I was listening to Jon Batiste’s Black Mozart recently. I enjoyed it and there’s no doubt he’s a gifted musician.

I trained as a musician and went to conservatory. All through my childhood and teenage years I was surrounded by classmates who could also play like that. Being in a conservatory has its way of humbling you quickly, because every other student is even more talented than the last. Over lunch breaks, I would listen to piano major students jamming, improvising and creating jazz and blues renditions of Mozart, Beethoven and even Debussy — not too different at all from the variations recorded on Black Mozart. My friends weren’t exactly ‘musical prodigies’, they were just music students who were creative, wanted to have fun and had talent behind them, which was most conservatory music students. If you’d recorded them and put a name and a release date on them, it could have sat comfortably on an album shelf. But you would never have heard any of these people. Most of them never released anything at all.

That’s not a knock on Batiste. It’s the opposite. He understood something my brilliant, unheard classmates didn’t: that talent is only half of the game. Going and doing it is the other half, and arguably, the more crucial half.

If skill alone determined who rose, the names we know would be different. Look at the biggest acts in music today — can you honestly say every one of them is at the absolute top of their craft as a singer or an instrumentalist? I don’t think so. Some had the timing. Some had the ‘right package’. Some had a door open at the right moment. And some simply went out and did it while more talented people waited in the wings, perfecting, preparing, telling themselves they weren’t quite ready yet.

The world is full of extraordinarily skilled people you will never hear of, because for whatever reason, they did not go out there and get it.

I know this because I’ve been on both sides of it.

When I started WeBarre, I had no business background. I had never run a company, never worked in the fitness or wellness industry, had no MBA, no investor network, no business mentor nor roadmap. By every measure of readiness, I had no business starting a business.

I did it anyway. And we became Singapore’s first dedicated barre studio, which turned out to matter enormously. Having first-movers’ advantage was one of the biggest reasons we succeeded. Seth Godin has written for years about this exact idea: that the person who ships early, who goes first, who starts before it’s perfect, captures something the more careful latecomer never can. First-mover advantage is real. But you only get it if you move.

I didn’t earn the right to go first. I just went.

But there were also years in most of my 20s where I did the opposite. Where I held back. Where I had an idea, an instinct, an opening, and I talked myself out of it because I didn’t feel ready, or qualified, or good enough yet. I waited for a permission that never came. And when I look back now, the regret isn’t about the things that didn’t work out. It’s about the things I never started at all.

That’s the tally score I want to talk about, and what I want to tell my children one day. It’s not the failures. It’s the non-attempts.

I think about this a lot in relation to women specifically. I watch capable, brilliant women who are more qualified than they will ever allow themselves to believe, sit on the sidelines waiting to feel ready, waiting to be picked, waiting for someone to confirm they’re allowed. Meanwhile, people with a fraction of their ability walk onto the stage, simply because it never occurred to them to ask permission first.

Imposter syndrome keeps the most prepared people in the practice room. It convinces the person who has done all the work that she still isn’t ready, while someone else is already out there, doing the thing in real time and improving in public.

The cruel irony is that the person waiting until they’re ready are almost always more ready than the people who already went.

So here is what I want you to hear:

The permission you are waiting for is not coming. There is no invitation. No one is going to tap you on the shoulder and tell you it’s your turn. The people you admire, the ones who built the thing and wrote the thing and started the thing — they didn’t wait for that either. They just decided the waiting was more costly than the risk.

You do not have to be the best. You do not have to be ready. You do not have to be 100% sure.

You just have to go.

Done is better than perfect. It always has been. Stop rehearsing and start.

Ask any parent how their WhatsApp groups for their kids’ school and extracurricular classes are going and I bet you will get a collective grunt, or an indifferent shrug and eye roll, at best. I remember being in several of these WhatsApp group chats, even when my kids were in preschool, and how easily one can get ‘sucked in’.

I remember one message clearly. A well-meaning mother, asking if anyone had a good phonics tutor recommendation for her 3.5 year old. Within the hour the group chat was flooded with replies, with specific names of tutors, enrichment centers, price per session, which ones were ‘worth the money’. Nobody paused to question whether having a phonics tutor at age 3 was necessary. The only question on the table was which one.

It can be a real source of anxiety with parents chiming in and ‘hyping’ each other up with the latest and the greatest, all designed to help kids thrive and get a head start. Which preschool their kids get into, what primary school they are aiming for, parent volunteering, sharing PDF worksheets for the kids to work on while they have a day off from school. Needless to say, I exited all of them.

Schools get a lot of the blame for pushing our kids too hard. I disagree; I think the pressure ultimately comes further upstream from parents, who are paying up to $3000 (or more) for preschool, per child, who says that they want their money’s worth, and that they want their child to get a head start before formal schooling in Primary 1. Before you assume that I’m assigning blame to parents, I’m not. As a child who has been brought up in the local system, and now a parent who is raising a child in Singapore, I understand that the fear is underneath real. In a world where the stakes feel so high, opting out seems impossible.

As much as preschools try to insert play into daily routine, the pressures of a fast-paced society and frantic parents will skew the school curriculum towards academics way earlier than their brains are ready for.

Because our human brains are so incredible, if we force reading, writing and arithmetic on them at the age of 3, they will soak it up. They will appear as if they are thriving and learning. But we have to ask ourselves, what is this at the cost of?

I think all this comes at the cost of freedom, adaptability, intrinsic motivation and curiosity, tolerance for failure, creative risk-taking, embodied self-awareness, delayed gratification, sense of agency and so much more.

Could kids that go to school still develop these skills? Yes, I think it’s possible especially if the school supports them through calm moments, and if parents also tune in closely to the child’s needs. But it is not easy. Do some homeschoolers also fall into the trap of wanting to get ahead and maybe miss the point of being free from the rigidity of the education system? Also yes. So where I think this all comes down to is our North Star, as parents — what is important to you as a family?

As much as we think our modern society is highly efficient and we can try to have the best of all worlds, things have reached a point where efforts become futile. We want a kid to be a math genius while having a play-based childhood, while pursuing the arts, building socio-emotional skills, spending quality time with attachment figures, having strong peer friendship groups, trying to explore and see the world, attend interesting camps, classes and activities. It is not possible. I know every parent dreams of ‘constructing’ the perfectly balanced childhood for our kids, but this magnitude of expectations and stimulation is not sustainable nor doable.

The Primary school system (in Singapore, at least) is calibrated for a certain kind of learner who can sit still, follow sequential instruction, demonstrate knowledge through written output, and perform under mild assessment pressure. That profile happens to match how many girls develop at 6–7 more than how many boys do.

