Becoming Her

January has been a month of presence and intention, a time to slow down and honor my own rhythm. I’ve been learning to move at my own speed, listening to my body, heart, and mind instead of rushing to meet expectations or timelines that aren’t mine. Life feels quieter, more grounded, and aligned, and I’m allowing myself to savor every step of the journey, noticing the small, sacred moments that often go unseen.

This month has also brought a new connection a gentle, heart-opening love that meets me with safety, respect, and consistency. Friendships that nourish and inspire me, lifting me higher and holding space for my authenticity. Every interaction, every laugh, every conversation feels intentional and meaningful, reminding me that quality always matters more than quantity.

Adventures have been soulful and deliberate not rushed or performative. Slow mornings, quiet walks, spontaneous trips, shared laughter, and sacred spaces. Moments that fill my spirit without needing an audience or validation. Moments that remind me that living fully isn’t about doing more, it’s about experiencing deeply.

Becoming her means choosing alignment over approval, peace over performance, and self-respect over compromise. It’s about honoring my own rhythm while opening to love, connection, and experiences that feel authentic. It’s about recognizing my worth and learning how I deserve to be treated in every aspect of life and love.

I am embracing this season of growth, gentleness, and sacred adventure. I am learning to trust the process, to honor my pace, and to allow life to unfold naturally. January has been a chapter of presence, intentionality, and transformation, a month of quietly but powerfully becoming her fully, intentionally, and without apology.

February

February was only 28 days, but it felt like a lifetime squeezed into a few short weeks.

From the outside, it probably looked full productive even. Plans were made. Places were explored. Boxes were ticked. Achievements unlocked. There were sunsets, road trips, good food, laughter. The kind of month that looks good in photos.

But behind the scenes, I’ve been battling my body.

Getting a clear diagnosis this month was both confronting and relieving. For a long time, I’ve been fighting something I couldn’t name. When you don’t understand what’s happening inside you, it messes with your head. You question yourself. You push harder. You blame yourself.

Now I have clarity. I understand what’s going on. I’m learning how to manage it. And while that doesn’t magically fix everything, it gives me something solid to stand on. I’m not fighting a ghost anymore.

Still, some days I’m strong about it. Other days I’m exhausted from having to be strong.

One of the biggest wins this month was receiving my Aerial Yoga certificates. That achievement means more than a piece of paper. It represents showing up on the days my body felt unpredictable. It represents not quitting. It represents belief even when doubt was loud.

There were also moments that reminded me I am still living, not just surviving.

I went to Auckland. I ticked off the Sky Tower (with my man bestie, because of course 😂). I explored lakes. I watched sunsets that quieted my nervous system. I celebrated my daughter’s birthday and felt that strange mix of pride and disbelief at how quickly time moves.

But February wasn’t just about physical recovery. It stirred up something deeper.

After four years, I’m finally putting together a real wellbeing and recovery plan. Not just coping. Not just pushing through flare-ups and pretending I’m fine. Actually rebuilding. Intentionally.

And with that rebuilding has come awareness.

I’ve been noticing how much I struggle when connections feel one-sided. When effort isn’t matched. When energy feels half there. I used to overextend myself in those situations. I used to pour more in, hoping it would balance out.

Now it just feels heavy.

The word “boundaries” keeps coming up. And if I’m honest, boundaries are uncomfortable. They force you to acknowledge when something isn’t aligned. They force you to accept that not everyone will show up the way you need them to.

Healing changes your tolerance.

Things I once ignored now sit loudly in my chest. My awareness is sharper. I can feel when something is off and I can’t un-feel it anymore.

February stretched me physically, emotionally, relationally.

I’m proud of myself for what I achieved.
I’m grateful for the glimmers.
But I’m also tired.

And I’m learning that I don’t have to choose between strength and softness. I can be both. I can celebrate the wins while admitting it’s been hard.

If February taught me anything, it’s this:

Recovery isn’t just about the body.
It’s about standards.
It’s about boundaries.
It’s about no longer shrinking to make misalignment comfortable.

March doesn’t need to be dramatic.
I’m not chasing more.

I just want steadiness. Healing. Alignment.

And maybe a few more sunsets along the way.

April

The Life In Between the Healing

Among all the heavy moments there was also life.

School holidays meant nanny duties.
Baking. Beach picnics. Zoo trips.
Slowing down in ways I didn’t expect.

And having my youngest daughter with me for that week?

That mattered more than I can explain.
It softened something in me that’s been hardened for a long time.

It reminded me that even in the middle of healing
there are still moments that feel like peace.

The Part People Don’t See

Because let’s not sugarcoat this.

Behind the moments that look “put together”
I’m still dealing with the aftermath of everything I’ve been through.

