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I’ve been home from my ten days in Hawai’i for about three weeks now. It makes me think of Dido’s Sand in my Shoes; “Two weeks away feels like the whole world should have changed, but I’m home now, and things still look the same.”

There’s that feeling that you’ve changed somehow, or things should have changed and haven’t. Basically, I’ve been struggling. I haven’t adjusted to the time change and I haven’t adjusted back into life. I’m either sleeping too much or not enough and eating too much or not enough. There doesn’t seem to be an inbetween. Everything seems to bore me, I have no motivation and, simple things like putting petrol in my car cause me anxiety.

I have a lot of plans for October: an Austen meeting today, an online group read which will lead into creating a podcast and a course which will lead into creating my own course. I want to find the energy to do these things as well as get back to writing. Next week I start working with a nutritionist to check the fuel going in is sufficient and starting today I give up my afternoon naps which have been the only thing getting me through. Wish me luck.

Being Māori is an important part of my identity. But it’s not something you can tell about me by looking at me, or even talking to me.

I’m really good at helping people develop a vague idea into an actionable idea*. It’s a weird talent.

Case in point: Ataria was lamenting the lack of information about Māori Goddesses, after some discussion we’re now organising an anthology. (Check out about it here) It’s unusual that someone follows through, let alone that they ask me to be participate. I’m so honoured to be involved in bringing this project to light.

But this is where my impostor syndrome rears it’s ugly head. I don’t know enough. I’m not “Māori” enough (as if there were such a thing). I don’t have the authority to speak (write) in this space.

Impostor syndrome is that little voice that asks “are you sure?” when you’re on the edge of doing something great, when you’re pushing your boundaries. Or sometimes it’s the everyday fear that people will find out you’re a fraud – you might look like you know what you’re doing but you’re really just making it up. (Who among us really believes they’re an adult?)

I want to be involved. I want to write this thing that feels like it might be really important. But I also would like to not feel sick to my stomach. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to write it, and I’ll probably still feel sick the whole time, perhaps even after I’m finished.

I was a teenager in the 90’s; I follow the great philosopher Lucas.

Ataria seems to have been placed in my life to push me forward. She asked me to talk about self publishing to Awa Wahine, a women’s writing group she runs. I joked that I could talk about impostor syndrome too as I was struggling with that.

Last weekend I spoke about Self Publishing and Self Doubt – because the repetition of “self” sounds nice ok? I’m still a writer. – It went so well that I got asked to speak about it again this coming weekend.

Somehow being open and honest about my impostor syndrome is doing the opposite of what it wants. It wants me to be quiet, to be small but I’m talking about it loudly and shining a light.

It won’t ever go away completely. Some days it’ll be almost unbearable but I’ll still crawl towards my keyboard and write something. Because that’s what I do, I’m a writer.

* I’d like to figure out how to get paid to do this

In classic my family fashion we were late to the mosque for the two minutes of silence, the roads were blocked, there were no parks. We pulled over, on to yellow lines, and my mother leapt from the car as the two minutes started.

I stayed in the car, listening to the static from the radio, the birdsong outside, and cried quietly. My mother joined me when the two minutes finished and we listened in silence to our national anthem. As we drove away Welcome Home by Dave Dobbyn played.

It was a “wake up call” and an “insult to our way of life” my mother said as we drove home. But shortly after she told me about a man she visits who complained about his “brown” carers. She hadn’t called out his casual racism, if this can even be labelled casual.

It’s uncomfortable, but we get to choose “our way of life”. Choose.

I’ve never been fit but I have been flexible, at one point I was training to do the splits and I was pretty close. Then my back threw out, then it did it again, and again. The last four years I’ve done very little physical activity, terrified that my back would collapse again.

My chiropractor (David) suggested I try the Yoga Collective out in Paremata. They do things differently to other yoga studios; it’s about listening to your body, using props, taking things slow. It accessible for beginners or people with an injury. There’s even a free week to see if it suits you.

It doesn’t hurt that the location is beautiful. In the evenings it’s lit by (fake) candlelight. There’s herbal tea, a salt lamp and essential oils. All around beautiful.

I love yoga but I’m used to it hurting, to pushing myself. The most difficult part of this style is trying to calm your mind, and that’s something that I need. Even going to sleep I listen to something because I can’t take the quiet.

Initially I wanted to gain back some flexibility but now I’m hoping for some peace (as scary as that is).

Get your free week and check it out

Update (January 2019): my chiropractor is pleased with my progress, I only need to see him once every two months. My back only twinges if I’m doing something I know I shouldn’t.