Things I Learnt From My Latest Coaching Intensive (Pt 1): Coach Gravitas

So What Is Gravitas

To me, gravitas is how much weight a person carries. It's the energy field they bring into a room the moment they walk in, before they've said a single word. In chinese, we call it "强大的气场".

I was watching Badly In Love Season 2 the other day — it's a dating show about Japanese former yankis (delinquents) trying to find love. And because of who these men used to be, whenever they meet each other, tempers flare fast. Holding a stare half a second too long and suddenly everyone's puffing up like roosters about to go at it.

When contestant M walked in, I could tell straight away he was different. He had gravitas. The air in the room changed when he walked in. When he got challenged to a fight, he moved into defence but also looked his opponent in the eye — calm, steady, unbothered. I knew immediately this guy was someone. He'd been to places. 

It's the same for a coach. When a coach with gravitas arrives in the room, you feel it in their grounded, calm presence — the kind that commands deep trust without trying to. Chances are, they've seen some things in life and done real work on themselves, and that's what gives them the emotional maturity that makes you feel safe enough to open up and go deep.

And this — this is the magic sauce that separates a good coach from an exceptional one.

For a coach, gravitas comes down to how much work we've done on our own self-acceptance (the extent to which you can accept your clients as they are is the extent to which you've accepted yourself), our confidence, our credibility, our convictions (do you actually know who you are and what you stand for), and our relational presence — our ability to be fully with a client as a neutral, equal partner, without letting our own needs get in the way. That means not becoming domineering, not shrinking, and not performing to look "perfect."

How Do Coaches Build Gravitas

This is also why coaches charge the way they do. 

A good coach can only become one by building their gravitas to a certain level — and that level comes with an investment in terms of time, effort and money.

Beyond the obvious things — having real conversations, showing up, taking risks — a good coach is constantly honing their skill so they can actually move their clients toward a positive outcome.

But at the base of all of it is inner work. Techniques can teach you how to validate a client or ask a good questions. What techniques can't teach you is how far you're able to invite someone else to walk through their challenges — because that's directly limited by how far you've been willing to walk through your own.

Here's an example. If a coach has a difficult relationship with their mother and hasn't done the work to move through it themselves, and then they sit across from a client with the exact same wound — it's going to be really hard for that coach to help the client zoom out, find their motivation, and find the courage to move forward. Worse, the two of them might get pulled into the same unresolved "trauma" together and end up trauma-bonding, with neither one finding a way out.

These are invisible skills. They take years of life experience, inner work, and training to build. So when you pay your coach, you're not paying for the hour you spend with them. You're paying for the hundreds of hours they spent long before you ever walked in — the work that got them to a place where they can actually sit with you in your mess and help you find your way through it.

Take me, for example. I've been doing inner work for almost 20 years. I hold an IPEC coaching certification, and I also completed a 100-Day Graduate Certification with an organization called Psychology of Vision. The certification says 100 days, but I've been in this work since 2010 — I'd estimate I've clocked another 200 to 300 days of training on top of that since.

I'm not perfect. I don't claim to be. 

But I know I can create real, positive impact in this world. And as I've done the work on myself, I've noticed it show up everywhere — in my relationships with the people around me. The ripple effect is real. That's what gravitas gives you.

Why Choose A Coach With Gravitas?

For major life overhauls like divorce, relocation, or career change, a transitions coach with gravitas serves as an unshakeable, grounding anchor who provides the deep psychological safety and steady clarity needed to navigate these intense emotional and structural upheavals.

Let's take a woman facing potential divorce as an example. If you are a woman standing on the other side of a divorce — rebuilding a life, an identity, maybe even a sense of who you are outside of a marriage — you are not looking for someone to hand you a five-step plan. You've probably already tried that. What you actually need is someone who can sit with you in the mess without flinching, without rushing you to "move on," and without making your pain about their own unresolved stuff.

The difference between a coach who's read the books and a coach who's lived through the fire and come out steadier for it. 

When you're rebuilding trust — in yourself, in love, in your own judgment — you need someone across from you who isn't shaken by your story, because they've faced their own version of it. That steadiness becomes something you can borrow from, until you find your own again.

