I te timatanga, in the heart of Ngāmotu, New Plymouth, where the Ngāmotu hapū of Te Āti Awa iwi had long flourished, there flowed a sacred awa named Huatoki. Its waters had run through the whenua for countless generations, carrying away sorrows and bringing renewal to all who stood upon its banks. The old ones knew its power – how it cleansed the wairua, how it whispered of new beginnings to those who would listen.

Within these fertile shores stood the ancient tuahu – Paeare and Paetawa – sacred stones where tohunga would place offerings to the atua of the natural world. With reverence and gratitude, they would honour especially those portfolio holders who summoned the inanga and the pīharau, ensuring these precious taonga would journey upstream so the people would be nourished. Just as the tohunga once called forth abundance to feed the physical bodies of their people, so too would Waimanako later answer a different call – to nourish the wairua, to feed hope into hungry hearts, to summon forth the will to continue living when the current felt too strong to swim against.

Nearby stood Puke Ariki, the ancient pā tūwātāwātā where the mana of the people had been woven into the very land, where stories lived in the earth itself.

High above this flowing taonga, in a place called the Metro Plaza, a dream began to take shape. It was a dream born of aroha, woven from compassion, and built upon a foundation of hope – tumanako – that deep longing for something better, something healing.

Te Whakaputanga o Waimanako- The Birth of Waimanako

The people who dreamed this dream called it Waimanako – the Waters of Hope. Just as the Huatoki stream had many manga, many tributaries flowing into it, so too would this special place have many spaces, each one a branch offering its own gift to those who entered.

There was Manga Huakai, the tributary of abundant food, where kai was shared freely, and no one counted koha or questioned worth. There was Manga Taupaepae, where every visitor received abundant welcome, where tired feet found rest and heavy hearts found listening ears. In Manga Huatau and Manga Huaora, peace and wellbeing flowed like gentle streams, offering safe harbour to whānau navigating stormy seas.

And in Manga Hapahāpai, the tributary of abundant uplifting, people discovered they could rise again, no matter how many times life had knocked them down.

For four years, Waimanako stood above the Huatoki, watching over the awa that flowed beneath its floors. People would come – some broken, some seeking, some simply needing to know they weren’t alone in this world. They came for the workshops, the creative spaces, the warm cups of kawhe, and the priceless gift of being truly seen and heard.

The kaupapa was simple yet profound: no one should walk alone through their darkest nights. When the weight of living felt unbearable, there would be this place – a sanctuary where hope could be kindled again, where the thread of life could be gently, carefully strengthened.

Te Wā o te Panonitanga Nui- The Time of Great Change

But as all things must, the time came for transformation. The city had plans to free the Huatoki from its concrete confines, to let it breathe and flow openly once more. The Metro Plaza, that temporary home that had sheltered so much healing, would need to relocate.

At first, this news brought uncertainty. How could something so precious be moved? How could you transplant a garden of hope without losing the mana that had grown there?

Yet the people of Waimanako understood something essential – that hope is not confined to buildings or bound by walls. Hope flows like water, adapting to new vessels while maintaining its essential nature.

Te Hekenga- The Journey to New Shores

And so began the great migration. Like their tūpuna before them, the Waimanako whānau prepared to journey to new shores. They chose carefully, seeking a place that embodied the same spirit of connection and community.

They found it at the Tasman Club – a place that sat near the magnificent coastal walkway, where pōhutukawa trees stood sentinel and the moana whispered its ancient songs. Here was natural light and easy parking. Here were beautiful outlooks to enhance the wairua. Here was space away from the busy-ness of the CBD, a place where people of all ages and walks of life could gather, connect, and truly see one another.

The journey required patience and planning, like the careful braiding of harakeke, each strand finding its place in the greater weave. Services would be reimagined, transformed like water taking new shape while keeping its essence pure.

The kai would now flow from Waimanaaki – a food truck that could journey further into the community, carrying sustenance like a waka laden with provisions, reaching those who could not make the voyage to shore. No longer bound to one place, nourishment could find its way to hungry hearts wherever they gathered.