After four long years, I finally have support in place.
A wellbeing plan.
The right people around me.

And while those matters
it doesn’t fix everything overnight.

Healing isn’t instant.
It’s not aesthetic.
It’s not “positive vibes only.”

It’s showing up when your nervous system is overwhelmed.
When your body is exhausted.
When your mind is loud and relentless.

It’s doing the work anyway.

Facing What Broke Me

April also put me in one of the hardest positions I’ve been in

I had to sit in a room
with the person who broke me.

And I stayed.

Not because it was easy.
Not because I’m “over it.”

But because I’m learning how to exist
without running from my own history.

And still
people have opinions.

“You should be over it.”
“You’re not a victim.”

But here’s the truth people don’t like to hear:

You don’t get to decide someone else’s healing timeline
from something you didn’t experience.

I live with the effects of what I’ve been through.
Every single day.

Trauma doesn’t just disappear.
It rewires you.
It lives in your body.
It shows up when you least expect it.

What changes is this—

You learn how to carry it differently.

What April Taught Me

April didn’t break me.
But it did strip things back.

It taught me that healing is slow and still valid.
That my body isn’t the enemy even when it feels like it is.
That support doesn’t erase pain, but it gives me somewhere to land.
That triggers don’t mean I’m failing they mean I’m processing.
That I can sit in hard spaces and not fall apart.
That I’m allowed to take up space in my own recovery.

And maybe the hardest lesson

Even when it feels like I’m going backwards…
I’m still moving.

My Intentions for May

I’m not chasing a new version of myself this month.

I’m committing to the one I’m rebuilding.

I’m choosing consistency over intensity
because burnout isn’t healing.

I’m choosing to work with my body, not against it.

I’m choosing to keep showing up
to therapy, to movement, to regulation
even when I don’t feel like it.

I’m choosing boundaries that protect me,
not ones I feel the need to explain.

I’m choosing to stop shrinking
to make other people comfortable with my growth.

I’m choosing to honour my triggers,
not shame myself for them.

I’m choosing rest without guilt.

I’m choosing to trust a process
that doesn’t always feel rewarding in the moment.

And most importantly

I’m choosing myself.

Not the version that just survives.
But the version that’s learning how to live.

May

Fuck, May was heavy.

Grief. Anniversaries. My body throwing absolute tantrums. Mental health hanging on by a thread some days. Packing up my life. Juggling a million things at once.

It felt like every time I got my feet underneath me, something else came along and knocked me sideways.

I'm not going to dress it up and pretend it was some beautiful season of growth.

It was hard.

There were days where I was exhausted before I'd even started the day. Days where my nervous system was screaming at me. Days where the grief hit out of nowhere. Days where I wondered how much more I could hold.

And right now?

My life is literally in boxes.

Everything that makes me feel safe, grounded and settled is packed away somewhere. I'm living in that weird in-between space, waiting to move into my new house and trying not to lose my shit in the process.

People who haven't experienced it probably don't get it.

"It's only temporary."

Sure.

But when you've spent years learning that safety matters, that familiar matters, that routine matters, having your whole life packed into boxes can feel incredibly unsettling.

The things that keep me regulated are the little things.

My routines. My rituals. My familiar spaces. My creature comforts. The things that tell my nervous system, you're safe here.

Right now, those things feel scattered.

On top of everything else, my body hasn’t exactly been quiet either.

I’m still battling inflammation in my gut. Still dealing with thyroid issues and heading back to the doctor again. I’ve had a few FND flare-ups. My PPPD has been on high.

My body has been loud all month.

And I’m tired of it, if I’m honest.

Tired of symptoms.
Tired of flare-ups.
Tired of trying to function while everything feels off.

So yeah… I was bloody happy to see the back of May.

May can get in the bin.

I’m carrying enough already without grief, anniversaries, health challenges, packing, uncertainty, and my own body deciding to throw in extra chaos.

June isn’t about thriving.

June is about creating some kind of normality while everything feels upside down.

It’s getting back to pole classes. Making a decent dinner. Dragging myself onto the infrared mat. Seeing good people. Holding onto small rituals that help me feel like me again.

Because right now, stability isn’t a big dramatic thing.

It’s tiny.

It’s repetitive.

It’s survival disguised as routine.

And I’m leaning into that.

Because eventually the boxes will be unpacked. Eventually there’ll be a new front door to walk through. Eventually I’ll build a new sense of home again.

But right now?

I’m just getting through it.

One day. One step. One moment at a time.

July

The Month That Quietly Changed Me

If I had to describe July in three words, they would be

new beginnings, new spaces, and new energy.

On the surface, it looks like I simply moved into a new home.