So when you're choosing a coach for this season of your life, don't just look at the certifications on the page (though those matter too). Pay attention to how you feel in their presence. Do you feel safe enough to be a mess in front of them? Do they feel grounded, or are they performing "having it all together"? That felt sense — that's gravitas talking.

In Conclusion

Gravitas isn't something you can fake, and it isn't something you can shortcut. It's built through years of showing up for your own healing before you ever try to hold space for someone else's. For me, that's exactly the work I've put in — not so I could be perfect, but so I could be present. And presence, more than any framework or technique, is what actually helps a woman find her footing again after divorce.

If you're looking for a coach for this chapter of your life, I hope this gives you a better sense of what to look for — and what real support should actually feel like.

Thinking about getting a coach or a mentor?

If any part of this resonated with you, I'd love to have a conversation. I offer a complimentary discovery call for women who are navigating life after divorce and want a steady, experienced presence in their corner — someone who's done the inner work so you don't have to walk this alone. Book your call and let's see if we're the right fit.

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Never Under The Estimate The Power Of Your Courage

Today I met up with one of my mentees who is Asian and works in an American MNC like me, and she had great news to share.

When we had our first session, she told me she wanted to improve her communication skills. She'd been a bit of a loner at work because she didn't feel confident in English, since it's her second language. This is a challenge for her because she works in an English speaking environment but does not need to use the language outside of work.

Using coaching techniques, we explored why this was happening and what she could adjust to get closer to where she wanted to be. And since this was a mentoring session, I also shared a few things I've learned that might help — one of them being to just approach people naturally. I gave her an example: asking someone if they'd eaten, the way a typical Asian would.

"After I decided that I will try to talk to at least one colleague, I started rehearsing in my mind what I would say and I practiced like you asked me to... to ask if they had breakfast. I worked out in my mind a plan.. that if they said yes, I would follow up with a question about what they ate..."

She arrived in office, built up her courage and finally asked her colleague if he'd had breakfast.

He said "No…"

And just like that, her whole plan fell apart. She had no idea what to say next.

While she was doing breathing exercises to calm herself down and figure out her next move, her colleague turned to her and said, "Actually, I'm just about to grab a coffee — want to join me?"

One thing led to another, and the whole team ended up getting coffee together... "And it is the very first time that my whole team had coffee together in the morning and we had such a great time we took a group photo," she added with a twinkle in her eye.

The experience gave her more courage and she shared openly with them how she wanted to improve her communication and how this started out as an exercise as a result of our mentorship program. Her colleagues were supportive and chipped in with more ways she could work on that and told her, "You should have told us earlier..."

My takeaway from this-- Never underestimate the small steps you built your courage to take — even the ones that feel like they failed.

My mentee didn't get the conversation she rehearsed. She got something better: a whole team having coffee together for the first time, because she was brave enough to go first.

That's the part people forget — your small step doesn't just affect you. There's often a whole team, a whole room, all a whole group of people waiting on the other side of it for you to shine and for you to take the lead. You just can't see them yet.

So here's my question for you — what's one small, "scary" step you've been putting off? Maybe it's smaller and easier than you think.

Drop it in the comments. I'd love to hear it.

need help figuring out the small step looks like?

If you're stuck figuring out what that step even looks like, that's exactly what I help people with. Book a session with me, and let's find your version of "asking about breakfast".

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Half A Glass Of Sake And How It Taught Me A Lesson About The Importance of Perception

Last week, my friend and I went for a meal and ordered a glass of sake to share. We asked the server for half a glass each.

The cheeky crew at Omunomu Sake Bar took us very literally — and gave us a this glass! 

We laughed about it for a good five minutes. The glass is so unique. Depending on the angle you are looking from, it can look like a full glass or half a glass and this reminded me literally of how our perception determines the world we saw. 

The Workshop That Rewired How I Tell My Story

Years ago, I attended a workshop that used a simple but brutal exercise that was meant to teach accountability and help us learn we had a choice in how we wanted to remember or tell our life story.

You were grouped into groups and and first, you told your group your life story — as a sob story. All the pain, all the unfairness, laid out exactly as it felt when it happened.

After everyone has done their sob story. We were now given a second set of instructions. You now had to tell the exact same story again. Except this time, as a comedy.

Nothing about the facts changed. Only the lens did.