The Support hub would bloom anew at the Tasman Club, a garden of connection replanted in richer soil. Here, among the light and the coastal breeze, people would find good company, excellent kawhe, and panini, and that invaluable Listening Ear – the kind that hears not just words, but the silences between them.

And nearby, like a sister spring rising from the same source, Waihāpai would emerge on Nobbs Line in the Strandon Professional Centre. Sharing the same ancient landmarks, standing within the embrace of the same ancestral mana, this wahi manaaki would dedicate itself to the healing arts – support workshops that rebuild fractured foundations, holistic therapies that restore balance to tinana and wairua, and creative spaces where paint and clay and thread become the language of souls learning to sing again.

Three expressions of one kaupapa, like rivers born from the same sacred spring. Waimanaaki carries kai upon its current, feeding the tinana and warming the spirit. The Support Café flows beside it, a gentle stream of kōrero and connection. Waihāpai moves like clear water over stone, nourishing the wairua through creativity and reflection. Each awa listens, each holds space for healing — together their waters braid into one purpose, a reminder that no one journeys alone. 

Ngā Tīmatanga Hou- The Blessing of New Beginnings

When the day came for the new space to be formally blessed, it felt like the completion of a great circle. Though the location had changed, the essence remained pure and strong. The Pūtātara and karanga that echoed within the Taiao, the karakia spoken over the Tasman Club carried the same intention that had blessed the Metro Plaza – to create a safe space where lives could be restored, where hope could flourish, where no one need feel abandoned in their struggle. Ka ora ai Te Whare Waimanako – and so the House of Waimanako lives.

Near this new home stood Pūrākau, Puke Wārangi and Waimanu – ancient pā sites where many Ngāmotu hapū once thrived: Ngāti Te Whiti, Ngāti Tuparekinō and Ngāti Tawhirikura, whose stories and taonga were carefully guarded in living memory. The mauri of hope had travelled from the Huatoki to Te Henui, finding its rightful place near Autere, the fishing papakāinga, and Te Arakaitai, the tauranga waka where whānau would port their waka temporarily to rest and partake of the abundance this place had always offered.

The connection felt right, ancestral even – a support hub for modern struggles now sitting beside places where generations had once stopped to restore themselves, to gather strength from kai and community, to rest before continuing their journey. Just as their tūpuna had found refuge and renewal here, so too would those who came to Waimanako.

Te Mauri o Te Kaupapa- The Living Kaupapa

Today, Waimanako continues its sacred work. The kaupapa remains unchanged: to offer hope, to wrap aroha around those who need it most, and to practice compassion without judgment or condition.

In workshops and support groups, in quiet conversations over coffee, in creative spaces where hands work and hearts heal, the tributaries of Waimanako continue to flow. People learn they are not defined by their darkest moments. They discover that asking for help is an act of courage, not weakness. They find community in a world that can feel desperately lonely.

The Huatoki still flows through the city, just as it always has, carrying away what needs to be released and bringing renewal to all who seek it. And though Waimanako no longer stands directly above its waters, its mauri has journeyed onwards, following the ancient pathways of connection from one awa to another.

Like a waka guided by the breath of the winds, Waimanako journeyed until it found its resting place beside Te Hēnui, the river of many stories. There, where the awa kisses the moana, and the voice of Tangaroa rises through the salt air, its spirit settled. The pōhutukawa stand as kaitiaki, their roots holding memory, their blossoms calling abundance. From the soft murmur of Huatoki to the steady heartbeat of Te Hēnui, the waters speak the same truth — that life returns, that hope travels with the tide, and that healing changes its shape, but never its purpose. 

Through every interaction, every workshop, every kapu tī shared, every life gently guided back from the edge, the waters of hope continue their eternal flow.

Ka Haere te Oati, Ka Piri Ngā Hoe- The Promise Continues

This is the pūrākau of Waimanako – not just a story of a place, but a story of hope that refuses to be contained. It’s a tale of people helping people, of communities wrapping around those in crisis, of the profound truth that we are stronger together than we could ever be alone.

