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