Suddenly, my messiest relationship heartbreaks weren't tragedies — they were absurd, almost slapstick movie plots and insightful relationship lessons about the many stages of relationships. And the scariest chapter of my life — being chased by loan sharks because of my dad's gambling debt — started sounding like material for a stand-up set.

When I Was 15, My Dad Ran

When I was 15, my dad racked up a massive gambling debt. He had no job and no way to pay back what he owed — so he ran to another country and left my mum to face it all, with my sister and me still at home.

As a sob story, this was indeed a sad situation for a young girl. We had barely enough to eat and we couldn't afford to buy food for my dad's arowana fish in the house and had to catch cockroaches for it. My mum had to start going out to work and suddenly, me and my sister became latch key kids. At 15, I was also painfully aware of how compared to my friends, I had very little at home. The loansharks will come ask for money every now and then and we had recieved many threats and calls over the phone. When I was walking on the streets, I always felt really afraid that I night be killed or injured because of the debt we owed. (Yes, I know, too many tv shows.. lol)

But as a comedy, that was also a completely absurd year where I got a front-row seat to the different "professionals" in the loanshark business. Yes, professionals. Because apparently, even debt collection has its own cast of characters.

1) The Traditional Loanshark
This one didn't do subtlety. He'd call on the first day of Chinese New Year — the actual first ring you pick up — and go straight into "KNNCCB, you owe money better pay money!" No pleasantries. No small talk. Just straight to the vulgarities, like a greeting card from hell. I was the unlucky one to pick up the call and never could forget it.

2) The Demure Salesperson
Then there was the guy who showed up in a shirt, tie, and business pants, hair neatly combed and slicked with blue cream, wearing black glasses — like he'd walked straight out of a 1990s insurance ad. He knocked politely and gave an actual sales pitch: "Excuse me, hello, I am here actually about the debt XXX owed. I am just wondering if you will be able to pay up on his behalf, as we cannot contact him."

When my mum said she had no money, he pivoted into what can only be described as a soft close: "Oh, that is perfectly understandable now that your husband is not around. But would you be able to pay a minimum sum of $50 a month? That would help me very much, so I can answer to my boss..."

My mum, completely deadpan, replied: "I only have my two daughters and my life. If you want, you can take that."

And this "salesman" — visibly rattled — backpedaled instantly: "Oh please, don't say that. Why don't I give you some time to sort things out, and I'll come back later... I'm so sorry to trouble you today."

A debt collector, apologizing to us. I still can't get over it.

3) The Actor
This one is my favourite of the entire cast. A guy who looked rough around the edges, but spoke sincerely — almost gently — asking if my mum could pay a small amount every month. She said no.

Right on cue, his phone rang. He picked it up and, in front of us, launched into an entirely different personality: "Ah yes, boss! Yes, I am chasing them now... don't worry, leave it to me..." — while banging loudly on our door a few times for effect — "You better listen to me... you better pay up... or else, we will definitely make you sorry!!" Then, sweet as pie again: "Ok boss, ok boss, bye bye..."

And almost immediately, he switched right back into his kindly persona: "Sorry ah, sorry ah, talking to my boss and I have to pretend that I am doing my job. I am just a runner... and I also understand your difficulties..."

I genuinely didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The switch was so swift, so smooth, so seamless — one moment he was threatening us, the next he was practically apologizing for the performance. This man deserved an Oscar. A Golden Horse award, minimum.

 

Same Facts, Completely Different Story

Told one way, this is a story about abandonment, fear, and a life interrupted by other people's bad decisions. Told another way, it's a story about the most oddly theatrical cast of characters I've ever met — a workplace comedy that happened to be set at my front door. I almost feel thankful to my dad for this really unique experience.

Both versions are true. I just get to choose which one I carry.

And to a certain extend, this is what receiving coaching is about — not pretending the hard things didn't happen, but learning how to hold them in a way that doesn't keep you stuck. The facts of your past don't change. But the story you tell yourself about them? That's entirely up for rewrite.

So here's my question for you: how are you currently telling the story of your life — and is it time to tell it differently?

ready to rewrite your life story?

If this resonated with you, I'd love to help you find your own reframe. I work with people one-on-one to help them look at their toughest chapters and find the version of the story that moves them forward instead of keeping them stuck.  Let's find your comedy in the chaos.

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Going Back To Work After 10 Years Of SAHM Life

My selfie before my first day of work so many years ago...

