Or more truthfully, I’m curled up on the couch in front of the fire, wondering how I managed to get to so many kaupapa in the middle of winter.
Each event I attended was beautiful, moving, heartfelt, and absolutely worthwhile. Heoi anō, if I’m honest, both my wairua and te taiao were gently whispering ‘‘Rest. Stay in. Light the fire. Walk the dog.’’
At one point, feeling māuiui as, I gave in and started antibiotics. I found myself in bed questioning my life choices. Me haere tonu au ki tēnei kaupapa? Do I really need to go?
But each time I showed up, I realised: I wasn’t alone. Most of us were in the same waka. Coughing, sneezing, handing out ibuprofen, and still turning up, carrying aroha with us. It felt like winter at daycare: tissues everywhere, everyone a bit run down, no-one too bothered.
And yet, that’s part of the beauty of this time of year. We gather. We remember. We honour our mātauranga, our ancestors, our whakapapa, and our stars. Somewhere between my third event in two days and my fifth cup of kawakawa tea, I had to laugh at myself. I’d come charging into the season like it was a checklist, forgetting that Matariki isn’t just something we attend. It’s something we feel. A time to pause, to reflect, to let go, and to reset.
I found myself most drawn to the quieter moments. Standing outside at dawn with cold hands and warm breath, gazing at the stars. Lighting candles for those we’ve lost. Making soup from what’s left in the cupboard. Reading a book instead of answering emails. These simple acts of stillness — of aroha and reflection — are just as much a part of the season as any public celebration.
As wāhine Māori, we often carry so much. The unseen work, the logistics, the manaaki. We hold space for others, even when we’re running on empty. But this season reminded me (again) that rest isn’t being lazy — it’s wisdom! Slowing down isn’t giving up. It’s an act of resistance to burnout. It’s also a way of aligning ourselves with te taiao.
Winter, after all, is the season of hibernation. We’re not meant to bloom all year round.
So to those who went hard this Matariki — ka pai! You showed up, gave your energy, and helped hold space for others. And to those who spent most of it curled up at home, honouring your own rhythm — ka pai hoki! That’s the real magic of this season: there’s space for all of us, in whatever way we’re able to mark it.
As Matariki and Puaka rise once again and the days slowly begin to stretch, I’m carrying a few quiet lessons into the new year. A renewed appreciation for stillness, deep gratitude for those who fill our spaces with aroha, and a gentle commitment to a slower, more mindful rhythm of life.
Manawatia a Matariki me Puaka. May this new year bring you warmth, clarity, and just enough couch time to balance the kaupapa.