I homeschool my son because I want to fiercely protect his childhood and freedom to play. He LOVES to play, and that in itself is a rare skill that I need to preserve for him. Many kids today are outgrowing play a lot earlier than previous generations, and I do not think it is a good thing. He just wants to be a kid. He loves vehicles, machinery, farms and animals. He can sit for hours (and I really mean hours), looking at books and studying every minute detail about tractors and cranes. He finds books and spends a lot of time scrutinizing the illustration and pictures, looking at the interaction between characters, makes astute observations and asks reflective questions way beyond his years. I loosely insert some form of basic learning (phonics, numeracy) wherever we can. If it happens, great, if it doesn’t, I am not bothered. I try to integrate it in our daily life wherever the opportunity comes up, whether it’s getting him to press numbers in a lift, playing “I Spy” using phonetical sounds, or counting the number of gummies in his hands before eating them all. We approach it more from a ‘life skills’ perspective rather than teaching him how to ace worksheets and regurgitate information learnt.

I recall his preschool teacher sharing this with me, that I will always remember: She said that readiness at age 6/7 is more about neurological maturity than accumulated math or phonics drills. A child who wasn’t ready to learn at 5 can pick it up in a MUCH shorter amount of time when he/she is 6.5 because the brain is simply ready in a way it wasn’t before. What I need to protect right now is his relationship around learning, that it adds richness to his life, and not just “because he has to do it”.

My daughter thrives on devouring information and skillsets. Her thirst for learning is incredible. At 3.5 years old she was reading early reader books from cover to cover. At 5 years old she was doing Grade 2 math. Homeschooling her is easy because she is so self-motivated and often I only need to explain a new concept once or twice and she’s ready to fly. We could keep running with it, but deep down I have a suspicion that beneath all that is a slightly anxious child who struggles with perfectionism and takes failures a bit too personally. That is not worth the cost in her being impressive on the outside. We develop the inside first before we build the outside, the same way a builder would spend a lot of time building a solid foundation before the impressive structures go above it. I am prioritizing and making space for us to sit with and discuss uncomfortable feelings/situations, emotional regulation, empathy for self and others, respectfulness, contribution to society and at home, self worthiness and confidence.

Many parents can agree that play, emotional development and having a childhood is important, but they also struggle with a mental tug of war within themselves. They get reminded that they have to prepare their child for formal learning in school otherwise their child will not be able to catch up to their peers. They see that their child is pretty bright and want to get a head start and make them even smarter by sending them for more enrichment classes, hoping to cultivate a genius. It is so easy to get caught up in this because everybody is doing it. It is very difficult to silence all the noise. The change does not begin at the school level; the change begins with us parents. Trust that the teachers are equipped to do their jobs. We as parents can focus on things outside of the school - quality time with our children that doesn’t involve us reminding them to learn their spelling 10 times a day. To just hang out together and do things that bring us joy. To observe our children and check in on how they are doing internally, and to teach them skills and values in life that is right for their family.

I think that the old education system was optimized for a different time and a different problem - back when Singapore was developing, and had to invest heavily on human capital. Academic excellence became a kind of survival strategy for most Singaporean families and it got baked into the culture so deeply that it still runs today. Now, that same mindset and behavior is still running on the back of parental fear and social comparison, in a context where the original logic no longer fully applies.

We are raising children for a future none of us can fully see yet - one that will likely reward adaptability, creative thinking, and the ability to work alongside people and tools we can’t yet imagine, far more than it rewards how early a child could read or how many worksheets they completed at age 5. Optimising for yesterday’s problem, in a system built for yesterday’s economy, is not preparation. It looks like ambition. It might just be inheritance.

Yesterday Miles spent two hours building his farm - complete with a barn, 8 sheds to house all his tractors and machines, an apple orchard, lots of happy animals, solar-powered electrified fences and paddock gates. He then spent the rest of the day studying a book about Farm Anatomy and machinery. Nobody quizzed him on it after. Nobody will put it on a report card. I don’t know yet what all of that is building in him. I just know I’m not in a hurry to find out.

I did the Pennebaker writing protocol alone in Koh Samui. Four days by myself with silence and space to reflect and think. I had been saving it for a time when I felt mentally ready to open some chapters of my life I had kept closed, even from my therapist.

The first memory that surfaced was from church.

I was around 14 or 15. My parents had been encouraging my involvement in the youth group for years — they saw it as safe, structured, good for me. What they didn’t see was that I had attached myself to that community with a kind of desperation that had nothing to do with faith. I needed to belong somewhere. My own home didn’t quite give me that because nobody was asking the questions I was asking or feeling the things I was feeling. My parents provided well for us and gave us a home, but the church group felt like the first place where I could be seen.

So I performed. I showed up early. I volunteered for everything. I worked hard to be useful, to be valued, to earn my place in the room. I was not doing it consciously. I was just a kid who wanted to belong, and performing was the price I paid for entry.

It took me until my late teens to see how unhealthy that environment had become and I decided to leave it for good. But the pattern I had learned there didn’t leave with me.

When I chose music over law school, I told myself it was because I loved it (and I truly did). But beneath that was the desire and the need to be special. Music was my way of feeling special. Somewhere in my early years I had picked up the belief that being ordinary was not good enough, that it wasn’t safe. That I wasn’t enough unless I stood out. So I chose music and then I performed it, in every room I entered.

WeBarre was the peak of it. I was the face of the brand, the leader of the team, the high-performing entrepreneur with a vision. I had so many identities stacked on top of each other that I stopped being able to tell where the performance ended and I began. Clients expected inspiration. My team expected certainty. The industry expected a founder who had it together. So I gave them all of that, every day, for nearly a decade.

I remember standing at a panel when WeBarre was at its peak, everything going well. I was making myself smaller so I wouldn’t come across as too arrogant. I was in a room I had been invited into, talking about something I had built, and I was editing myself in real time. I was still performing. It’s just that the performance had just changed shape and now it looked like not taking up too much space. I didn’t even notice I was doing it until much later.

The stopping didn’t happen all at once.

It happened in small moments, over years, very gradually. The first time I declined an invitation without a reason I almost sh*t myself. The first time I said I didn’t know in a room full of people who expected me to know felt liberating. The first time I sat at a dinner table and didn’t perform enthusiasm I wasn’t feeling had me feeling made me feel more alive internally than ever.

I started feeling more alive than ever.

I had been performing partly out of fear, that if people saw the unedited version, they would find me insufficient. What I found instead was that the people who mattered didn’t notice the performance was gone. And the people who needed the performance, well, they were never really there for me anyway.

I have stopped trying to fit into rooms that weren’t made for me and am better at seeking out environments and nourishing relationships that allow me to thrive. Now, I guard my calendar like it’s the most sacred commodity. I am more comfortable now, sitting in my own skin, not having all the answers. The reward of it is that now I’m able to e x h a l e and feel the ease in the comfort of people and environments that ‘get it’.

