From Fire to Foundation

After losing my home in a fire, I was forced to look at life differently.

Not because I wanted to, but because everything I had worked for—and much of what had helped me feel safe—disappeared in a single night.

That experience changed my relationship with possessions, security and the meaning of home. It also began a journey of rebuilding that would eventually lead me to Porangahau, Fabiola Park and the vision I am creating today.

The Dream of Owning an Old Villa

Owning an old villa had always been a dream of mine.

I loved their wrap-around decks, high ceilings, beautiful native timber and unmistakable sense of history. They weren’t simply houses. They had character and soul.

At the time, I was renting an old villa on an acre of land in Taranaki. I had tidied the section and planted vegetable gardens, but I deliberately hadn’t renovated the house.

I loved it as it was, and I also knew that adding value could make it more difficult for me to purchase one day.

When I approached the owners, the price was more achievable than I had expected. I didn’t have savings, but I did have KiwiSaver. I had also just completed the final year of my degree.

After years of studying and working, I thought there could be no better reward than buying a home and finally allowing myself to settle.

Doing Everything Right but Still Being Declined

I qualified as a social worker, but I still couldn’t afford to buy the home.

So I returned to dairy farming full-time because it paid better and presented more favourably to the banks.

I sometimes think about the irony of it: an urban woman learned to milk cows to support herself through a social work degree, only to graduate burnt out and still not earning enough to build the life she had worked towards.

I approached almost every bank I could.

I completed the forms, provided the paperwork and repeatedly explained my situation.

Again and again, I was declined.

The process consumed an enormous amount of time and energy. Every rejection brought another wave of disappointment, and eventually I was close to giving up.

Then, while I was out walking, I happened to meet a man who told me about a bank that had helped him in a similar situation.

I decided to try once more.

This time, the answer was yes.

Finally, a Home of My Own

I bought my first home.

After fighting so hard for the opportunity, holding those keys meant more than I could explain. They represented stability, independence and proof that persistence could eventually open a door.

I began renovating the villa room by room.

I poured my time, money and creativity into making it my own. The work was nearly complete, and I could finally see the home I had imagined taking shape around me.

Then life revealed that it had other plans.

The Night Everything Changed

The night before the fire, members of my family had been staying with me.

They had planned to remain for another night but changed their minds at the last minute and decided to stay with my sister instead.

We had just spent an awesome day watching American muscle cars—one of those simple, happy days that stays with you.

Later, I went to lie down for a sleep, but I couldn’t settle. I felt restless, so rather than forcing myself to stay in bed, I decided to take my Harley out for a ride.

Riding had always given me a sense of freedom.

While I was visiting a friend, my neighbour called.

My home was on fire.

My heart sank.

Some events happen so suddenly and sit so far outside our control that the mind struggles to comprehend them. You hear the words, but they don’t yet feel real.

By the time I arrived, it was too late.

All I could do was save my distressed horse.

The scene looked like something from a film, except this was my home, my life and everything I owned burning in front of me.

I was incredibly fortunate that no one was inside.

Had I forced myself to sleep, I would have been in that house. Had my family followed the original plan and stayed another night, they would have been there too.

That reality has never left me.

Grieving More Than a House

Losing everything had always been one of my greatest fears.

I was deeply sentimental. My possessions weren’t chosen simply to fill a room. They included old furniture, paintings and unique pieces collected during my travels around the world.

Each item held a story.

They reminded me of places I had visited, people I had known and chapters of my life I had survived. When life felt difficult, those objects reminded me that I had also experienced beauty, opportunity and adventure.

Then, almost all of it was gone.

The house was boarded up, ready to be demolished, with nearly everything I owned still inside.

I couldn’t remain in Taranaki.

I left.

Functioning on the Outside

I moved to Wellington and began working as a social worker at Te Whare o Matairangi.

From the outside, I appeared to be functioning. I had moved, found work and continued doing what needed to be done.

Inside, I wasn’t okay.

I was having nightmares. My body and mind were still responding to the shock of what had happened.

I wasn’t only grieving a building or a collection of possessions. I was grieving safety, identity and the future I thought I had created.

A home is more than walls and a roof. It is where we expect to feel protected. When that disappears suddenly, the loss can affect our entire sense of stability.

I needed time to find my way back to myself.

Then I Met Fabiola

During this period, I met Fabiola.

She brought me back into the present.

Animals have a way of meeting us without judgement or expectation. They don’t require us to explain why we are struggling or pretend we are further along in our healing than we are.

Fabiola grounded me.

She gave me something real to connect with and helped heal my heart. Through her, I gradually began finding my way back to myself—and eventually, towards Porangahau.

She became more than a horse.