When I got married, I quit my job.

When I got divorced, I went back to work—because I needed to pay for my HDB.

Looking back now, it has been nine years since I stepped back into the workforce.

I still remember the moment my ex asked for a divorce. One of the first things I did was call HDB as we had applied for a BTO. The officer mentioned that as long as we only got divorced after getting the keys to our flat, we will be able to keep the flat. I was also told that even if my ex wanted to transfer his share of the flat to me, I would still need 6 months of income slip to qualify for a bank loan.

That was when reality settled in.

I needed a job. And I needed it fast. We were going to get our keys in a few months.

So a few months before PSLE, I suddenly told my son that I was going back to work.

He didn’t take it well. He couldn’t understand why I would choose that particular moment—right before one of the biggest exams of his life.

But I couldn’t tell him the real reason.

I couldn’t tell him that his father had already asked for a divorce.

So I told him something that was true… but not the whole truth.

I told him that I had spent many years dedicating my life to the family, and in doing so, I had neglected building a life of my own. And that wasn’t healthy.

I explained that if I didn’t start creating something for myself, one day—when he grows up, gets married, and builds his own life—I might end up depending on him. And that wouldn’t be fair to him.

Even as I said it, I knew there was a deeper truth underneath.

Somewhere inside, before I could fully admit it to myself, I knew I needed to stand on my own two feet again.

Ace asked if I could wait—just until after his PSLE.

I told him I would try.

But life doesn’t always move according to what we’re ready for.

Things shifted quickly. Priorities changed. And suddenly, going back to work wasn’t something I could ease into—it was something I needed to do.

I remember praying for a job, holding on to a quiet certainty that something would come.

And it did.

Within two weeks, I got an offer.

It felt almost too perfect.

An MNC in the east, not too far from home. Reasonable hours—I could knock off at 5:30 most days. And when I started, I found something even more important: kind colleagues, an understanding boss, a space that felt… safe to rebuild.

When I told Ace I got the job, he was upset.

For two days, he was rude to me in the way only hurt children can be. He told me he didn’t understand why I needed to work—his dad could provide, could take care of me.

And I remember pausing.

Because I knew this wasn’t about the job.

It was about security. About his world shifting in ways he couldn’t control or fully understand.

So I told him, as best as I could,
“Even if someone can take care of you, you cannot depend on that forever. A woman needs to be able to stand on her own two feet.”

I didn’t tell him that I was in the process of doing exactly that.

Instead, I told him this: that going to work was part of me working on myself, building a better life—for me, and for him.

On my first day of work, I bought him a small surprise snack.

Maybe I was trying to soften the change.

Or maybe I just wanted him to feel that even though something in our lives was shifting, my love for him hadn’t.

Over time, something unexpected happened. He adjusted.

Not immediately. Not perfectly. But gradually.

He became more independent. He started helping out at home—washing dishes, keeping track of his own schedule. His attitude in school improved.

There was a quiet growing-up that took place in those weeks.

And I realised something then—

Children often rise to the life we give them.

We kept one ritual. Every morning, I would walk him to school.

Even after I started work, even when mornings became rushed, I held on to that time. I told him I could only walk him halfway now—but still, we walked.

That short stretch became ours. Our space. Our grounding.

One week, my boss from the US was in town, and I had to leave early. I couldn’t walk him for a few days.

When Friday came and I finally could again, he held my hand tightly the whole way. I asked him, "Didnt you ask me not to hold your hand because it is embarrassing?"

"Who cares..." he replied. He didn’t say much more. He just smiled. And in that quiet moment, I understood something I hadn’t fully seen before.

Going back to work was never just about money.

It wasn’t even just about independence.

It was about rebuilding a life from the ground up—and learning how to love each other through that change.

Looking back now, going back to work was one of the first steps I took into a completely new chapter of my life.

At the time, it felt sudden, messy, and reactive.

But in truth, it was the beginning of something much deeper.

It was the beginning of me choosing myself again.

And in the process, I think Ace learned something too.

That love doesn’t mean everything stays the same.

Sometimes, love means growing—even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it changes everything—and trusting that the bond between us will hold.

Are you going through something similar?