Even then, I still perform capability when I’m uncertain. I still edit or over-rehearse before I speak in rooms where I don’t feel safe. I still catch myself making myself smaller in subtler places - like a conversation where I sense judgment coming, or when I start to feel defensive or sense conflict in a difficult conversation.

I’m not sure that the performance ever fully disappears. I think the work is just learning to notice it sooner and choosing, more often than not, not to let the performance finish. That’s where I am. Still practicing, still imperfect. What was underneath the performance wasn’t a better version of me nor a more impressive one.

It was just me. Small, quiet and more than enough, it seems.

Vermicelli Noodle Salad With Meatballs

(Serves 3-4)

For the chicken meatballs:

Ingredients

• 500g minced chicken

• 2 spring onions, finely sliced

• 2 cloves garlic, grated

• 1 tbsp fish sauce

• 1 tsp soy sauce

• 1 tsp honey

• 1 tsp sesame oil

• Black pepper

• 2 tbsp panko breadcrumbs (optional, for softer texture)

Method

1. Combine all ingredients in a bowl.

2. Mix gently until just combined.

3. Roll into meatballs.

4. Brown the meatballs (outside only) on a frying pan

5. Bake at 200°C for about 12 minutes, until cooked through.

(Optional: skip step 4 and put it straight into oven for about 12-15 mins)

For the dressing:

Ingredients

• 3 tbsp fish sauce

• 3 tbsp fresh lime juice

• 2 tbsp water

• 1 tbsp honey or palm sugar

• 1 small garlic clove, grated

(Optional for adults: small red chilli, finely sliced)

Method

Whisk everything together until the honey dissolves. Adjust accordingly: more lime = brighter, more honey = sweeter and softens acidity, more fish sauce = more savory

For the salad bowl:

Choose any combination:

• Butter lettuce

• Cucumber, julienned

• Carrots, grated

• Bean sprouts

• Shredded cabbage

• Noodles (vermicelli, thick rice noodles or glass noodles)

• Herbs (coriander, mint, Thai basil)

• Optional: quick pickle of white radish and carrots in a jar of vinegar, water, sugar, salt and leave for at least 30mins)

• Optional for garnish Toasted nuts, crushed and fried shallots

Meal Prep Tips:

• Make the meatballs up to 2 days ahead.

• Freeze cooked meatballs for up to 3 months.

• Keep the dressing in the fridge for 5–7 days.

• Prep all vegetables in the morning and assemble dinner in under 10 minutes.

Pulled Pork Burrito Bowl

Ingredients

• 1 kg boneless pork shoulder/butt/collar, extra fatty parts removed

• 1 tsp salt

• 1 tsp black pepper

• 1 tsp smoked paprika

• 1 tsp garlic powder

• 1 tsp onion powder

• ½ tsp ground cumin

• 1 tsp brown sugar

• ½ cupchicken broth

• 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar

• ½ onion, sliced

• 2 cloves garlic, smashed

• 1 bay leaf

• About 2 cups tomato Passata

• Dash of fish sauce (trust me)

• Optional: dollop of barbecue/worcestershire sauce

Method

1. Pat the pork dry.

2. Mix the salt, pepper, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, cumin, and brown sugar.

3. Rub all over the pork.

4. Place onion, garlic, and bay leaf in the slow cooker.

5. Put the pork on top.

6. Pour the stock, vinegar, and fish sauce around the pork.

7. Cook on: Low: 7–8 hours (alternatively use Dutch oven, cooking with lid on at 150°C for 3-4 hours)

8. Shred the pork with forks, stirring it back into its liquid

Meal prep tip: Use with pasta, burrito bowls, tacos or salad bowl. Store in freezer up to 3 months. I often cook 2kg worth of pork that will fit in one large slow cooker in one go and freeze the leftovers.

For burrito bowl, serve with:

• Canned beans of choice, rinsed and drained

• Coriander leaves

• Charred corn

• Avocado

• Cherry tomatoes

• Cucumbers

• Shredded cheese

Miso Salmon

(Serves 4-5)

Ingredients

• ¼ cup white miso

• ¼ cup mirin

• ¼ cup cooking sake

Method

1. Bring the sake and mirin to a simmer for 20–30 seconds

2. Whisk in the miso until smooth

3. Stir in the sugar until dissolved.

4. Cool completely

(if short on time just whisk everything together from cold and marinate)

1. Marinate the fish in fridge for 2–3 days (or minimum half a day if you’re short on time)

2. Pat off most of the marinade before cooking in the oven broiler 220°C or air fryer (200°C) for approximately 10 minutes (depending on size and thickness)

Crispy Chicken Stew (Serves 4)

Ingredients

• 6 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (about 1–1.2 kg)

• Salt and black pepper

• 2 tbsp flour

• 1 tbsp olive oil

• 20 g butter

• 1 onion, diced

• 2 carrots, cut into chunky pieces

• 200g mushrooms, halved

• 2 celery stalks, sliced

• 3 cloves garlic, minced

• 200 g mushrooms, halved

• 600 ml chicken stock

• 1 tsp soy sauce

• 2 sprigs thyme

• 1 bay leaf

• 300 g baby potatoes, peeled, halved

• 100 g frozen peas

• Zest of ½ lemon

• Small handful parsley, chopped

Method

1. Pat the chicken dry and season with salt and pepper. Dust lightly with the flour.

2. Heat a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the olive oil and place the chicken skin-side down. Cook for 8–10 minutes until browned on the outside.

3. Lower the heat to medium. Add the butter, onion, carrots and celery. Cook for 5 minutes until softened.

4. Add the garlic and mushrooms and cook for another 3–4 minutes.

5. Pour in the stock and scrape up all the browned bits from the bottom of the pot. Simmer for 2 minutes.

6. Stir in soy sauce, thyme, bay leaf and potatoes.

7. Return the chicken to the pot, keeping as much of the skin exposed as possible so it stays crisp.

8. Cover and transfer to a 180°C oven for 45 minutes.

9. Uncover and cook for another 15–20 minutes until the chicken is tender and the potatoes are cooked through.

10. Stir in the peas, lemon zest and parsley just before serving.

11. Serve with sourdough bread, a simple salad, rice or pasta

Spanish Garlic Prawns (Serves 4)

Ingredients

• 800 g large prawns, peeled on the body and deveined but with heads and tails intact

• 10–12 cloves garlic, very thinly sliced

• 80 ml extra-virgin olive oil

• 60 g unsalted butter

• ½ tsp chilli flakes (optional)

• ½ tsp smoked paprika

• ½ tsp flaky salt, plus extra to taste

• Freshly ground black pepper

• 2 tbsp flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped

• 1 lemon, cut into wedges

• Crusty bread, to serve

Method

1. Prep and peel the prawns

2. Heat a large frying pan over low-medium heat.

3. Add the olive oil and butter. Once the butter has melted, add the sliced garlic and chilli.

4. Cook gently for 2–3 minutes, stirring often, until the garlic turns pale golden. Don’t let it brown too much or it will become bitter.

