Stepping back from mahi to strengthen my reo
Reflecting on wāhanga tuatahi at Te Wānanga Takiura - Rumaki Reo
I didn’t choose Takiura to learn te reo. I chose it to speak te reo.
I grew up bilingual. I went through Māori-medium education from the age of five right through to secondary school. I can write confidently but my vocab for conversation is small. I understand te reo, my māramatanga is strong. But when someone speaks to me in te reo Māori, I freeze. I clamp up. Avoid eye contact. Respond in English, even when I’ve got the sentence rehearsed in my head. Instead, I’d walk away doubting myself, wishing I had just said what I was thinking. That’s been my default experience for years.
In mahi, I’ve always brought my identity, whakapapa, and worldview into the space. But I’ve also always made it clear — I’m not a reo expert. That disclaimer felt important. I didn’t want anyone to default to me. I didn’t want to get it wrong or step on anyone’s toes. I’d contribute to karakia and waiata, share what I could about tikanga, kupu or kaupapa Māori, but always with that disclaimer: “This is just my understanding.”
As a wahine Māori working across kaupapa that are grounded in te ao Māori, I knew I didn’t want to keep shying away from those spaces. I wanted to be able to hold my own. And for me, being confident to kōrero i te reo Māori was a big part of that.
Why now?
We made the decision to send our pōtiki to kōhanga reo — a different pathway from what I knew, and one that triggered a lot in me. For some time, I avoided doing drop-offs because I didn’t feel confident to kōrero. I’d walk in, say “mōrena,” hang Te Rau’s pēke, sign her in, kiss her goodbye with a quick “ka kite,” and leave before anyone could start a conversation with me. I didn’t want to feel whakamā anymore.
I’d talked about doing a reo course for years. Especially after we started our whānau. Our mātāmua is on a reorua pathway, and I wanted to support both our tamāhine — not just to kōrero i te reo Māori, but with confidence. So, when enrolments for Takiura opened in early 2024 around the same time our pēpi started kōhanga, I followed the pull. I didn’t know how it would work — the money, the timing — but I put it out there. And everything lined up.
A leadership journey — for me and my whānau
Part of this decision came from my own growth as a leader. Over the past year, I’ve been on a journey with Te Kāinga Wāhine and working with my coach Amy McLean — and it’s helped me build the muscle of following my instincts and intuition. Listening to what my wairua and body are telling me. Learning to move from a place of alignment, not just obligation.
That wānanga space helped me get clear about what really matters — what I want to prioritise, how I want to show up, and the kind of legacy I want to build for my tamariki and mokopuna.
Taking the lead with te reo in our whānau wasn’t just about enrolling in a course — it was about standing in my own mana. Choosing to be the one who leads by example in my whānau. Who stops defaulting to English because it’s comfortable. Who lets my actions speak louder than my whakamā.
It’s not just a reo journey — it’s a leadership journey. And that shift is something I carry with me now — into kura, into my whare, and into the mahi I’ll return to later this year.
From leading to learning
I didn’t realise how much of a shock it would be to the system. For the last couple of years, I’ve worked mostly from home, running my own kaupapa with full flexibility. I’ve controlled my own calendar — when I start, stop, eat, rest, walk. That’s all changed now.
My day starts with karakia, mihimihi, waiata, and pānui in a room of over 200 tauira and kaiako. I’m in class from 9.30am to 3pm, Monday to Friday. I’ve gone from holding space and leading kaupapa, to sitting at the tepu, learning. Listening. Being the student again.
I thought I’d keep working while studying. That I’d have the capacity and drive to do both. But I haven’t wanted to. My wairua wanted to dive fully into this journey. To absorb everything. My bandwidth has been full — mentally, emotionally, spiritually.
Takiura stretches your capacity in ways I didn’t expect. You’re learning. Thinking. Feeling. Reflecting. Building relationships. Processing kōrero. Being immersed in te ao Māori all day, every day.
At the end of the day, I’m fried. But I’m also energised. It’s a weird balance — a wave I want to ride, but it’s hard to let go when you’re holding other kaupapa at the same time. I’ve had to let go of some mahi. Be clearer about what I say yes to. Protect my time and energy.
Trust the process and use what you’ve got
Lots of my friends and colleagues who’ve done Takiura gave me the same advice: trust the process. Don’t stress about learning everything perfectly. Don’t overthink it. Just be present.
I’ve realised how true that is. When I relax and speak on the spot, te reo flows better from me. That’s how I learn best — impromptu kōrero, prompts, just being thrown in without anywhere to hide. Te reo is starting to come more naturally.
Our class is made up of tauira from different professions, ages, whakapapa, and learning styles. And we’re learning how to support each other. We know who to gently pull along. We know where we can push ourselves a little more.
It’s reminded me that there’s no one right way to learn. I don’t need more tools or time. I just need to use what I already have — my experiences, my reo, my whakaaro. That’s enough. That’s something I carry into my mahi at Uia Te Kura too.
He ngākau Māori
One of the biggest learnings in wāhanga tuatahi has been growing what our kaiako describes as ngākau Māori. Diving into the depths of mihimihi to whakanui and acknowledge others and this important role and practice in our tikanga. It’s not just a formality. It’s a way to see people. To make space for all they bring — their knowledge, their story, their wairua.
Te reo Māori holds so much depth. Through kupu whakarite, personification, metaphor, whakataukī, whakatauākī. It connects people, place, taiao, whakapapa. It engages all our senses — ngā tāirongo — and our emotions — ngā kare ā roto.
I want to bring more of that into my mahi. Into how I frame kaupapa. How I tell stories. How I reflect and make sense of things with others.
At home
The reo we use shapes our relationships. I’ve heard that the language you speak with someone becomes the foundation of your relationship with them. That stuck with me.
In our whare, we all speak te reo Māori to our pēpi — but still speak English to each other. That’s changing. The more I speak te reo to my husband and our mātāmua, the more it flows within our whare. I still catch myself slipping into English. But I’m trying. Creating a more immersive environment at home is a work in progress.
It’s so satisfying hearing our girls speak te reo Māori to each other. Or understand what’s being said. It reminds me why I’m doing this. For them. For us. For te reo to be alive in our whare — not just in a classroom or at kura.
What this reminds me about Uia Te Kura
This journey has taken me back to the values that ground my practice, reminding me to:
Trust the process
Use what I’ve got
Acknowledge what others bring
Let my ngākau Māori lead and guide me.
He ngākau māhaki, he manawa tītī, he wairua ora
A humble heart, a persevering spirit, a living wairua
This whakataukī reminds me of what this journey is teaching me:
To lead with my ngākau. To keep going, even when it’s uncomfortable. To stay connected — to wairua, to tikanga, and to the people and places that ground me.
I don’t know exactly where this journey leads. But I know it’s growing me — not just my reo, but in how I navigate discomfort, stay grounded, and trust in learning by doing.
I’ll keep sharing as I go.