From the Metro Plaza overlooking the Huatoki awa to the Tasman Club near the coastal walkway, from Manga Huakai to Waimanaaki, and Manga hapahāpai to Waihāpai , the journey continues. The locations may change, but the promise remains constant………..

There is always hope. There is always aroha. There is always another tomorrow worth staying for.

And in this place called Waimanako – these Waters of Hope – that promise is kept, one person, one conversation, one moment of connection at a time.

I ngā wai mārie o Huatoki ka tīmata te haerenga o Waimanako, te wairua e kawe ana i te mauri ora.
Ka rere ia ki Te Hēnui, ki ngā tai e whakakotahi ana i te awa me te moana, ka tau te kaha whakaora i te tangata, ka kitea te tūmanako i ia ngaru e huri ana.

Ko Tokomaru te waka e aratakina ana ngā whakaaro me ngā mahi, ā, ko Pūrākau, Waimanu, me Puke Wārangi ngā pā tūwātāwātā e pupuri ana i ngā kōrero a ngā tūpuna.
Ngāti Tawhirikura, Ngāti Tuparekinō, Ngāti Te Whiti ngā hapū e kaitiaki ana i te mauri o ngā wai, o te whenua, o ngā whakaaro, ā, ko Te Āti Awa te iwi e ū ana ki te wairua me te hononga ki ngā wāhi katoa.

E toru ngā kaupapa e rere ana i roto i te wairua kotahi:
Waimanaaki, e kawe ana i te kai hei whakakī i te tinana;
Ko te Waimanako, hei whāngai i te hononga me ngā kōrero;
Ko Waihāpai, hei puna mā te wairua, e tuku whakaaro auaha, e whakarongo hoki ki ngā whakaaro o te tangata.

Ka rere tahi ēnei katoa pērā i ngā awa e honohono ana, he korowai whakaora mō te tinana, mō te wairua, mō te hononga.
Ko Waimanako, he whare manaaki, he pūtake tūmanako, he wāhi e kore ai te tangata e haere takitahi.

From the gentle waters of Huatoki begins the journey of Waimanako, a spirit carrying the life-giving mauri.
It flows to Te Hēnui, where the river meets the sea, bringing healing to the people, and hope is found in every turning wave.

Tokomaru is the waka guiding thoughts and deeds, and Pūrākau, Waimanu, and Puke Wārangi are the fortified pā holding the stories of ancestors.
Ngāti Tawhirikura, Ngāti Tuparekinō, and Ngāti Te Whiti are the hapū guardians of the life force of the waters, the land, and the knowledge, and Te Āti Awa is the iwi steadfast in spirit and connection to all places.

Three kaupapa flow within this one spirit:
Waimanaaki carries kai to nourish the body;
Waimanako: The Support Hub feeds connection and conversation;
Waihāpai is a spring for the spirit, offering creativity and listening to the thoughts of people.

Together they flow like rivers braided into one, a cloak of healing for mind, body, spirit, and connection.
Waimanako is a house of aroha, a source of hope, a place where no one walks alone.

Te Waka: A Story About the Artwork
Te Wakatoa Hema, Age 12 Years Old (Tangata Aniwaniawa) She/Her

Titled:  Te Pūrākau o Waimanako

This artwork was made by Te Wakatoa Hema and shows a waka (canoe) with four hoe (paddles), each representing an important kaupapa (purpose). The journey starts at Taranaki Retreat, a safe place for anyone who feels lost, where people can breathe, rest, and feel supported. From there, each paddle guides the waka and carries its own special role. Waimanako, the Support hub, nourishes the body through kai (food) and care, while also fostering connection and community. Waihāpai nurtures the wairua (spirit) and creativity by providing space for reflection, expression, and conversation. Waimanaaki, the mobile truck, offers kai and practical support to those in need. Together, the four paddles feed the body, the spirit, and the connections that hold us all together.

