Yesterday, I listened to Elif Shafak speak in a podcast about the importance of cultivating an "inner democracy"—allowing the different voices within ourselves to be heard and harmonized, rather than permitting any single voice to rule absolutely.
For many years, I gave priority to my academic voice. It shaped my vocation, my identity, and the way I contributed to the Church and to society. But at this stage of my life, I want to make room for other voices that have quietly lived within me: my poetic voice, my mystical voice, my home-loving voice, my Catholic feminist voice, and perhaps others that have not yet fully emerged.
This season of discernment is an invitation to welcome all of these voices onto the stage of my life. I want to let them speak to one another, enriching and balancing each other, allowing me to flourish—to grow new branches of wisdom, creativity, and poetry.
My voice has been uncomfortable for some. At times I have felt silenced, dismissed, or simply unsupported. And yet, beneath that disappointment, I have never lost the conviction that I am not alone. Beyond the love of my family and friends, I trust that there is a God—and an entire universe—that walks with us, sustains us, and gently carries us forward.
Yesterday, I visited the Wishing Tree near Lake Rotoiti. According to Māori tradition, the infant chieftainess Hinehopu was hidden inside its hollow trunk to protect her from her enemies. As I embraced the tree, I felt that I, too, could hide within it, drawing strength from its life, resilience, and quiet perseverance whenever adverse winds surround me.
As we soaked in the thermal pools, Steve reflected on the origins of the universe and the mystery of life emerging from primordial heat. Sitting beside these geothermal waters, we felt close to one of Earth´s ancient sources of life... we are part of the same story.
During the holidays, I also read the life of Mary MacKillop. In her story I found a companion. I felt accompanied not only by her, but also by my own whakapapa—the long lineage of women who have endured immense suffering under the sharp nails of patriarchy. Reading her life filled me with a profound sense of ethical indignation at the injustice she endured. I found many echoes of my own journey, but even more than the similarities, I sensed her voice gently calling me not to give up, to remain faithful to truth, and to continue working for justice with courage, and hope.
These days have helped me not only to cultivate an inner democracy, but also about learning to listen to the outer voices that surround us. I found myself listening to the trees, the lakes, the geothermal waters, and to Papatūānuku, Mother Earth. In their quiet presence, I hear the voice of Aotearoa itself.
As an adopted daughter of this land, I felt welcomed into its wisdom. Belonging, I realized, is not only something we inherit but also something we learn through love, gratitude, and attentive listening. Perhaps wisdom begins when we learn to hear both the many voices within ourselves and the many voices through which creation whispers the presence of God. In this season of my life, I hope to keep listening—to my own heart, to the women who have gone before me, to the land that now shelters me, and to God, who continues to call me, gently and faithfully.