She became part of the next chapter of my life.

Rebuilding With a New Goal

During this time, I needed something practical to focus on.

Rather than purchasing another established house and taking on another large mortgage, I set myself a different goal: relocate a home onto the original site and become mortgage-free.

The power and plumbing were already there, which gave me a foundation to work from.

I gave myself three months.

Within that time, I needed to relocate the house, connect the services, navigate council requirements, paint, landscape and transform a concrete laundry into a massage room—turning a three-bedroom home into four bedrooms.

It was an enormous undertaking.

I wasn’t okay, but I kept going.

Sometimes a clear project can provide structure when the rest of life feels uncertain. Each completed task gave me something tangible to hold onto.

Eventually, I achieved what I had set out to do.

The council officer told me the finished house looked as though it had always been there.

It should have felt like the completion of the story.

But my heart was no longer there.

Having the Courage to Let Go Again

After everything I had done to rebuild that property, I sold it.

That decision may have seemed difficult to understand. I had fought to buy the original villa, lost it, relocated another house and worked tirelessly to create a home again.

But rebuilding taught me to listen more carefully to myself.

Finishing something doesn’t mean we are required to remain there.

Sometimes we work hard to reach a destination only to discover that the process has changed us. The goal that once felt right may no longer fit the person we have become.

So I released the life I had rebuilt and purchased a bare block of land.

There was no house, infrastructure or connection to essential services.

There was simply land—and possibility.

That is how I arrived in Porangahau: creating a life by my own design.

Finding Clarity Through Chaos

This journey taught me how deeply we can attach ourselves to things we cannot take with us.

It doesn’t mean possessions are meaningless. The grief I experienced was real because those objects held stories, memories and emotional significance.

But losing them showed me that home cannot exist only within physical things.

Home also has to be something we create within ourselves.

Healing took time. It wasn’t a straight path, and it couldn’t be rushed.

Clarity slowly emerged from the chaos.

I began grounding myself in simple daily practices. I returned to the gym, improved my nutrition and focused on the small actions I knew would eventually help me feel stronger.

I reminded myself:

This too shall pass.

Not because time erases what happened, but because we continue changing as we move through it.

Building Fabiola Park

Here in Porangahau, I began creating Fabiola Park.

The name honours the horse who helped guide me back to myself.

This land has become the foundation for a much larger vision—a place centred around nature, healing, nourishment and connection.

I have chosen to live off-grid and develop the property sustainably, not because it is fashionable but because it reflects the way I want to live.

I want to reduce unnecessary costs and dependency. I want to live closer to the earth, understand where my resources come from and build a life that supports rather than continually depletes me.

Off-grid living isn’t always easy or romantic.

It requires problem-solving, adaptability and physical work. But it also creates a direct connection between effort and outcome. It reminds me to value water, energy, food, shelter and the natural environment supporting them all.

What I’m Building Now: Arohanui

Fabiola Park is becoming home to Arohanui—a wellness centre being created with intention, love and space.

A place to come.

A place to breathe.

A place to slow down.

A place to reconnect with yourself and begin believing in what is possible again.

Arohanui is an extension of everything this journey has taught me.

It is rooted in the belief that wellbeing cannot always be found by continuing to push within systems and environments that keep us overwhelmed.

Too many people are exhausted, disconnected and living in survival mode. The systems around us often move quickly, treat people as problems to process and offer temporary interventions without addressing what they genuinely need to feel well.

I wanted to build something different.

Something slower.

Something grounded.

Something that gives people permission to simply be.

Sustainability Is About More Than the Environment

Sustainable living isn’t only about solar power, growing food or reducing waste.

A life also needs to be personally sustainable.

It should support our energy, health, relationships and sense of purpose. It should provide enough space for us to rest, recover and experience joy.

For years, I had forced myself to fit into ways of living and working that left me depleted.

Now, I am building something that reflects what I value: freedom, nature, nourishment, connection and meaningful work.

Quality of life matters deeply.

We may not be able to take our possessions with us, but we do experience the way we live each day.

We Are Here to Create

Arohanui is fuelled by passion and grounded in purpose.

It isn’t about escaping life.

It is about returning to what makes us feel alive.

It is about remembering who we are beneath the noise, pressure and roles we have carried.

It is about remembering our strength and recognising that we may be capable of far more than we have been led to believe.

The fire, the loss, the rebuilding and the decision to let go again all taught me that we are not here simply to endure our lives.

We are here to participate in creating them.

We cannot control every event. Life will still bring storms, grief and changes we never expected.

But even when so much falls away, something remains:

Our ability to choose the next step.

Our ability to rebuild.

Our ability to create meaning from what we have lived.

And our ability to begin again.