At the center of the waka sits the mounga (mountain), inspired by the Taranaki Retreat logo, watching over the journey and all the generations who come and go. The designs etched within the mounga are the stories of ones whakapapa, to whenua, to one another. The ocean around the waka reflects the same colour palette as the Taranaki Retreat and Waimanako logos, showing the journey to new waters and safe landing places. Each paddle is coloured like a huia feather, honouring those who are precious taonga (treasures), no longer with us but never forgotten. Their memories are etched into the waka itself, carried forward with every stroke, their mana (prestige, life force) living on through us. The hau o Tāwhirimātea (winds of Tāwhirimātea) reminds us that life can sometimes push us off course, yet with aroha (love, compassion), kotahitanga (unity), and connection, we can navigate together toward our true destination.

At the front of the waka, a manaia (guardian figure) watches over the journey, acting as a kaitiaki (protector) and celestial guide. The kōwhaiwhai (patterned designs) around the mounga tell the stories of people from across the mountain and the motu (land), each with its own mauri (life force), each carrying its own whakapapa (genealogy).

This waka welcomes everyone, no matter who you are — tangata Tiriti (people of the Treaty), tangata tau iwi (settled people), tangata whenua (people of the land), tangata aniwaniwa (rainbow people), tangata whaikaha (people with disabilities), tangata whaiora (people seeking wellness), and everyone in between. Ki te hoe tahi, ka eke te waka ki ngā wai hou (If we paddle together, the waka reaches new waters).

What a month at Waimanako – as we’ve begun our transition out from these much-loved premises! 

The massive downpours have highlighted a few things for us:–

– The growing extent of impact on communities in our motu, and worldwide – of the rapidly changing climate. For all those immediately and devastatingly affected – our heartfelt aroha to YOU.

Zooming in to our Waimanako Support Hub, here, in Taranaki – which is scheduled for demolition later this year… Operating Waimanako from the Metro Plaza is fantastic in many, many ways – but also presents a few curly challenges which we shall not miss when we relocate the cafe to new premises….! The complexity of our mahi is already plentiful in its nature – adding in the challenges of the environment, at times, make it next-level enough to make your head spin.

However, having said that – there is something incredibly real and priceless about the situation of working from a space which is neither flashy, fancy nor immune from what it is to be ‘doing it tough’. We don’t have smart matching furniture nor the trappings of wealth – it is all the more real for its imperfect beauty. To be housed in an environment which is sometimes bitingly cold, damp, prone to leaks and altercations – and.. basically… falling apart gives some genuine relatable credible. What I mean by that is – comments like, “Well, you guys ‘get it’” (while we’re tackling water pouring in through doorways and ceilings, invasions from rodents – and neighbours who aren’t always too happy about you being there) – actually enable us to help through validation.

And that, in turn, helps us in advocating FOR and ALONGSIDE our community where there is no comfortable space to live in – it checks out because it comes from a place of living with adversity. I adore the Waimanako corridor for all its wonderful randomness and real-ness – very much echoed in us – its diverse and unique team!

Another relatable factor is this: Our organisation is tackling its unhousing from the Metro Plaza. Our home is being demolished because of powers beyond our control.

This is absolutely not any kind of gripe about New Plymouth District Council – it was their compassion and ingenuity which provided the space for Waimanako in the first place; and their support of our kaupapa is humbling and wonderful. Regardless of the reasons: To lose your home ground because there is money and influence way beyond your own scope – and to be absolutely powerless to do anything about it, is, again, relatable to personal circumstances for so many who have been in the situation of “you’re out” and there’s absolutely nothing that you can do about it. In this regard, we are blessed to be embraced and loved by so, so many who would seek to support us with options and possibilities – and, of course, very few in such circumstances have that experience.

I see compassion echoed in every single interaction at Waimanako – whether it’s bringing nourishment and love through a delicious home-cooked meal, or ‘seeing’ someone and valuing their presence. Friday night, this week, it was such an incredible privilege to rest in the wholesome vibe of Waimanako with those who sought refuge there for a part of their evening. I would have loved to have bottled the atmosphere; it was priceless.

What is offered in the Koha Cafe is taonga on so many levels and simply HAS to continue to be available in our city, somehow, someway, someplace with Waimanako 2 and Waimanako on Wheels.