If this resonated with you, I'd love to have a conversation. I work with people navigating life's biggest transitions — divorce, loss, change, relationships, parenting, and health. Book a free 30-minute discovery call and let's talk about where you are and where you want to go.

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Fighting Parents

Years ago, I read a book and translated a Chinese book one by one of my teachers into English.. the book titled Love and Reconciliation is about a psychology model used to explain how family dynamics in the family and how parents and even our ancestors have a direct or indirect impact on our lives, our life pattern and our actions.

The book states that as in every system, there has to be some sort of order and hierarchy. The same goes for our family system. So the parents, having come into the family first will be "bigger" in this sense and the children, having come to the family later will be "smaller".

But whenever the mum and dad gets into a quarrel, sometimes one of the partners unconsciously want the drag the child into the quarrel and manipulate them or make use of the child to attack their partners.

 

Sometimes, the child himself, will unconsciously start to take sides and may try to help by taking on the anger the parents feel for each other. 

As a result, the child is affected and not just he will have many unexplained emotional outbursts towards the father or mother, he may also lose interest in his studies.. the effects are far reaching and may even affect the relationship between him and his wife when he gets married!

I remember that something happened years ago to drive this point in. I remember so clearly because I actually wrote this down somewhere!:) 

I was working hard on my translation and had only slept at 4am in the morning. I got woken up unwillingly when my son started playing Kinect loudly on TV.

When I walked into my bathroom, the whole bathroom was in disarray! It looked as if someone tried  to rob the toilet. There were opened bottles, toothpaste with their contents spilled everywhere. And to add to that, my towel on the floor beside the toilet bowl!

Boy was I mad!

I asked my son if he did this and he said he didn't. This must mean someone else came home late after drinking and got too drunk!

Against my better judgement, I started grumbling to my son about the incident... "Why did he throw my towel on the floor next to the toilet bowl???? go throw your own towel... why throw mine?????"

But shortly after I complained, I started to have the awareness of what I was doing.. I was manipulating my son into taking sides! So I stopped. 

When his dad woke, we sorted it out and I forgave him.

But in my son's mind, we did not come to a conclusion.. so when we went out, he was pouting all the way. I asked him why he was pouting and he said he is upset because we are fighting and haven't made up yet. I told him then that I had forgiven Daddy already and once he is certain we are really ok already.. he was his happy self again.

I then shared with my son what I learnt in the book.. that when our parents are in a fight, as children, because it is not in our position to interfere, we should not take sides or take it upon ourselves to resolve it. Cos this is their fight and we have to respect the way they interact with each other and just love them no matter what. 

"So if me and daddy ever do quarrel again, you must remember that this is between us and has got nothing to do with you. You do not need to do anything. Just love us and trust us to sort it out ourselves.. ok?"

At 7 years old, I don't know how much he understood but I am glad I read the book and caught on to what I was doing before he became anything big or ugly... 

I think for a healthy marriage, this can still be quite easy to do. However, if this were happening in the midst or towards the start of a divorce, it might feel quite challenging to remain neutral and not get our children to take sides. 

I recalled at the start of our discussions about divorce, I couldn't wait to tell the whole world what a bad guy he was and how wrong he was. The only thing that was holding me back and motivating me to remain neutral is how after so many years of personal development workshops, I am very clear how the biggest loser in a big fight between parents will always be the child. 

So the next time you are in a fight, for the sake of the happiness of your child, keep the arguments within yourself and dont forget to remind your child that this has nothing to do with them and they can help by just sending good loving thoughts. 

Are you going through something similar?

If this resonated with you, I'd love to have a conversation. I work with people navigating life's biggest transitions — divorce, loss, change, relationships, parenting, and health. Book a free 30-minute discovery call and let's talk about where you are and where you want to go.

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Grief Doesn’t Get Easier

I used to think that if I learned enough about death, did enough inner work, and faced loss with enough presence, I’d eventually get good at grieving—that experience would make it easier “the next time.”

Five losses later—across four grandparents and my father—I’ve learned the opposite. Grief doesn’t get easier with practice. It doesn’t follow what you learned the last time.

But it does teach you—each time—a different way to love someone all the way to the end.

I was lucky, in a way, to be born with all four grandparents still alive—extra people to dote on me, shower me with gifts, and love me deeply. Friends who didn’t know their grandparents always envied that.

