30/08/2023 Who Am I Underneath It All?

This is an old piece I wrote a couple of years ago. My journey has continued.

I listened to a podcast this week that hit me like a lightning bolt. It spoke directly to what I’ve been wrestling with for years: Who am I really? Beneath the labels, the expectations, the bullshit where do I belong? Who are my ancestors, and what does that mean for my future?

These aren’t small questions, and they don’t come with easy answers.

I’ve had to dig deep into the roots of my lineage, question everything I thought I knew, and confront parts of myself I didn’t even realize were unresolved.

As a Pākehā woman living in Aotearoa New Zealand, I’ve struggled with the question of identity. When I’m asked to tick the “European” box on forms, it feels… hollow. Europe is a massive continent, yo! That doesn’t describe me.

I feel like a New Zealander this is my home but even that label doesn’t capture the essence of who I am.

Lately, I’ve felt triggered just scrolling social media. The narratives, the anger, the divisive commentary it sends my head spinning and my heart hurting.

It makes me want to leave my body, to escape. Because deep down, I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel like I know myself. I don’t know where I came from. And I’m not talking about some cabbage patch or stork story.

I mean: Where does my DNA come from? Who were my ancestors? What choices brought them here to Aotearoa? And what is the real, untold history of this land?

Why This Matters to Me. This has become even more pressing since having my own child.

Part of his whakapapa belongs to this land his bloodline is Māori. That doesn’t make me Māori just because I carried him in my body, but it gives me a duty.

A responsibility to ensure he knows who he is and where he comes from when he’s ready to ask those questions himself.

I don’t have the right to hide his heritage or avoid the hard truths just because of the circumstances of his conception. He deserves to know all the pieces of himself and I’ll make damn sure he has that knowledge.

But in doing this for him, I’ve realized I also owe it to myself to figure out who I am, where I come from, and what that means for me as a Pākehā woman in this land.

Facing the Truth The history of Aotearoa is messy, painful, and full of injustice. The real stories have been warped to serve some while trying to erase others. And as a descendant of settlers, I can’t ignore the role my ancestors played in that.

I know my family came here on boats not so long ago in the grand scheme of things. They were settlers, and yes, colonizers. I feel ashamed when I think about how the indigenous people of this land were treated and how those systems of oppression still echo today.

But shame alone isn’t enough. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but it’s not supposed to be easy. Growth never is. To make any kind of difference, we need to get uncomfortable. We need to confront the truth. We need to decolonize our minds.

The Bigger Picture And that’s where fear shows up, right? Fear of being wrong. Fear of losing privilege. Fear of admitting that the world’s systems are completely screwed and have been for a long time. Fear turns into anger, and there’s a lot of anger out there anger that’s completely valid. The rich are exploiting the planet, the people, and the future, while the rest of us watch the destruction unfold.

And while we can’t fix the whole system overnight, we can take responsibility for our part. For me, that means being a caretaker of the land I live on.

I’m an earth warrior. I do my best to make choices that honor the land, the people, and the environment. But even then, it’s overwhelming.

The land is hurting, she is hurting, and I can feel it. Some days, it’s like my chest can’t hold the grief.

Tracing My Roots I grew up in the shadow of Te Aroha, a small, old mining town where progress seemed to stand still. My childhood was marked by factory closures, job losses, and a growing sense of poverty creeping in. But even then, I wanted to know who I was.

In primary school, I was often the only Pākehā girl among my friends, and I didn’t think much of it. Kids don’t see race the way adults do. We aren’t born with prejudice it’s taught. But I did feel something.

Envy.

I envied my Māori friends for being tangata whenua people of the land. They were connected, rooted, grounded in a way I didn’t understand but deeply admired.

Their whānau gatherings were alive with love and togetherness, while my nuclear family gatherings felt… disconnected.

I didn’t know then about colonization or the systems of racism that shaped so much of our world. But looking back, I can see the threads that tied my experiences together.

Pushing Back When I was 12, one of my teachers pulled me aside for yet another sit-down. She told me I needed to be careful who I surrounded myself with that my behavior wasn’t “becoming” of me. Hanging around with the “riff-raff,” she said, would only get me into trouble. I was a fiery little thing back then.

Angry as hell at the world and fiercely protective of my friends. So, of course, I didn’t listen. I pushed back harder.

I was protesting and making political statements before I even knew what those words meant. And while my 12-year-old self may have lacked finesse, her heart was in the right place

Why I’m Sharing This This isn’t just about me. It’s about all of us.

We live in a time when fear and division are being fed to us on a silver platter.

Social media, the news, the world it’s easy to get swept away. But now, more than ever, we need to ground ourselves.

To ask the hard questions. To face the uncomfortable truths.

Who are we really?

Where do we come from?

What is our role in this land, in this life, and in the future we’re creating?

For me, these questions don’t have neat, tidy answers. But I’m here for the journey messy, raw, and real as it may be.

Because if we’re going to make a difference, we have to start with ourselves