Don’t worry.

I acknowledge that there is also much grief. The latter part of last week involved packing up all the love that has been poured into the Confidence Centre, and all that it stands for, as part of our relocation process. A piece of my heart was broken by that happening, and I will use that sadness to share leadership in us creating some kind of similar space, based on what we have learned and experienced through Manga Hapahāpai. None of it will be wasted – be sure of that; but there is a deep sadness in the loss of this turangawaewae which it would be wrong to deny or pretend isn’t there.

We should not pretend to be all happy and ‘everything is awesome’ – but take time to talk about our sadness – whilst expressing an unwavering message of hope.…and our key kaupapa rests on that, as an organisation: Make sense and hope out of suffering by nurturing the roses that blossom in the manure of loss. That is the DNA of the Retreat Site and Waimanako; and the services that they offer (the people AND the place).

Woven into them are countless people’s own experience of loss, reworked into a presence that embodies empathy and pathways to hope and change.

YOU – as our supporters and wide whānau – are that people of change and hope, and – oh my goodness – we appreciate you, and thank you that we are in this waka together.

Arohanui, Jamie

Manga Hapahaapai / The Confidence Centre: Packed away, but WILL BE BACK!

In the thick smog of the roads in Southern India, a familiar silhouette is that of a beggar gambling with the kindness of those journeying on that road. Some choose to give, others choose to ignore, while others choose to look, do nothing, and blame the government. And then there are others whose main concern is how the existence of these beggars affects the aesthetics of the road – so they say confidently while littering.

Actually, there is yet another category: one of my teachers let me know with absolute conviction that I should not give money to “those people” because they are actually very wealthy because of how much society enables them – apparently, one day she came across a beggar making a significant deposit of bundles of cash at the bank.

So, the idea is that being a beggar is so profitable that people continue to do it as a lucrative profession.

Sounds a bit familiar doesn’t it? A bit like how the existence of Waimanako “creates” homelessness because we provide food.

So, the idea here is that being homeless is so sustainable that people choose to live on the streets. The idea is further elaborated to also include a discourse on addiction, and violence, and how it all fits in with those suffering from homelessness.

If hearing this causes you anger at the injustice contained in those words, I will not make any requests for you to inhibit it. These words are not just.

Having said that, we must be cautious to not add further hate, division, and discord into the discourses at play by directing it towards those who have those harmful opinions. One path to this is to seek to understand those who refuse to be open to understanding those they judge and condemn.

But why must the burden to understand lie on us rather than on those people who wish to be so repulsive to us through their words? It is THEY who are being unjust after all. Why must WE do the heavy-lifting? THEY are wrong. Those are very good points. However, the issue I wish to address is not for us to prove ourselves right or to exert something over the hatred – I am not suggesting we “one-up” them. I am not saying “make them look stupid”. I am saying that I value the compassion YOU possess. I treasure it and I love it too much to see it being chipped away or being expended in participating in that deluge of opinions lacking in foundation and moral.

I wish to bring to attention two little factors that I hope provide a means to think about it.

One’s Outlook on suffering:

A very important element to compassion is being able to look at another person’s suffering, and not feel so overwhelmed by it to the extent that one needs to turn that suffering into something else. You, reader, have this superpower.

Some of you reading this have faced homelessness previously: this lived experience is confirmation to you that homelessness is a state that a person may be in, and it is not the whole person. Having been homeless, you know of how one can slip into it, and how the factors in play can be deep rooted systemic issues, and trauma whose gears were set forth generations ago.

With great shame I admit that there was a time in my life when I was convinced that homelessness was exclusively the result of personal decisions. Why? If I tell myself if it is because of personal responsibility, I have power over it. I can make sure that I don’t “make myself homeless”. This unfortunately, has the highly undesirable side-effect of also looking at existing homelessness as being caused due to a person’s poor decisions.

Then why did my teacher nonsensically state that beggars were wealthy? If she tells herself that beggars do what they do by choice, and that they are actually living life well, she can sleep better at night knowing that abject poverty is a myth. To fully realise and take in the enormous suffering that comes with that kind of poverty would have been soul-crushing for those who do not know how to include the idea of destitution into their belief systems.