Ye Ye

The first death I experienced was my paternal grandfather’s—Ye Ye.

He always doted on us. During Chinese New Year, we’d play ban lak together. If we lost, he would pay for us. If we won, we got to keep the money.

Every school holiday, when we stayed at my grandparents’ house, he would buy us treats or pretty stationery. He was healthy, cycling every day to his fruit stall. Then he retired. And when cancer came, it came fast. He was diagnosed with throat cancer, and almost overnight, he could no longer eat or speak.

At 20, I didn’t know how to face death. I just kept visiting him—not even because I wanted to, but because I felt it was a way to support my grandmother, whom I was very close to.

The night before he passed, he took a turn for the worse. At 4 a.m., the whole family gathered. But after a while, his breathing steadied, and we returned to our routines. I even went to school for a tutorial I couldn’t miss.

On my way back, my pager rang nonstop while I sat stuck on a bus along the highway. Back then, there were no mobile phones. There was no way to call back.

By the time I reached my grandmother’s house, my worst fear had come true. He had already passed. When I saw him, his body was cold.

That was when I learned about 回光返照—a brief rally before the end.

I also learned that grief can feel like numbness, that it truly hits when the body is pushed into the fire… and that it comes in waves you don’t expect.

For months after, I would pause whenever I saw an old man his age. Grief doesn’t announce itself politely. It hides in ordinary moments and ambushes you.

Ah Gong

My next brush with death was my maternal grandfather’s.

He didn’t live with us. My memories of him are of a gentle man who visited a few times a year, always bringing gifts. Sometimes, we had to go downstairs to meet him because my grandmother didn’t like to see him.

I don’t remember much about his passing except the shock of learning he had another family elsewhere only at the funeral. When I was much younger, my mother said Ah Gong slept in his taxi when I asked her why he didnt stay with us. When I got older and asked again, she just left it as "he is staying with a friend..." and I always thought of that friend as a male housemate. So it was really a surprise for me to see this whole other family at a very awkward funeral.

I still felt sad at his cremation—but I didn’t miss him the way I missed Ye Ye.

And that taught me something too: grief isn’t uniform. It doesn’t arrive the same way for every loss. Closeness shapes it as much as death does.

Ah Ma

A few years later, my paternal grandmother—Ah Ma—fell ill.

We were very close. Every time we visited, she would cook our favorite dishes—fried sotong balls, braised chicken, pig tail soup. When we stayed over, she would take everyone’s breakfast orders the night before—even if all eight cousins wanted eight different things—and she would queue to buy them all.

After Ye Ye passed, she moved closer to us. Later, she would even help feed my young son. 

Then one day, she went out and didn’t come home.

She had gone to visit her brother but forgot where she was going. When she finally returned, she explained she had suddenly lost her bearings and only regained clarity hours later.

That was the beginning of her dementia.

She stopped recognizing us. I would tell her who I was each time I saw her, knowing how frustrating it must be not to remember.

And then, eventually, she forgot that she couldn’t remember.

But I learned something else: people with dementia still remember love.

There was a period when she was hospitalized for months. I visited every morning at 10 a.m. One day, I couldn’t go. The next day, her helper told me that at exactly 10 a.m., she had asked, “Where is Ah Joo?”—my nickname. She hadn’t recognized me in years.

As her condition worsened, she could no longer swallow food. Yet she still worried about me—why I only had one child, whether I wanted Milo. Even then, she was giving.

Eventually, she caught a hospital infection.

By then, I had started doing personal development work and learning about death. My teacher, Lency, shared something that changed how I would face loss forever.

Most people are afraid of death. So when someone is dying, we pull away.

But that’s when they need us most.

Instead of retreating, we are meant to move closer—to love, to let go of regret, to forgive ourselves for what we didn’t do well enough.

I tried to live that out with Ah Ma.

And still, I missed her terribly.

I would be in the middle of yoga and suddenly catch the scent of her soap and start crying. But over time, something shifted. I still missed her—but I could think of her with more love than pain.

Daddy

My father loved us deeply—there was never any doubt.

He once promised my mother he wouldn’t interfere when she disciplined us. So when she scolded or caned us, he stayed silent—but his face would darken, and he would stop speaking to her for days instead.

He was that kind of man.

