up when it’s cold outside. Consider what ‘indulging in warmth’ might look like for you – whether it’s piling on the blankets, laying down the draught-stoppers, layering up to the max, cuddling a hot water bottle, snuggling into bed, turning on a heater, or all of the above. The best part is that this can feel like treating yourself, when you’re really just giving your body the warmth it needs!
Come along to the Koha Cafe. Perhaps a shameless plug, but we are an undeniably fantastic winter destination. We serve hot soup, hot drinks, and hot desserts (think churros and apple turnovers), and boast a truly cheery, upbeat environment that will also warm your heart. We’re open until 8:30pm on Tues-Fri, all winter long. Pay what you feel for a hearty, warming meal, or just come along and enjoy the vibes.
Get your heart rate up. I am sceptical of the way in which exercise is often touted as a panacea for every possible problem, but in this case, it does have one particularly fantastic benefit: it warms you up like nothing else. It might even make you feel good afterwards. I’m not recommending anything fancy – simply doing a few starjumps or calf raises on the spot; engaging in some gentle stretching or a youtube yoga tutorial; going for a walk; or even just doing something that requires you to be on your feet all lead to a warmer body – and thus, in my opinion, less suffering.
Make realistic social plans. What can you commit to? Maybe it’s a catch-up with friends over coffee, or soaking in community vibes at a local event. Maybe you always find yourself cancelling plans at the last minute because leaving the house when it’s cold sucks – in which case, maybe it’s organising a phone or video call with friends or family, or a virtual game night using skribbl or boardgamearena. Maybe it’s hosting a low-key movie night. Whatever it is, good social time is key for our wellbeing, especially during winter when it’s tempting just to hibernate – so know your limits and go for something you can realistically manage!
Try to think like a winter-lover. At the beginning of this blog, I mentioned a few reasons why people might enjoy the colder months. Even though you may not actively anticipate this time of year, it’s certainly worthwhile to reflect upon what you do like about it – what you will miss when it’s gone. For me – a fly-free kitchen is a joy, we’re approaching mandarin season, and Mount Taranaki looks his most beautiful when dusted with snow. No matter how small the upsides may be, they’re there – and they deserve acknowledging.
Enjoy the opportunities that winter offers. Similar to the above suggestion, but more practical. As I’ve already touched upon above, it’s the perfect time of year to enjoy a hot drink, but it’s also prime time to cook up a hearty stew or hot soup – pottering around in the kitchen will warm you up, too. It’s also an opportunity to slow down, however that may look for you. Acknowledging that with the colder months can come greater struggle, think about what you might be able to relieve yourself from (this is not an excuse to drop any and all social plans, though!) Now is also the time to max out on indoor activities – reading, doing puzzles, artistic pursuits, movie marathons – stuff that’s much harder to ‘justify’ doing when it’s blazing hot outside. Maybe you could make plans with friends or whānau which major on one of these indoor activities and kill two birds with one stone!
Know when to ask for help. Some winter blues are to be expected – no one feels positive 24/7. It can be useful to have a few ideas on hand when we’re feeling down about the season, but if you find that it’s all getting too much to handle, don’t hesitate to reach out. It’s best if you can get the support you need (and deserve) sooner, rather than later. Reach out here to start the conversation.

Koda the Samoyed

Retreat Hosts Hayley and Mac have recently welcomed a number of new pets into their home. Additions to the whānau are Molly the kitten, Scribbles the fish, and a handful of aracuna chickens. They join Koda and the lambs as essential Retreat joy-bringers.

As someone who lived on the Retreat Site back in the day, I feel that it is worthwhile reflecting on the importance of pets within this support environment. It is designed to be a place of tranquility, situated out in nature, its rural location a material manifestation of the idea of ‘getting away from it all’. Guests are encouraged to take a step back from social media and other such digital pursuits – alongside all of the fast-paced, stress-inducing, productivity-driven mentality that comes with it – and to absorb the natural beauty of the Retreat (as well as taking part in an amazing array of workshops, making progress with their support worker, and enjoying a communal evening kai).

One of the resident lambs

An essential aspect of this natural beauty is the resident animals at the Retreat. They bring a unique, invaluable dimension to this time out space. Perhaps you’ve heard of cases of dogs being brought into hospitals or universities to relieve anxieties; the concept of equine therapy; or even the existence of ’emotional support pets’. There’s a reason that these exist! Animals provide a kind of comfort that humans simply cannot manage. There’s that aspect of non-judgement; the humbling joy they seem to feel at the simplest things; and the perfect example they set of ‘slowing down’. We used to have ducks at the Retreat, and they would spend the entirety of their day waddling between cycles of foraging, paddling and grooming, perfectly content (I think we all would be, with that life!).

Animals can also be so reflective of us humans. When we had goats at the Retreat, the grass immediately outside of their enclosure would always be neatly trimmed down to the root, as they would frequently attempt to reach the patches of grass just out of reach – neglecting the wealth of luscious green that surrounded them. Similarly, after a day spent tethered outside of their enclosure, eating as they pleased, the goats would always strain desperately for a few final bites of grass when returned home. One of our dogs at the Retreat, Tui, had an odd partiality for apple cores; the other one, Miti, felt no such affection for them, but would do his best to stomach them if it meant that Tui missed out. They provide an opportunity for hilarity and reflection upon our own occasionally absurd thought processes.

But I digress. The therapeutic power of animals is not something to be underestimated. So often, during my time at the Retreat, you would see it firsthand through our resident cats – Bella and Odin. They continue to live at the Retreat, and seem to have a knack for turning up when a bit of support is what’s needed. Countless Guests have expressed how Bella showed up for a cuddle, or slept on their bed when they were feeling particularly alone, scared, or upset. Even Odin, despite his gruff act, selects the occasional Guest that needs him. They seem to ‘get’ their role – and we know that the Retreat would not be the same without such beautiful, simple facets of support.

Odin can get very cuddly, when he feels like it!

Scribbles the fish

The new aracuna chickens