02/08/2026
A longer reflection ahead if youād like to join meā¦
18 July 2025 ā¤ļøāš©¹
I knew my one-year heart attack anniversary was coming. Much like my sobriety anniversary, itās one of those dates thatās quietly etched into your mind. But it came and went without me saying a word.
Not because Iād forgotten, but because life asked me to be somewhere else. There were personal matters that needed my full attention, and without hesitation, thatās exactly where my energy belonged.
Now, with a little room to breathe, Iāve found myself reflecting on the past twelve months.
A year ago, life changed in an instant.
Until then, I had spent years simply getting on with it. I was forever ticking boxes, solving problems, saying yes to opportunities and carrying whatever needed carrying. I was incredibly grateful for every opportunity that came my way, but I rarely stopped long enough to celebrate them before I was already moving on to the next responsibility.
Then everything stopped. A heart attack has a way of asking questions you never imagined youād have to answer.
At 39, I found myself writing my will, choosing an enduring power of attorney, and facing conversations that no parent ever hopes to have. It forced me to think about the legacy I wanted to leave behind, not through achievements alone, but through the people I love, the way I lived, and the impact I had on others.
The months that followed werenāt easy.
Ironically, while I was recovering, some of the biggest milestones of my career arrived. Finalist phone calls came while I was in hospital. My anxiety was through the roof as I navigated the uncertainty of what recovery would look like. Awards followed. Articles were published. Opportunities Iād worked years for were suddenly in front of me.
Those moments meant the world to me.
Not because they were awards, but because of how they were celebrated.
I wasnāt standing there on my own.
Behind every one of those moments was my village, my whÄnau, my friends, my incredible team, and the people who quietly carried me when I couldnāt carry myself.
People who visited me in hospital, brought me meals, sat beside me, helped me feel like myself again, carried extra responsibility while I recovered, drove me to appointments, collected prescriptions, stayed with me and the kids, helped with school pick-ups and drop-offs and quite literally helped me get through the doors of those award ceremonies. Those awards will always remind me that none of us achieve anything alone.
The biggest change, though, wasnāt what happened around me. It was what changed within me. Today, Iām far more intentional with my time.
Iāve learnt that every opportunity comes with a cost, and for too many years that cost was almost always paid by my own health or by time with the people I love.
Now I ask a different question.
Not, āCan I do this?ā Because yes I am more capable. But, āIs this worth what it will cost?ā Sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes itās no. And Iāve learnt to be okay with that.
People often ask if Iām better.
The honest answer isā¦ Iām a lot better than I was a year ago. But Iām still recovering. A year on, I still have daily care support, wear a medical alarm every day, take medication, routine specialist appointments, and regularly monitor my blood pressure and oxygen levels. Most importantly, Iāve learnt to listen when my body tells me to slow down. Recovery didnāt end when I left hospital. Itās simply become part of how I live.
What has changed is that Iām no longer afraid to accept help. Before my heart attack, I would have quietly carried everything myself. Now Iāve learnt that accepting help isnāt weakness. Itās wisdom. It allows me to keep showing up for the people who matter most and, in doing so, have a greater impact.
Before anything else, Iām Mum to four incredible children. Everything I do begins and ends with them. Every decision I make, every opportunity I accept or decline, every hour I choose to spend somewhere, is filtered through that lens first.
This past year has also reminded me why I love what I do. Every customer who walks through our doors isnāt just supporting a small business. Theyāre helping us support local fishermen, local growers, local producers and our wider community. They allow my team and me to do what weāre most passionate about, sharing the stories, flavours and kaupapa of Murihiku through kai. That is something Iāll never take for granted.
Iāve realised that awards and recognition are wonderful milestones, and Iām incredibly proud of them. But more importantly, if people remember me, I hope itās because they felt welcomed, cared for and connected around our table. I hope my children know they are fiercely loved. I hope my community knows they matter.
And I hope the people who cross my path leave feeling just a little better than when they arrived.
Legacy isnāt measured by titles, Itās measured by the way we treat people.
The kindness we show.
The impact we leave behind in our homes, our workplaces and our communities.
I donāt live as though every day is my last. I live knowing tomorrow is never guaranteed, so I try to make today count.
To everyone who has walked alongside me over the past year, whether you cared for me, encouraged me, checked in, supported The Anchorage, trusted my team with your celebrations, or simply showed kindness when I needed it mostā¦
That isnāt something Iāll ever take for granted. Thank you.
As I was writing this reflection today, I put it aside to head into the restaurant.
The weather was doing everything it could to keep people at home. But they came anyway.
Families travelled from across Southland. Familiar faces walked through our doors. Visitors sat around our tables sharing kai and stories. Local business owners chose to spend their day off with us.
Standing there today, I quietly took it all in with immense gratitude.
A year ago, I didnāt know what my future looked like.
Today, I stood in a busy restaurant filled with people who continue to support not just me, but my team, our kaupapa, and everything The Anchorage stands for.
Iām still recovering.
Iām still learning.
Iām still adapting.
But Iām still here.
And for that, Iāll always be grateful š
If youāve made it this far, thanks for reading,
~ Hayz x
