From Law to the Whenua: My Journey into Rongoā Māori and Wellbeing

I was trained to look for evidence, arguments and solutions.

Today, I spend much of my time helping people slow down, feel their feet and notice the world around them.

So what connects a legal career with Tai Chi, Rongoā Māori, pain, stress and wellbeing?

For me, perhaps the thread has been there all along.

From law to people

Last Saturday morning, I carried out my usual JP duty at Nelson Library.

Many people think being a Justice of the Peace is simply about putting a stamp on something and certifying a document.

During my duty, a man came to see me with a letter he had written himself. He told me he had been asked to bring it to a JP for a signature.

I asked him what the document was for and how I could help.

“Just your signature,” he said.

I asked whether he had been given any instructions, and whether I could see them.

He said he had an email, but couldn't show it to me. Then his girlfriend came over and asked if I could simply certify his passport instead.

It was a small interaction, but it reminded me how confusing the legal world can be for someone who doesn't work in it every day.

Yes, many JP services involve a signature.

But an affidavit, a statutory declaration, a witness signature and a certified copy of an original document are not interchangeable. They can have different wording, different requirements and different legal effects.

For a lawyer, these distinctions may become second nature.

For an ordinary person standing in front of a JP, they can be anything but simple.

And that is why, rather than wishing I had left the legal world behind, I feel grateful for what it taught me.

Law taught me to pay attention.

To question what doesn't make sense.

To look at the facts carefully.

And, perhaps most importantly, to understand the weight of responsibility.

There is very little room for careless mistakes in legal work.

I remember learning about fiduciary duties — relationships where one person is trusted to act in another person's best interests. Similar ideas of trust and responsibility can be found in different relationships, including between parents and children, or spiritual leaders and those they serve.

At its heart, for me, it is about integrity: acting in good faith, putting the interests of the person you are responsible for first, and doing your best with the knowledge you have.

Even now, when I am working as a JP, although I cannot give legal advice, I will often remind people to check their documents carefully:

Is everything true and correct?

Has every relevant section been completed?

If something doesn't apply, should it say “N/A” or “Nil”?

Should a blank space be crossed out so that nothing can later be added?

These small things matter.

Because behind every document is often a person who simply wants  peace of mind.

And that is why one whakataukī has stayed with me:

People are, after all, at the heart of everything we do.

 

From human law to the laws of life

After years of working with legal systems, I became increasingly curious about another kind of “law”.

I sometimes joke that I started specialising in the law of attraction — but not the version involving legislation or contracts!

I became interested in the patterns that shape human beings: how we think, how we respond to stress, how our experiences affect our bodies, and how our relationships influence our wellbeing.

That curiosity led me to study Applied Psychology at the University of Auckland.

I remember one course in particular that introduced me to Māori approaches to wellbeing.

It opened a door.

During one Q&A session, a Māori professional spoke about whakapapa and how it can connect people through generations, land, and, even into the cosmic realm.

She also talked about Māori traditions of transmitting knowledge through whakapapa, kōrero, wairua and lived relationships.

It made me curious.

Perhaps there are different ways of seeing.

I love to learn more about the law of spiritual healing.

From psychology to Rongoā Māori

That curiosity eventually led me to Rongoā Māori.

A client told me about a Rongoā Māori training course, and it was a face-to-face programme in Christchurch — the only one in the South Island that I could find at the time.

So I moved to Christchurch to study.

I came to Rongoā as a learner.

And I am still a learner.

I remember those nights of noho at the marae.

I remember when we asked my kaiako what we can do for her. She said, I want to pass down my knowledge.

I remember the kōrero shared during classes and wānanga — stories, laughter, vulnerability, and moments that stayed with me long after the day had finished.

I remember one particular day when my kaiako was teaching us and received a phone call from someone who was talking about taking their own life. She paused our class and stayed on the phone. Later, she came back told us:

Whitiwhiti kōrero is also a form of rongoā.

I remember my own tears at Tūrangawaewae — being welcomed with haka and feeling something open in my heart that I cannot quite put into words.

I remember my classmates from Hawai‘i inviting us onto a beautiful, traditionally handmade waka and all the lovely waiata and ukulele whenever she turns up.

There were so many precious memories.

Looking back, I realise I wasn't simply completing a course.

Rongoā changed my life — and I know it will stay with me forever.

A Saturday of two worlds

Perhaps that is why last Saturday felt so special.

In the morning, I was at Nelson Library doing my JP duty — looking carefully at documents, signatures and legal requirements.

Later that day, I went to Victory Community Centre to celebrate Te Wiki o Te Reo Māori with Korowai Manaaki Trust.

I joined Sean and Aramoana's pūoro wānanga.

Sean taught us how to make our own kōauau, a small bamboo flute, and Aramoana shared stories and kōrero about pūoro and the atua associated with them.

(photo credit to Aramoana de Feu)

I was particularly drawn to hue.

I would love to grow hue in my garden this year, so I started asking questions.

One kōrero shared at the wānanga described Hue in connection with the separation of Ranginui and Papatūānuku, and how Hue absorbed the noise between the siblings.

I loved that image.

A vessel that holds sound.

A space that absorbs noise.

To make music from the hue, you have to slow down.

(photo credit to Aramoana de Feu)

As I always say when I teach Tai Chi, the first step is to slow down.

Perhaps that is exactly what I need most at this stage of my own life.

Stepping into motherhood has changed me in ways I didn't quite expect. My pēpi has become the centre of my days. 

There are days when I have a list in my head: reply to that email, return that phone call, send the newsletter, finish this, organise that.

And then my pēpi needs me.

So the email waits.

The phone goes unanswered.

The newsletter doesn't get sent.

And sometimes, I feel a little guilty about it.

But then I remember what I tell my Tai Chi students.

Slow down.

Motherhood has reminded me that life doesn't always follow our schedule. Some things cannot be rushed. Some moments cannot be repeated.

My work, my emails, my plans — they will still be there.

But my pēpi will only be this little once.

So perhaps slowing down isn't me doing less.

Perhaps it is me learning to notice what matters most.

The Two Sides of Compassion

Looking back, I realise how much law has shaped the way I see the world. I was trained to look carefully at facts, evidence, rules and what can — and cannot — be established. While law can sometimes appear cold because it separates facts from emotions, at its best it protects a baseline of humanity. It creates boundaries, protects people from harm, gives us rights and responsibilities, and asks us to act with integrity when someone else's interests are in our hands. To me, that is also a form of compassion.

Then Rongoā opened another door — one that invited me to see wellbeing through whenua, wairua, whakapapa, plants, community and the things that cannot always be captured on paper. I don't see these as opposites. They remind me of Yin and Yang in Tai Chi: different, complementary and connected. One taught me to look carefully at what can be seen and evidenced; the other has encouraged me to become more open to what can be felt, experienced and held in relationship. I love them both. Perhaps they are two sides of the same coin, both ultimately serving people and wellbeing.

Where Will Your Journey Take You?

If you feel called to slow down, reconnect and explore your own wellbeing, I'd love to walk alongside you. You can book a one-to-one Rongoā healing or wellbeing session, join a Tai Chi or Qi Gong class or workshop, or practise with me through my online Tai Chi programme.

[Explore Tai Chi, Rongoā & Wellbeing with The Healing Hut →]