5. Stir in the smoked paprika for about 10 seconds.

6. Increase the heat to medium-high and add the prawns in a single layer. It important not to overcrowd the pan. If necessary, cook it in two batches

7. Cook for about 2 minutes on the first side, then flip and cook for another 1 minute until just opaque. The heads should release some of their juices into the oil. Careful not to overcook as the residual heat will continue cooking the prawns after removing from heat. (optional: add a dash of white wine here)

8. Turn off the heat and immediately sprinkle over the parsley.

To serve

Finish with a squeeze of lemon and plenty of crusty bread for dipping.

As I examine the past 4 decades of my life, I come to the conclusion that I have consistently made choices that go against the grain.

Growing up, I always felt like I never found a playmate that truly, deeply resonated with me. I played every single Sunday with my cousins and siblings, but most of the time, I really wanted to stay in to read or listen to music. While the other kids watched TV, I preferred burying my head in books, playing the piano, or imaginative play in my own head.

Fast forward into my teenage years: I made a radical choice to enroll in the School of Creative Arts, which was a subset of a theological college that my church at the time was building. Several days in a week, I would rush home from school, shower, change, scoff down a quick dinner and rush to night classes at church. I had an advanced certificate in the creative arts and theology before I turned 16. I loved the learning, I was so hungry for knowledge and it was feeding my curious mind in ways that were so novel and interesting. Nobody understood why I did it. Most of the adults who were my course mates thought I was a really weird kid. I think I was indeed a weird kid, but a weird kid who wanted to belong somewhere that felt like home. It would be a long time before I found what ‘home’ truly felt like.

(I left the church for good shortly after but that’s a conversation for another day)

After secondary school, came another offbeat choice to pursue music in university, much to the disappointment of everyone around me. I enrolled into both law and music, got accepted into both, but felt that I wanted to pursue music first. I moved out of my parents’ home at the age of 20, starting paying rent on my own, and never moved back again.

After a decade of building my music career, I decided to start a business in the fitness and wellness space, having no prior experience, much to the surprise of everyone around me. But by this point in my life, I had gotten a bit more comfortable with making these decisions that I knew I was going to do it anyway, just because I wanted to. My eventual decision to step down after 10 years of running the business was equally surprising.

Becoming a mother has got to be one of the most controversial moves I’ve ever made, because I was quite certain that I did not want to become a mother. I am not fond of babies. It would terrify me to touch or hold one. People who knew me from my 20s are very confused that not only did I willingly become a mother of 2, that I have also stepped down from my career to be with them full-time.

My decision to homeschool my kids was definitely an unusual choice back in 2024. My own mother certainly thought I lost my marbles, but over the years has learnt to hold her tongue.

I have never been one to follow the crowd.

People ask why I am so unapologetic but at the same time so quietly comfortable with discomfort. I think it comes from years of practicing to speak up and advocate for myself, practicing personal agency, acknowledging that my needs and wants are valid, and that I am worthy of taking up space in the room. That the life I want is on the other side waiting for me to take that audacious step forward, to be relentless and hungry in its pursuit.

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I’m going against the grain because it’s just ingrained in my nature or if I’m going against normality, just for the sake of it. I have no firm answer, other than what I’ve learnt, over and over, is that I am one radical move away from igniting a positive change. Life, in its fullness is not meant to stay the same way. We are allowed to create many, many different versions of ourselves, rewrite our stories, evolve, grow, transform into whatever life itself is whispering out to us.

The people who say, “who do you think you are”, or “why would you ever want to do this”, will never go against the grain. They won’t understand. And I’ve learnt that that’s okay. Their confusion is not my compass.

Recently, over the Vesak Day long weekend, we had nothing in the calendar. We biked, we had a slow breakfast, we went to the onsen. The joy of an empty schedule was ours to savour. Maybe this is what enough actually feels like — just a Monday with nowhere to be.

I have been thinking about “What and how much is enough?” In a world where people are constantly going for more, more, more… I feel drawn in another direction where I feel a sense of ease and settling into a space of enough-ness. It is a feeling that we have all that we need, right here and right now. To appreciate the sense of being, and soaking up this space and time that we are living in right now. Our existence is a joy to behold and marvel. To live wide awake, holding full conviction, a passion and zest for life. To me, that is the richness. To me, that is what high-performance looks like, when living comes from clarity instead of fear.

In a world where everyone is reaching for more, choosing enough-ness might be the most “against the grain” thing I’ve ever done.

(I recognise I speak from a position of privilege — choices made easier by security I have worked for and also been lucky enough to have. I don’t take that lightly.)

I realize that I have disappointed many people in my short life, and have made choices that confuse others. But as I’m typing this, I’m smiling, because I can now see that they were patterns of showing up for myself. No matter how tough or controversial the decisions were, the one thing I have realized is that I didn’t disappoint myself.

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Every year I take one solo trip, all on my own. No kids, no husband, not even a friend.

Just the thought of not having to abide by a schedule, no one to feed or put to bed… is just delightful. I can love my kids deeply and want to be there for every single bedtime and still want to have my time to myself. This is my one window every year that I get to be selfishly me.

I think that wanting it, and actually booking that flight out, is my way showing up for my family. I can’t pour from empty. But more than that: I’m allowed to fill up just because I want to. I don’t have to fill up so I can keep pouring it away. I deserve to feel like I have a whole cup, full stop.

But this is something that is hard to sit with for many mothers. I think that what I do isn’t widely practiced, at least in where I’m from. I honour and respect my choice to constantly fill my own cup without guilt, but I also see the other perspective where it is simply not possible for other mothers — including reasons like financial, logistics, support, guilt, or simply that they are not ready for this, or even want this at all. And all of them are valid.

But by chance, today, I came across this quote by Glennon Doyle:

“Mothers have martyred themselves in their children’s names since the beginning of time. We have lived as if she who disappears the most, loves the most. We have been conditioned to prove our love by slowly ceasing to exist. What a terrible burden for children to bear — to know that they are the reason their mother stopped living”

That just completed paused me in my tracks. I re-read it several times before it really sunk in. Mothers are praised for disappearing into their kids. The quieter the sacrifice the more admirable it seems. But what if Glennon had a point, that the child ends up carrying the knowledge that they are the reason their mother stopped existing. That’s a heavy thing to inherit, and it’s the opposite of what the martyrdom is supposed to be doing.

