Pictures: Maree Wilkinson.
“The night I was crowned Miss Aotearoa National New Zealand was one of those rare, life-defining moments that seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, but had been years in the making.
I woke up that morning at an absurdly early hour, around 3am, unable to fall back asleep. My mind was buzzing with thoughts of the journey I’d been on – one that had brought me to this very moment, competing in a beauty pageant at 46 years old.
I’d worked tirelessly to prepare for this day, putting everything I had into being the best version of myself. I wasn’t expecting to win, but it was exciting pushing past my insecurities as I endlessly balanced in heels for rehearsals and then the fashion show.
The bikini round, though nerve-wracking, was my favourite. It wasn’t about body positivity or conforming to any standard – it was about celebrating who I’d become and the confidence I’d gained.
Years ago, I’d never have imagined myself standing on a stage, let alone celebrating my body. But at 46, I finally felt proud of the way I looked and I wanted to show that, without fear or shame.
That surreal night, as I stood on stage as Miss Aotearoa in Auckland last year, I wasn’t just wearing a crown – I was carrying every battle, every heartbreak and every victory that led me there. But to truly understand the weight of that moment, you need to understand the road I walked to get there.
My identical twin Tania and I were born to my mum Maryanne, who is of mixed Welsh and Māori heritage, and my dad William, who came from a small settlement called Manutūkē, near Gisborne, where we spent much of our youth. We’re of Ngāti Ruapani and Ngāti Porou descent.
My memories of childhood are not vivid, except for the ones that left scars. One of the few recollections I do have is of someone abducting my twin and I. It’s a memory that’s stayed with me, affecting how I parent my own kids today.
I remember being offered lollies at the dairy, where we were taken from. Then, I recall the screams, the tears, the colour of the house they took us to and them locking us in a room.
I don’t know who our abductor was, but Tania remembers her being ‘evil’ and telling us to shut our mouths. Someone found us after they went to visit her and heard us yelling. Police removed us from the house and took us back home.
Our father drowned while out collecting kai before we turned three. By the time we were eight, my mother abandoned us and moved to Australia.
Losing one parent was hard enough, but losing both before you even reach double digits is devastating. Even though my mum is still alive, I have grieved her loss. The absence of a parent leaves a wound that time doesn’t always close.
After my mum left, Tania and I spent time in foster care. The experience was isolating and confusing, leaving me feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere. We moved between homes, never feeling fully settled, always carrying the weight of abandonment and rejection.
Living in foster care reinforced the belief that I was unwanted – a burden shuffled from place to place. It shaped how I saw myself, how I also interacted with others and how I viewed my worth in the world.
But in the midst of that turmoil, there was our foster carer Nan Gordon. She wasn’t our biological grandmother, but she liked us to call her that and it gave a sense of family.
Nan was a beacon of hope and light, offering us kindness, warmth, care and a safe, stable space when we needed it most. Her presence was a reminder that even in the darkest times, there are people who will stand by you, love you and give you a sense of belonging.
My aunt and uncle eventually adopted us via the customary Māori practice of whāngai. But losing my parents left a hole inside me. I then spent years trying to fill it with anger, rebellion and self-destruction.
Abandonment and rejection mess you up in ways that are hard to explain. It seeps into your self-perception, your confidence and your choices.
I became a volatile, reckless and abusive young woman. In a jealous rage, I once threw a plate at a friend’s head. I hated myself, so I hated the world. I turned to drugs and alcohol, and I searched for love in men, only to find more brokenness. But I changed after I had my first son.
I loved that little boy more than I loved myself. That love was what inspired me to change because I saw that I was repeating the cycles of my past. He doesn’t believe it, but I didn’t save him – he saved me.
But even deeper than that, it was my faith that truly transformed me. My relationship with God, scripture and prayer allowed me to break the cycles of self-destruction and intergenerational trauma. Without my faith, I wouldn’t have had the strength to heal. It’s where I’ve found my confidence, my resilience and my sense of purpose.
The commandment to ‘love others as yourself’ changed everything for me. It forced me to ask myself, ‘How can I love others if I don’t even love myself?’ I realised self-hate wasn’t just hurting me – it was affecting everyone around me. My faith gave me the strength to rebuild my life, embrace who I am and to step into the woman I was meant to be.
Today I live a life I love, both internally and externally. I have transformed into a woman who embraces her past without letting it define her future.
Winning Miss Aotearoa was not just about a title. It was a symbol of the wahine toa I’ve become, full of confidence, grace and strength.
As well as being a mum to sons Hunter, 18, and Roam, 11, I’m now studying manaakitangata or social services, co-facilitating the Tipu Skills for Life programme in schools and coaching others in confidence. I’m also developing courses to help others transform their lives and I’m finishing writing my book – a blueprint for breaking cycles and true self-acceptance.
Every step I take now is aligned with my purpose, ensuring that my experiences serve as a beacon of hope and guidance for others. The journey from self-hate to self-love has been long, but it’s been worth it.
This Miss Aotearoa is a woman who has reclaimed her power, her worth and her future.”
If you or someone you love is struggling with alcohol or drugs, please phone 0800 787 797 or visit alcoholdrughelp.org.nz.
For free help with mental health, text or call 1737 at any time to speak to a trained counsellor.
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