Our Articles

Embracing identity and self-discovery is not a luxury topic at Silent Hum; it is core survival work for parents, siblings, and wider whānau living with childhood illness and loss in Aotearoa.

The Silent Hum steadies families in Aotearoa through illness, grief, and neurodiversity with practical support, honest resources, and whānau-centred care

When you're walking through childhood cancer, life becomes a mix of hospital rooms, brave smiles, and prayers whispered late at night. But sometimes — there’s sunshine, waves, laughter, and a small hand holding yours tightly at the beach. These small, simple moments? They’re everything. Especially for siblings like Skyelar — our glass children, quietly navigating the storm.

Understand how well-intentioned words can unintentionally cause pain during crisis. Learn what to say and what to avoid when supporting whānau through childhood illness in New Zealand.

The messages glow on the screen: “Let me know if you need anything.” It is a generous, heartfelt, and profoundly useless offer. In the landscape of crisis, the person you are offering to help is the least capable person in the world of telling you how. Grief and fear are thieves, and their greatest heist is executive function. Asking them to project-manage their own rescue is an impossible task. So, what is the language of real help?

When the world shifts beneath your feet, and the path ahead is shadowed by uncertainty, finding a steady light can feel impossible. I...

Late-night tensions are common for Kiwi couples in crisis. We often offer the support we want, not what our partner needs. This post shares a simple question that acts as a translator, preventing arguments and ensuring you provide the right kind of support for your whānau.

Feeling lost in the storm of a family crisis? This is your anchor. A practical guide with tools and scripts to help you advocate for your child and find steady ground.

The messages arrive like small, glowing birds on the screen of a phone you don’t have the energy to lift. They all say a version of the same sentence... "Let me know if you need anything." It is a well-intentioned, generous, and utterly useless offer. In the landscape of crisis—whether it’s the sterile, beeping world of a hospital ward or the heavy silence of a grieving home—a person’s capacity is the first casualty.