19/12/2025
"I was a butcher for 30 years... the quiet bloke who worked out the back and kept to himself. I was like that at school too. I didn’t speak much.
Then one day a mate said to me, if you struggle engaging with people, practise with kids. So I did. At first it was about teaching touch rugby, but it didn’t take long to realise it wasn’t really about the sport at all. The sport became a vessel to talk through their anxieties... pressures and confidence issues. Stuff they didn’t always have words for. So instead of asking, “How’d you play?”, I started asking, “How are you?” That changed everything.
They opened up... they grew, and somewhere along the way, I realised it was changing me too. It felt like two-way therapy. I was helping them find their confidence, and they were teaching me how to listen. How to read people. How to sit with emotion instead of stepping away from it.
Down the line, my daughter found her way into health and started working at the hospital. Seeing her there planted a seed. Then a role came up supporting Māori patients, helping people navigate the hospital system. I didn’t think I belonged there, I still saw myself as just a butcher. But I was encouraged to apply for the role, and others seemed to see potential in me.
When I stepped into the hospital, it felt like I’d found my way back home, like everything before it had been leading here. Over time, I stopped thinking in terms of patients and more about tangata and their whānau. Health isn’t just what’s happening in the body. It’s also what’s happening around you. A lot of my job is just being there, listening, advocating, walking side by side through fear, grief, or confusion. I’m not here to fix people. I’m here to offer manaakitanga and help them feel seen in a system where it’s easy to disappear.
It took three decades... but I’m proud I’ve stopped hiding out the back and stepped forward for my people."
Joe, Pou Hāpai, Ngāti Kāuwhata, Taranaki Base Hospital