Shifting from survival mode to a space of receiving.
For much of my life, I’ve lived in survival mode.
Not because I wanted to. Not because I wasn’t dreaming.
But because I was holding everything together—keeping the roof on, the children fed, the lights inside me burning, even when the wind of life howled through every crack.
Survival mode teaches you to be resourceful.
To make magic out of little.
To stretch time, kai, energy, even love, until you forget what rest feels like.
It teaches you how to hustle, how to carry more than you should, and how to wear resilience like a second skin.
But survival mode also teaches you to expect less.
To brace for disappointment.
To think that if something good comes your way, you must have to work ten times harder to deserve it — Or worse, that it might not last.
And that’s where I’ve found myself now — on the edge of a new narrative.
One where I am learning to welcome abundance.
One where I am gently, deliberately shifting from just surviving to fully receiving.
This isn’t just about money or opportunity—though those are part of it.
It’s about letting in ease.
Letting in joy without guilt.
Letting in support without shame.
Letting in compliments without batting them away.
Letting in love without the fear that it will leave.
It’s about understanding that I am worthy of good things—not because I’ve earned them through pain or proven myself through sacrifice, but simply because I am.
Welcoming abundance means rewriting old stories.
It means asking where the blockages came from:
— Who told me that struggle is more noble than rest?
— When did I start believing that I always had to go without?
— Why did I learn to mistrust ease?
It’s a slow shift.
Some days, my hands still clench out of habit.
Some days, I find myself saying “I’m fine” when I’m not, or turning down help even when I need it.
But I am choosing a new path.
One where I breathe deeper.
Where I listen to the whisper of my tīpuna saying you are allowed to thrive.
Where I honour the seeds I’ve planted, the ones that are finally beginning to bloom.
I want my children and moko to see this shift.
To witness their māmā, their kui, step into a season where receiving is not weakness, but wisdom.
To know that we are allowed to be soft, safe, open, and full.
So here I am, opening the door.
Welcoming abundance not as a guest I fear will leave, but as a long-lost part of myself returning home.
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To those of you shifting too: I see you. Let’s not just survive anymore. Let’s receive. Let’s rest. Let’s rise—together.