There are those of you who have suffered with addiction – you know that addiction isn’t a “lifestyle choice”. It’s not something that you do because it is “fun”. And yet we have many people who will say it’s simply a matter of having better self-control….

To look at suffering and to not feel completely defeated by it, one needs to be able to see hope, alternative ways of being, a way forward, or at least a way to support the person to make that suffering a bit more bearable. Human beings will do their absolute best to prevent their spirit from shattering – even if it requires looking at someone’s suffering as either a preferable lifestyle choice or a result of personal failures. This is a result of empathy without compassion – which does nothing other than fill us with the same suffering we see.

We must still remain careful to not fall into the trap of blaming someone for not being compassionate enough. One’s outlook on suffering is heavily influenced by trauma.

We have all probably met people who strongly believe that the only way to be a valuable member of society is to provide economic growth. So in other words, homeless people are undesirable members of society, while Elon Musk is the absolute pinnacle of humanity. It is easy to think of an almost endless number of traumatic incidents that lead to such an opinion soaked in self-loathing. How little love must a human have received as a child to forget their worth, and to instead tie it to their income tax deductions?

Sometimes the ability to be compassionate itself is an honour that not all of us receive, which leads us to the second factor.

The means to help:

My city had an animal welfare organisation called The Blue Cross of India. While I was there longingly looking at all the puppies, I saw three young boys, about eight years old, bring an injured stray dog (India is full of stray dogs!) there so it can get some medical assistance.

What do you think would have been the outcome if this had happened in a city without an animal welfare service? I can assure you that the dog needed to see a vet – this was not something for three little boys to fix with a plaster. They would have had to either take on the suffering and the helplessness, or ignore the dog, block those thoughts out, and move on with their day. Neither of which they wanted to do.

The animal welfare organisation provided a way for eight-year olds to save an animal’s life. How profound is that? They didn’t need to be vets, or need to fill in a million forms, or pay money (which they definitely would not have had), but they had the opportunity to save an animal, and they took that opportunity.

When I’m on the phone these days and I hear someone say they can’t afford food, I don’t have to feel shattered by their situation. I get to invite them to our cafe for some kai. When a worried mum calls us in tears worried about her son, I can say “I can see him in the next hour. Does he like hot chocolate?”. When someone reaches out to us desperate for support having tried so many other avenues, I have an incredible team ready, on standby, waiting eagerly, to do a phone call to connect, explore, and support.

I get to work with a community of literal life savers, waiting to see the bat-signal, waiting to be called to arms, to provide their time for the greater community.

You are an endless source of hope that fuels the compassion that many in this community possess, which allows people to come together as donors of money, donors of time, donors of food, artisans, tradespeople, counsellors, coaches, teachers, mentors, and so much more to all work together to save lives, without being defeated by the suffering that we are all very much aware of.

Now, I have a question for you. Imagine there were a free local service that allows people to access safe and stable housing, budgeting advice, therapeutic care, rehabilitation, pastoral care, career coaching, medical care, free training in a trade, steps towards a university degree if preferred, all this from a community of genuinely loving people.

That person who felt homelessness is a personal choice, or my teacher who thought beggars are in reality wealthy people: if the above service existed, do you think they would still stand by their opinion, or do you think they would consider asking a person living on the streets whether they’d like to be driven to that place where they would be wrapped up in a blanket of support and be offered a new life?

Kia ora, ko Jess ahau. I’m new to the Retreat Staff Team, and I’m super excited to be sharing some blogs with you! Before working at Taranaki Retreat, I had a busy career in the film industry in Te Whanganui-a-Tara. I worked a ridiculous amount, had very little time for myself and my friends, and slowly retreated into my most introverted and unbothered self. My life had become very self-centred and monotonous, and it took me a long time to prioritise my well-being. I was surprised that a few small intentional acts of self-care made such a difference to my entire week. 