We have been brought up to celebrate the career hustling, the grind and the hard work as ‘medals’ and ‘battle scars’ to be proud of. And now, we have now brought this belief into motherhood, that whoever ‘suffers’ more, is being more. But I think this is not for me. I want to break out of it and not be apologetic for it.

There are many things about being a mother that have worn me down slowly, over time - overwhelm, guilt, comparison, overstimulation, a loss of identity. It is the reality of my day to day. Parenting is by far the toughest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and is a role that I will continue to play for the rest of my life. If this is for life, then I want to run the long race, to find long-term, sustainable ways to thrive, and not just ‘get by’.

It has always been a consistent habit to make time for myself, to recalibrate, catch my breath, gain perspective, and re-prioritize. When I don’t have the luxury of doing it on my annual trip away, I do it in micro-doses, at least once a week, where I take an afternoon off and hand the kids over to their grandmother or a trusted caregiver. It is my bare minimum. My mantra in our family is that the kids are important, and so am I. Not the kids, then me, but the kids and me. I don’t ask for permission to take time off, because I deserve rest as much as my kids deserve a parent who can show up for them. To do that, I need space to work through my triggers and remember who I am before I am the parent.

Where exactly does the line sit between healthy giving and self-abandonment? That is the hard question I find myself wondering.

After 4 days in beautiful Koh Samui, where I had no agenda, no one to feed or put to bed, no schedule running in the background… I had enough quietness to be able to hear my own thoughts and what my inner self was trying to say to me. To enjoy spending time with myself. Oh how I’ve missed hanging out with me.

Tomato Carpaccio Salad

(Serves 4)

Ingredients

• 3 large tomatoes (heirloom preferred, alternatively beefsteak or any vine-ripened tomatoes)

• 2 tbsp good quality extra-virgin olive oil

• 1 tbsp good quality aged balsamic vinegar

• ¼ small red onion, very thinly sliced

• Handful of basil leaves, torn

• Parmigiano Reggiano, shaved thinly

• Flaky sea salt

• Freshly ground black pepper

Method

1. Prepare the tomatoes

Using a very sharp knife or mandoline, slice the tomatoes as thinly as possible. Arrange the slices slightly overlapping on a large serving platter.

1. Season

Drizzle the olive oil and balsamic evenly over the tomatoes.

1. Add toppings

Scatter the red onion slices over the tomatoes.

Add the torn basil leaves.

Top with shaved Parmigiano Reggiano.

Sprinkle salt and pepper to taste, just before serving (salting too early with result in soggy salad)

Optional upgrades

• Add burrata

• Add few drops of basil oil

• Add toasted pine nuts or pistachios

• Finish with lemon zest

• Serve with crusty sourdough

Cilantro Lime Chicken

(Serves 2, with 500g of chicken breast or thigh)

Marinade

• Zest and juice of 1 lime

• 1 tsp cumin

• 1 tsp paprika

• 2 tbsp olive oil

• 3 cloves garlic

• Large handful of chopped cilantro (leaves and stem is fine)

Method

• Marinate chicken with marinade for at least 1 hour, or up to 8 hours

• Preheat air fryer to 180°C

• Arrange in a single layer and cook for about 12mins, depending on thickness of chicken

• Rest 5mins before slicing

Air-fryer Steak

Method

• Remove steak from fridge and allow to sit at room temperature for 20 minutes.

• Season with salt and cracked black pepper on both sides of the steak.

• Place steaks in an air fryer and cook at for 10-12 minutes, flipping halfway through.

• Remove from the air fryer and allow it to rest for 5 minutes, I like to loosely wrap it with aluminum foil and top with 5g of butter to melt.

Hearty Food Truck-Style Salad

(Serves 4)

¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil

Seasoning: dried oregano, ground coriander, ground cumin

3 garlic cloves, finely grated

Fresh lemon juice

2 cups shredded chicken or pulled beef or pulled pork

1 cup plain full fat yogurt

1 small red onion, thinly sliced

1 cup halved cherry tomatoes

1 head of iceberg lettuce, roughly chopped or torn

Method

• If using plain shredded chicken, add flavor to it first by tossing it in a pan with olive oil, seasoning, pinch of grated garlic clove, dash of lemon juice and salt. Set aside

• If using leftover slow cooked beef or pork, skip step 1

• Whisk together the yogurt, remaining garlic, 1 tbsp lemon juice, salt and pepper

• Assemble the salad: cherry tomatoes, onion, iceberg lettuce

• Top with meat of choice

• Drizzle the yogurt dressing on top

• Serve with crunchy chickpeas or toasted pita bread

Orange, Ginger & Garlic Chicken with Coriander Vinaigrette

(Serves 4)

Chicken Ingredients

• 1kg boneless chicken thighs

• 2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

• Zest of 2 oranges

• 1 tbsp freshly grated ginger

• 3 garlic cloves, grated

• Sea salt and black pepper

Method

1. Combine olive oil, orange zest, ginger, garlic, salt and pepper.

2. Add chicken thighs and coat thoroughly, marinate for minimum 30mins, or overnight.

3. Cook chicken in airfryer for about 12-15mins

Coriander Vinaigrette Ingredients

• 1 large bunch coriander, leaves and stems

• 1 garlic clove

• ¼ cup extra virgin olive oil

• 4 tbsp vinegar (white or ACV)

• 1 tbsp honey or maple syrup

• Salt to taste

Method

1. Blend everything until smooth

2. Taste and adjust seasoning.

3. Refrigerate until needed.

Keeps well for up to 5 days in the fridge. Excellent on grain bowls, eggs and roasted vegetables

From the time the kids were born, I made sure to include a library of baby-appropriate books, because that’s what a first-time mother would do: to fill the nursery with the “must-haves”, from high contrast books to classics by Mem Fox and Eric Carle, to touching stories like Love You Forever, I had them all.

I wanted reading to become a part of our family life and routine. The kids would always bring books over to us to read during play time. They would even spend a lot of time just flipping through picture books on their own, before they could read. And of course, they love our bedtime routine as we cuddled close together reading Guess How Much I Love You. We would have read 10-15 books to the kids every single day.

Then around 2024, I started teaching Ari how to read. We started reading little books that I would make up, that consisted of simple sight words and CVC words. Eventually, she caught on to the Gerald and Piggie series that really spearheaded her reading journey.

There came a time in 2025, where I recall myself saying aloud (amidst all the chaos of homeschooling and trying to run my household), asking Ari to go and read on her own, since she could read now. It wasn’t long before I realized that I shouldn’t have done that, and I went back to reading to her as much as she would read independently.

If you had asked me why I made reading such a big deal in our house, I would probably just say that reading is a good habit, and that it was great for building language skills. But recently, I had the time to really reflect and find out why. And it’s changed how I think about books entirely, as one of the best things we can offer our kids right now.

