I am first generation Tagata Pasifika, from Niue, raised by my Mother and Grandmother in Grey Lynn, Central Auckland, N.Z. My father is Irish and Maori (Raukawa).

Childhood was rough, it was the pressure of learning how to advocate for my family from the time I could speak, the methodical use of sexual abuse against me between the ages of 7-10, the way my mother both lauded over and shamed me for being a ‘pretty little girl’ with light skin, and all of the unchartered waters that came with being first generation, but it was set against a backdrop of rich experiences that went hand in hand with the struggle.

Like my Nana making us use oil lamps for light at night, like sharing bath water with your cousins.

Like waking up on ANZAC day mornings to my Nana singing ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary’ and observing the tears she cried for all the men who never returned from war.

Like being surrounded by death because all of the bodies came home to us.

Like learning how to massage, and what plants were medicine, and if the witch doctor really had a dream about you or if she was just trying to collect a 20, it was sitting in the presence of pastors, politicians and leaders who came to visit with my Nana, because she was well respected, and she was a matua now (an elder).

Like spending entire Saturdays doing the washing in a copper boiler, lighting the fire to heat the water and standing around to stir the washing with a stick, because my Mum insisted that automatic washing machines didn’t clean the clothes properly.

I walked my brother to school in the mornings, I prepared dinner for Mum to cook when she got home, I knew my culture, I spoke my language and I offset the conflict of the light and the dark by reading all the books I could get my hands on.

By the time I was 10 years old I had learned not to ask for help, because no one was coming. If I wanted something, I had to be the one to do it.

Working for myself provided me with the ability to be self-reliant and in control; and as a teen parent, the residue of my childhood abuse was an overwhelming drive to be ever present in raising & protecting my children at all times.

I learned business and money by necessity, I was resourceful, driven and educated, but even after having created a handful of profitable projects I didn’t consider myself an entrepreneur, and I still don’t.

I think to call yourself an entrepreneur you have to have some desire to create for profit, and so to some extent, profit is the deciding factor in whether you create something or not, because it has to be, entrepreneurs employ people and invest in the local economy, they are impacted by political decisions and help to drive social change, and influence legislative changes that impact their industries, whether on a big or small scale, and I’d be terrible at that because none of it is in line with my own values.

The only time I built a business for profit, was for necessity, I hated it and eventually sold it for pennies after waking up one day to find my bank accounts cleared out, and nearly losing everything.

I suffered a traumatic brain injury in 2011, leading to a series of events over the following 4-years that shifted the trajectory of my life - it was then another 2-years before I had the capacity to begin restoring my health, resources and career.

Since then I create things and join projects that are either fun to do or that are important to me, anything less and I’m not about it. At the end of this, we die, and it’s not worth trading your life for something if you aren’t having a good time.

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