Why does my Monday-Friday plod past, while my weekend flies by before I can even catch my breath? I have a steady routine every workday: wake up, go to work, get some fresh air (if the weather permits), cook dinner, shower, watch an episode of a show (or two episodes if I’m feeling cheeky), and then it’s bedtime. 

Most of us still do mahi on the weekends, whether that’s taking the kids to sports games, hosting friends for dinner, or simply tackling the enormous heap of laundry that’s been begging for a sunny day. 

How can I squeeze a little bit of ‘me’ time into my week? Time that’s solely dedicated to me and my needs. 

You may think: Jess, isn’t that selfish?

Absolutely not! How can I truly be myself if I don’t spend any time prioritising myself? If my cup is empty, how can I help others?

I saw on Instagram that you should spend one day (or at least one evening) a week doing something that makes you happy. 

I started my self-care Thursdays while I was studying. I would get home from class, make myself a cup of tea, and spend 30 minutes on TikTok. I’d lace up my sneakers, brave the weather, and pound the pavements for another 30 minutes. Then I’d run myself a bath and start watching a movie. Dinner would be leftovers, something quick to heat up but still delicious. I would ALWAYS have a little sweet treat and spend the rest of my evening reading, journaling, or chatting with a friend on the phone. 

This was my one evening a week when I allowed myself to relax. I wasn’t thinking about all the jobs I had to do, the test I had to study for, or the friend I hadn’t been in touch with for a while. It allowed me time to reflect, rejuvenate, and reset. 

I appreciate that an evening of self-care may seem a bit out of reach for lots of people. You may have kids with busy schedules, or an older relative that you’re caring for; you may work evenings, or be a solo parent. Maybe your self-care looks a little different. Self-care involves dedicating time to yourself, your needs, and your overall well-being. It may be an hour of reading before bed, walking on the waterfront watching the sunset, or just sitting and pondering life. 

Here are a few self-care ideas to try: 

Get some fresh air – You’ve all heard it before, “go for a walk, you’ll feel better”. For a long time, I thought this was propaganda! Freezing my nose off while the wind batters me from side to side sounds more like torture than self-care. But I became consistent with my walks, and only missed them if it was REALLY raining. To this day, I’ve never felt worse after a walk (albeit a bit colder). If you’re struggling to get motivated, queue a few songs on Spotify and tell yourself, “I’ll walk until I get to the end of this song”. 

Eat well – some of us LOVE to cook and we find it therapeutic, for others it’s our least favourite and most relentless chore. Eating well could look like heating yummy leftovers, cooking something elaborate, politely asking a partner or friend to cook for you, or ordering takeout. Make sure you have a balanced meal and DON’T FORGET to satisfy your sweet tooth. 

Watch/Read/Reflect – Watch a show, read a book, write about your day. Challenge your mind, or disappear into another world. Play a board game, a video game, or a game on your phone. In moderation, it’s never a waste of time! Not everything we do needs to be ‘productive’. If it brings you peace and joy, it can be self-care. 

Connect – I find that connecting with friends and whanau helps me to reset. Unless you’re completely introverted, you could talk to your long-distance best friend on the phone, flick a few photos to your Nana, or invite a friend over for dessert and a movie. You’re not the only one benefiting from this connection!

Sleep well – Easier said than done!! I used to lie in bed for hours every night, slowly losing precious hours of sleep to my intrusive thoughts. I would be exhausted throughout the day and anxious through the night. It took me some time but I learnt some tips that worked for me: sticking with my circadian rhythm (lights off at night, sitting in natural light in the morning), a hot shower or bath an hour before bed, a cup of non-caffeinated tea, and a comprehensive list of what I had to achieve the next day (knowing that I hadn’t forgotten anything allowed my mind to relax). I would then distract myself with some rain sounds, white noise, or an audiobook. 

There are so many little things that you can do for self-care, and it’s awesome if you can practice self-care every day! Every day I try to do one thing to “make the day” – something that I know fills my cup just a little. I know that I need to look after myself first and foremost. I will fill my cup, and with the overflow I can help to fill others’ cups. 

Ngā mihi nui,
Jess

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.