The world they’re growing up in

The default environment for children today is built around instant reward. The dopamine hit is fast, frequent and designed to be that way. Dopamine pathways that get repeatedly activated by fast stimuli start expecting fast stimuli, and over time, waiting begins to feel boring and intolerable.

If you think about it, books are the opposite of this. A chapter book doesn’t resolve in a sitting. A good story withholds, makes you wonder, and makes you wait. I think that patience is a practiced trait, by building it through low-stakes experiences (like reading), and having the tolerance of the not-knowing and the unresolved. Children who read long-form fiction are practicing that. Younger children can also benefit from this as we read one chapter each night before bed. “Another chapter pleaseeeeee Mama?”, they are likely to say. And I reply, “We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out. I can’t wait to read it with you.”

As I thought about it further, the long term benefits of practicing delayed gratification (and reading is only one of many low-stakes ways) will benefit them in future through impulse control.

As my kids get older, I’m thinking about how and why I want to continue reading aloud. And then I got researching, about how a child’s reading level and their listening level are not the same thing. The gap between what a child can read and what a child can comprehend is enormous, and reading aloud is the bridge. It means that when we read a richer, more complex story aloud to our children, we’re not just sharing a nice bedtime ritual. We’re actively expanding the vocabulary, information, and emotional landscape, years before they could access it independently.

The listening level gap

Children have to hear a word many times before they can say it easily, and hear it in context many times before they can use it with understanding. Spoken language is the foundation that reading builds on, not the other way around. The more words a child hears (good literature, not TikTok speak), the more words they have to draw from when they speak, write, and think. So many times, when Ari is reading out loud to me (another practice that I think is important for early readers and to build public speaking skills), I am surprised that she could actually read a complicated word that phonetically makes no sense to her at this stage. Then I realized that it is because she has heard it, in context, in story, in real life, over and over again, that when it appears in a sentence or a storyline, it is only natural for it to roll off her tongue!

What good writing gives them that a screen doesn’t

There’s a particular quality to the language in children’s literature and even picture books that is hard to find anywhere else in a child’s daily life. Luminous. Ravenous. Melancholy. Cacophony. Rambunctious.

There’s something deeper happening here other than developing greater vocabulary - a child’s internal life gets richer when they have more precise language for it. The ability to name an emotion, a texture, a quality of light, a feeling they couldn’t previously articulate… that comes from literature. Paced character development does something else again. A character who changes across 150 pages, who makes mistakes and recovers, who fears something and faces it slowly - that gives a child a picture of how growth actually works.

Why we still read aloud

I was listening to a podcast by Meghan Cox Gurdon, author of The Enchanted Hour. She describes reading aloud as one of the fastest-acting antidotes to the fractured attention spans and disconnection that characterise the tech era. It’s a shared space and experience that builds memories, warmth and connection. I never want to stop sitting next to my kids and reading together. I think it’s so unfortunate to just say to kids, “Oh you’re too old for these picture books now, you go along and read your own big kids books.” I think picture books have so many beautiful stories, with messages that will live with them for a long time to come. Perhaps they enjoy their chapter books as ‘their thing’, but we revisit their old childhood favorites, over and over as an ‘our thing’. Either way, I will not stop reading to my child.

It starts with me

I was an avid reader as a child. But almost as soon as I got out of school, I don’t think I’ve ever picked up a book again to read. Magazines, articles yes, but not a book. When I met my husband 10 years ago and went on our first holiday together, I brought along a book, The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan. I started reading the book, and the joke 10 years on is that I’m still reading it. But one year ago, in 2025, I decided that there was so much that I’m missing out on by not reading, and I had begun feeling the impacts of fast-media that I wanted an analog practice, to slow down and challenge myself to do something that was difficult for me to focus on. I don’t think I’m alone in this — many women that I’ve spoken to also share the same challenge. We know that reading is beneficial, but somehow there is a huge hurdle to overcome. For many parents, exhaustion and a lack of time is a major one.

I finally read my first book in decades in Feb 2025 and went on to read a modest 4 other books through the year. I realized too, that if I wanted reading to be in our family DNA, that I had to first model it. Me choosing to sit with a book (not a podcast that I can multi-task to, not a Netflix episode I can half watch), is choosing to be somewhere fully.

Reading, I’ve come to think, is less about literacy (though it builds that too) and more about a relationship with time. It teaches children that some things are worth waiting for, and that a story gets better the longer you stay in it.

I think it might be a Singapore thing when I say that travel is a national past time. We have tons of websites teaching us to how to maximize our annual leave with long weekends, timing it with school holidays, points hacks, tracking flight deals like a hawk… I can see how this issue I have with rest could have come from a cultural DNA, that even vacations and rest have to be taken with high efficiency on a national level. It is not uncommon that people around me, myself included, that would travel (for both work and play) every single month or more frequently. Travel has somehow been ingrained into our culture as a form of escapism, of ‘bettering oneself’, of constantly trying to seek out new experiences, in an almost addictive way.

When I was in my early 20s and trying to build a life for myself, I always budgeted and made travel one of my priority expense items. I started thinking recently about why that was. And I think one of the major reasons was that while I’m physically still in Singapore, when I’m supposed to be hustling and working, it is really hard for me to accept rest. But when I’m overseas? I had the perfect ‘excuse’ and hid behind the door of “oh, I can’t get to this because I’m overseas, I guess it’ll have to wait until I return”.

I was so guilty of just resting at home that I scheduled in holidays and vacations just so that I feel less guilty about taking time off because I’m physically not present to deal with whatever curveballs work was throwing at me.

I don’t think I’m alone in this. In one of my earlier posts I mentioned about how, in Singapore (and I’m sure in other fast-paced cities as well), that so much of what we do has to be maximized, to the point where we even try to make rest ‘efficient’ and ‘productive’. That resonated with many readers. We find it so hard to think of rest as something positive, something that is a need.

I have had a complicated relationship with rest. I find it really hard to justify resting when I could be doing something more productive, valuable, impressive or efficient. Whenever I rested, a voice would pop into my head telling me that I’m lazy or redundantly asking myself if I have earned the rest (the answer will always be “no”). I have never been good at doing nothing.

Because letting myself just sit at home, sitting on the couch, doing nothing made me feel awful. If I had an hour free, I would sometimes binge watch TV, go for a massage or do nothing… and then feel SO GUILTY after. I would never admit to anyone that I spent an hour doing any of those things because it almost felt embarrassing and distasteful to be indulging in these unproductive activities. I recall that once, in 2016, I had the worst food poisoning episode ever. I woke up on a Sunday morning after being awake all night, in absolute agony. And yet, somehow, not showing up for work was not an option, and so I dragged myself out of the house and taught a class. For real! I really did teach a workout class while I was having severe food poisoning! I actually had 2 classes to teach that day, but after the first class, I was certain I was going to die, and apologetically cancelled my 2nd class. I remember going home and thinking to myself, “Wow, that felt great to just cancel the class and not have to do it.”. Uh… yeah… no shit…. (Ha!)