But the truth is, this month changed something much deeper.

My home feels like a place of safety. After everything life has thrown at me over the past month, that feeling isn't something I take for granted. Being close to the beach has been so good for my soul.

This wasn't just a change of address.

It was a change of energy.

July also opened new spaces within me. Space to learn. Space to meet new people. Space to say yes to opportunities I never expected. Space to stop and start asking myself what actually brings me peace.

Living with chronic illness has a way of changing your perspective.

You stop measuring your days by how much you got done and start celebrating the little wins that other people barely notice.

Getting out of bed on a hard day.
Making it to the beach.
Having enough energy to meet a friend for coffee.
Playing with your grandson without worrying about the dishes waiting at home.
Keeping a commitment when your body is screaming at you to stay in bed.

Those are wins too.

Chronic illness has forced me to slow down. At first, I hated it. I fought against my body. I pushed through the pain. I ignored every warning sign because I didn't want my illnesses to define me.

But somewhere along the way I realised something.

My body isn't my enemy.
It's been fighting for me this whole time.
Now I'm learning to work with it instead of against it.
I'm learning that rest isn't weakness.
That cancelling plans doesn't make me unreliable.
That asking for help isn't failure.
That my worth has nothing to do with how productive I am.

July wasn't without its challenges.

Like so many people been navigating the unexpected. My kids have had their own battles. I've had mine. There were moments where we simply went through the motions because sometimes that's all you can do.

Life has a way of reminding us that none of us are immune to hard seasons.

But it also reminds us that even in the hardest seasons, there are glimmers.

I've found myself stepping away from the noise.

Choosing peace over pressure.

Choosing quiet over chaos.

Choosing my own company without feeling lonely.

Choosing sunrise drives, beach walks, coffee, laughter, and making memories with my grandson.

Those simple moments have become my medicine.

August

August honestly, I feel like this month has been about living in my own little world.

Not in a bad way.

In a finally finding my own little world kind of way.

I’ve been enjoying my wee house, finding my rhythm in the everyday, and learning that life doesn’t have to be loud or chaotic to be full.

I started my course in Traditional Healing, and wow what an incredible experience it has been so far. Learning about another world of healing, opening my mind, connecting with nature and meeting some beautiful wāhine along the way. There’s something pretty special about being around women who are also learning, growing and finding their way.

I’ve found myself drawn even more towards nature lately chasing glimmers, watching sunsets, beach days with my grandson, coffee dates and bestie dates. The simple things have been feeling like the big things.

I’m also learning more about who I am when I’m actually with myself.

With the help of the Freedom Fly course, I’ve been creating a journal and exploring parts of myself I probably wouldn't have been ready to face before.

And then there’s pole

I’m absolutely smashing my pole journey and ticked off THREE new moves this month. Every time I learn something new, it reminds me that I’m capable of more than I sometimes give myself credit for.

My health has also improved, which I’m incredibly grateful for. ACC are finally on board with things, and having that support has taken a weight off my shoulders.

And somewhere amongst all of this

I’m learning about healthy love.

After experiencing toxic love, healthy love can feel fucking strange.

It can feel unfamiliar. Quiet. Almost too calm.

I’m learning that love isn’t supposed to leave you constantly questioning yourself, walking on eggshells or wondering where you stand.

I’m learning that healthy love feels different.

And maybe that’s the point.

So yeah, August has been a little quieter.

A little more inward.

A little more creative.

A lot more me.

Letting go.
Finding my rhythm.
Creating.

And maybe most importantly

finding the woman underneath all the survival.

SEPTEMBER WORDS

ROOT • RISE • RECEIVE

ROOT — ground myself, honour my home, my body, my values and the life I’m creating.
RISE — keep stepping outside my comfort zone, backing myself and doing the things that scare me.
RECEIVE — allow good things in without questioning whether I deserve them support, love, connection, opportunities and joy.

SEPTEMBER INTENTIONS

I intend to:

Keep building a life that feels like mine, not one shaped by old survival patterns.
Continue my Traditional Healing journey with an open heart and curious mind.
Create more — my journal, ideas, content and things that light me up.
Keep chasing the glimmers and noticing the ordinary moments that feel extraordinary.
Keep challenging myself with pole and celebrate what my body can do.
Protect my peace without feeling guilty about it.
Choose healthy love, healthy connections and healthy boundaries.
Stop shrinking myself to make other people comfortable.
Spend intentional time with the people who fill my cup.
Trust that I don't have to rush what's unfolding.
Let myself receive instead of always being the one giving.
Keep becoming the woman I’m proud to be.

September reminder:
I don't need to prove I'm worthy of a beautiful life. I get to fucking live it.

Monthly Reflections - 2026