As a grandfather, he would force himself to stand at the stove—despite weak legs—to cook my son’s favorite “black black noodles.” After my divorce, he quietly made lunch appointments with my son, just to make sure he was eating well.

When my mother told him about my divorce, he didn’t say a word to me. But he asked her constantly how I was doing. That was his way of caring.

He had poor health, but I always thought we had more time—maybe even enough for him to see my son graduate.

Then COVID came.

The hospital called us to come quickly. By the time I arrived, the doctor waited for me to put on my protective gear before telling me he had already passed.

I didn’t get to see him one last time.

Three days earlier, we had a video call—he looked like he was getting better.

And then suddenly, he was gone.

Grieving without touch—without presence—was its own kind of pain.

I tried to focus on his love rather than how he left. But grief kept surprising me. Just when I thought I had healed, it would return.

It took me a full year to feel the anger beneath the sadness—anger at him for leaving, for “abandoning” us by dying.

Logically, it made no sense. And given that I am now almost an EXPERT in letting go of my loved ones, it didn't make sense to me why I was still feeling all these emotions after so long. But the heart doesn’t listen to logic. It takes its own time.

Even now, there are moments when I think of him, and tears come without warning. I do miss him and I do still feel a connection to him and I guess one will always feel their parents' love no matter what.

Popo

My maternal grandmother—Popo—was always healthy.

Because she lived with us, she was part of our daily life. She woke us up, made breakfast, cooked when my mother was busy. Her hobby was housework. She followed her routines faithfully.

She also gave generously.

Even on a housekeeper’s salary, she would pay for things around the house—a new TV, a new sofa—without hesitation.

Even when she developed dementia, she never stopped caring for us.

When doctors told me she had a year left, part of me believed I was ready. That I knew how to grieve by now.

So I chose to go closer. I spent time with her. I let myself feel her love fully, and I released the guilt and attachment I might once have held.

When she passed—peacefully, surrounded by family—I still wasn’t ready to let her go.

But this time, something was different.

There were fewer regrets.

She died with dignity. Even in illness, she never stopped loving. And in that, she showed me what it means to have a good death.

What Grief Taught Me

Five losses in, I no longer believe grief is something you master.

Experience doesn’t make it smaller or more predictable. It teaches you how to show up—with more honesty, more courage, more love.

Grief doesn’t follow a schedule. It circles back when you least expect it—years later, in a scent, in a stranger, in a fleeting memory.

The goal was never to finish grieving.

It was to keep choosing love—even while grieving—and to let that be enough.

Are you going through something similar?

If this resonated with you, I'd love to have a conversation. I work with people navigating life's biggest transitions — divorce, loss, change, relationships, parenting, and health. Book a free 30-minute discovery call and let's talk about where you are and where you want to go.

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What Past Clients Say About Me

"Working with Angel helped me uncover the hidden beliefs that were holding me back from taking action. By uncovering the root cause of my resistance, I've broken the cycle of procrastination and am seeing tangible, positive results in both my work and personal life. She is incredible at holding space"

— Nicholas, Singapore

"Angel always has the right questions to ask, the patience to see me through a difficult task, and boundless good energy. She makes the big tasks seem less daunting and always offers just the right amount of guidance for us to set our own paths straight again."

— Jau Chern, Singapore

"I found my answer for a long-term problem with a family member in just one session with Angel. This has helped me move forward with so much more ease and joy. She is definitely your go-to coach if you are seeking clarity whilst journeying through life's challenges."

— Kelly, Taiwan

"Angel is my favorite person to speak with when I have an issue that I cannot unravel. The space she creates in the coaching session allows me to really reflect on the issue deeply and find the underlying reasons. And her clear, concise suggestions, delivered with openness and humor helps me get to the heart of the issue easily and with less fear."

— Lene, Singapore

"Angel has a very authentic way of coaching. She is a careful listener, 'hears' between the lines, uses her humour at appropriate times and is not afraid to hold quiet space for the client to think and process. Even being a coach myself, she always comes up with surprising stuff that really gets my brain going."

— Carmen, Singapore

Are you going through something similar?

If this resonated with you, I'd love to have a conversation. I work with people navigating life's biggest transitions — divorce, loss, change, relationships, parenting, and health. Book a free 30-minute discovery call and let's talk about where you are and where you want to go.

Book a Free Call Learn More