Even when I’m away and traveling, it’s not like I’m off work completely. I had an arrangement with my husband, then boyfriend, that every morning while on holiday, we would both work on our laptops for an hour before we went out exploring or relaxing. Unconsciously I was also saying, “work first, earn it, then go enjoy your holiday.” But why does it have to be that way?

I recall that on one trip, just a few years ago, that my husband was shocked when I told him I wasn’t going to pack my laptop on our trip. Little did I know that this would become a landmark point in time that was a step towards changing my relationship with rest and boundaries. A part of me just didn’t feel like taking it along with me anymore, and I boarded that flight without half a measure of anxiousness and half a measure of peace.

This week, I enjoyed spaciousness in my schedule and enjoyed doing seemingly little but all of this felt so good. I deliberately ‘unscheduled’ several days of having nothing in the calendar. Imagine my 30 year old self hearing that.

We didn’t have any kids’ activities, no events that I had to attend, no extracurricular classes, no social events either. It doesn’t mean that we did nothing, it just meant that the possibilities were wide open, and we could take our time and fully enjoy whatever activity we chose. On Tuesday, we went to the Children’s Garden for water play and a nature walk, then came home to prepare lunch together (a chicken fried rice that my daughter cooked nearly from scratch), did some home learning, took a midday nap, meal prepped together (a delicious sticky date granola bar and beetroot hummus), did more home learning… actually we did a lot in one day! But because the schedule was open, we could flow with what we wanted to without running from event to event like a headless chicken.

The harder question here is, do I fully believe I deserve rest yet? I don’t think I’m there yet, and I think it will always be a back-and-forth struggle. On Saturday, I spent most of the morning just lazing in bed after breakfast while my husband took the kids to their sports classes. I still get thoughts in my head criticizing my choice to be in bed, but I also hear another voice saying “I’m allowed to enjoy this serenity and peace of being able to rest in my own home.” But I also hear another voice now that says: I’m allowed to enjoy this, I’m allowed to just be. I don’t have to justify or answer to anyone, anything but me.

VIETNAMESE-INSPIRED CHICKEN SALAD

Ingredients (serves 4)

Salad

• 350g cooked chicken, shredded

• 6 cups napa cabbage, shredded

• 1/2 red onion, thinly sliced

• 1 red capsicum, thinly sliced

• 2 cucumbers, seeds removed, thinly sliced

• 1 large carrot, julienned

• 1 cup fresh mint leaves

• 1 cup fresh coriander

• 1/2 cup roasted peanuts, chopped

Dressing

• 1/4 cup fish sauce

• 2 tbsp lime juice

• 2 tbsp vinegar (rice/white/ACV)

• 1 tbsp sugar or honey

• 1/4 cup neutral oil (e.g. avocado)

• 1 garlic clove, minced

• 1–2 tsp finely chopped red chilli (optional)

Method

1. Make dressing. Shake to combine and set aside

2. Assemble salad and toss with half the dressing. Let it sit for 5mins.

3. Just before serving, toss with a bit more dressing and top with chopped peanuts

BLUEBERRY CHIA PUDDING

Ingredients

• 1 cup frozen blueberries

• 400g milk of choice

• 6 tbsp chia seeds

• 1–2 tbsp maple syrup or honey

• ½ tsp vanilla extract

• Tiny pinch salt

• 2 Tbsp Greek yogurt

Method

Blend everything together, stirring to separate clumps. Transfer to a jar or container to refrigerate overnight. Serve with fruit, nuts, granola, nut butter or seeds.

BEETROOT HUMMUS

Ingredients

• 2 cups cooked chickpeas

• 1 medium beetroot, roasted

• 1/3 cup tahini

• 2–3 tbsp lemon juice

• 1 small garlic clove

• 3 tbsp olive oil

• 2–5 tbsp ice water

• Salt to taste

Method

1. In a food processor, blender or Thermomix, add beetroot and blend it first.

2. Then add everything else except ice water.

3. Scrap down the sides and add ice water gradually until you have achieved desired consistency.

   Optional: Add a spoonful of Greek yogurt for extra creaminess. Store in an airtight jar and drizzle some olive oil on top to seal in moisture. Serve with extra drizzle of olive oil or dukkah, and with some crackers, pita or flatbread.

RICE PAPER FISH & CHIPS

Ingredients (serves 2–3)

• 2–3 white fish fillets (cod, dory, snapper or similar)

• Optional: season fish with garlic powder, paprika

• Rice paper sheets (4–8, depending on wrapping)

• Eggs, beaten and seasoned with salt & pepper

• Tartare sauce

• 3-4 potatoes, cut into wedges or sticks

Method

1. Cook the chips
Pat dry, season it and toss well, adding a drizzle of desired oil if you wish. Air fry at 180°C until it starts to turn golden and crisp.

2. Prep the fish
Pat fish very dry and cut into even sizes

3. Wrap in rice paper
In a shallow dish, add the beaten eggs and dip the rice paper sheet for a few seconds, until it has softened (but not too much). Place the fish in the center and roll it like a spring roll

4. Air fry
Optional: Brush or spray the fish with some oil. Air fry at 190°C for about 15 minutes, until it is golden, crisp and firm to touch

5. Serve
Serve immediately with lemon wedges and tartare sauce. (A simple homemade tartare sauce that is healthier: Greek yogurt, Dijon mustard, finely chopped dill, lemon juice, salt & better)

ASIAN BEEF SALAD

Ingredients (Serves 3-4)

• 1/2 purple cabbage, thinly sliced (preferably using a mandolin)

• 1 cucumber, diced

• 1 big handful of cherry tomatoes

• 1 red onion, thinly sliced

• 1 cup coriander leaves, chopped

• 1 cup mint leaves, chopped

• 3-4 cloves shallots, fry until crispy

• 300g steak of choice (ribeye, sirloin preferred)

Dressing

• 1 red chilli, finely diced

• 2 cloves garlic, minced

• 1 tbsp white sugar or honey

• 3 tbsp fish sauce

• 3 tbsp lime juice

• Coriander stems, finely chopped

Method

1. Grill the steak on a BBQ, pan or air fryer. Remove from heat once it reaches desired doneness.

2. Wrap tightly in aluminum foil with a dollop of butter on top of steak and let it rest for minimum 5 mins.

3. Combine all the ingredients for the salad in a mixing bowl. Toss and mix well.

4. Add dressing and shallots on top. Cut steak into slices and serve on top of salad.

What most people don’t know is that before I co-founded WeBarre, I was a professional musician, teaching and performing the flute full-time. The most common misconception was that musicians are ‘artists’, have an easy lifestyle, working whenever they want by playing music for a living. I mean, how hard can that be right? Well, that stereotype is not unfounded, but in my experience (and in my fellow colleagues and peers), is that because of the unpredictable nature of this business, it is hard to say no to work. And once you get traction and start booking gigs, you keep going.

Musicians in Singapore actually making a pretty good living, but we have to physically show up for concerts, performance, shows, events and private functions. Playing an instrument is a physically demanding job! When we are not performing, many of us are often teaching and rehearsing in the day. It is not uncommon for work days to be 12-16 hour long, with the lines of weekend/public holidays blurred.

My decision to pursue music was naturally not well-received by my traditional Chinese-Singaporean parents. As a consequence of my insistence, I moved out of home when I was 20 to pursue my career in music, and was asked to be financially independent. That put me in a state of ‘survival’, where I constantly had to find ways to find a source of income, fend for myself, pay my bills, save for my future, navigate the dating scene in my early 20s and try to figure out my purpose in life. I learned later in therapy that this was such a huge ask of my 20 year old self, and that it put me in a survival, ‘fight or flight’ mode for so many years. What I was craving for all those years was someone to look out for me, guide me, help me, lead me… but that person never came and so I stepped up to take on that role. I did really well, for many years.

The next decade of my professional life led me to start my own business — Co-founding WeBarre and scaling a regional business, managing a team, be in the public spotlight with relentless external (and internal) demands. I kept functioning at that level of intensity, and some would argue that I even went into overdrive. In 2016, at a public speaking event, a fellow panelist who was a performance and life coach came up to me after the event and passed me his business card. He said, “One day if you ever find yourself needing a bit of support, let me know.” The response I had in my head was, “I’m fine. I’m good. I’m doing great.” So I kept on doing, because when the doing stops, feelings that were outrun start catching up. I felt that my worth was always conditional output, on growth, on being useful to others.

Then came 2018, when things were all going well. I found his business card in my stash and thought to myself, “What if I didn’t wait until things were dire before reaching out? What if I tried to supercharge my performance, work on blind spots and try to become an even better version of myself?”. Spoken like a true Type A overachiever.

So I reached out to Andrew, who would then become my coach for about 8 months. And somewhere, out of nowhere in the middle of 2018, I encountered my first anxiety attack. It came out of nowhere and I didn’t even realize that was what it was. I picked up the phone and gave Andrew a call. I was apologetic because it was 1030pm, but I just couldn’t breathe and I needed to give someone a call. He walked me through it, and explained what was happening. By the end of the call I felt 50% better. He gave me some tips on what to do, and that we would revisit this in the morning after I had gotten some sleep.

That began my pursuit of mental wellbeing. I didn’t want to just be physically fit. I didn’t want to just look like I’ve got it together. I needed to fortify my mental and emotional self. That was when I began doing years of performance coaching, therapy, inner work healing and self-regulation practices.

Now I operate in a different arena — full-time motherhood, homeschooling, and exploring what lies in my next chapter. But the psychological demands are equally high and the mental strength required is, if anything, greater. The difference is that now I operate with clarity and regulation instead of adrenaline and willpower, and that I am embracing a softer, gentler state of being.

Here are some frameworks that I have learned that I now apply to my life:

1. Noticing before reacting

I am aware that I can be highly reactive, impatient and a temperamental person. But I have better awareness now and I am getting better and taking my power back to be able to choose my response instead of reacting to stimuli. That doesn’t mean I never get mad and irrational. In fact, there are many instances where I am fully aware that I’m losing my sh*t and I just give myself the space to be irrational. Then I go back and work on me again. I learnt what my stress signals look like — the early warning signs. If I can catch myself before I’m fully dysregulated, I can take a 3-second pause to help bring myself back to a parasympathetic state. I ask myself, at the end of each day, where did I react automatically? Did I miss any early signals? Our behavior is mostly subconscious and automatic. Your brain guesses what’s next based on old experiences. If you change the data, you can change the future.

1. Grounding when I’m overwhelmed

When I’m flooded and drowning, I have a few strategies in my toolbox to ground me. When I feel myself spiraling I stood by my window and named 5 things I could see, 4 I could touch, 3 I could hear, 2 I could smell and 1 I could taste. My coach Crystal called it the 5-4-3-2-1 technique. It works to pattern-interrupt the stress loop and pull me into the present moment. Other things that I’ve found to be helpful is washing my hand/face in cold water, standing on a lawn and feeling grounded, and slow deliberate movement and breath, using a longer exhale than inhale.

1. Knowing my capacity and setting values-driven boundaries

Many people think that setting boundaries is about shutting people out, that it is permission to be selfish. I guess in some ways it is, but to me, setting boundaries is about how I let what more of what I want into my life. I protect my schedule, space and peace and I’m very firm about this. When I say yes to too many things and have a packed calendar, I feel my energy zapped even before the events happen and I am in a state of anxiousness, overthinking and overplanning. Having this boundary where I limit what goes in my schedule allows me to feel spaciousness, so that I operate from a state of being rather than mindless doing and it protects my presence with my kids. I have to tolerate the discomfort of someone being disappointed that I decline the invite, or the feeling from myself feeling FOMO. Knowing my capacity on a daily basis helps me structure my day accordingly. When I wake up feeling like a 2/10, I shift things around to create space, slow down and be gentler with myself. When I feel like an 8/10, I set up impromptu play dates, trips to the zoo and bulk meal prep for the week.

Here are other lessons that I’ve learned but it’s still a work in progress:

1. Self compassion and empathy

Being harsh in my inner self talk and being hard on myself was how I kept myself going for a long time. It helped pull myself out of struggles, disappointments and setbacks. It developed to keep me safe from failure, rejection and embarrassment. I remind myself that I’m not uniquely broken; struggle is a shared human experience. I can see my pain without over-identifying with it. Self talk really matters and is extremely powerful.

1. Thinking patterns

We have so many thoughts in our head all the time, and our brain has many predictable biases including: catastrophising (assuming the worst outcome), mind reading (assuming you know what others think), black and white thinking (no middle ground), personalization (taking responsibility for things outside your control). I have optimized my entire life not to fail, and so I blame myself for things when they fail, because I keep telling myself “there must be something I could have done”. I have a negative bias when someone else doesn’t live up to my expectation. I am an expert in black and white, all or nothing thinking because for so many years, distilling everything down to B&W has been a coping mechanism. If things don’t go exactly the way I planned and hoped for, I think that I’ve failed. But I remind myself that: My thoughts do not define me. My thoughts do not dictate my life. My thoughts aren’t always the truth. I can have these thoughts without believing that they are true. My thoughts visit me but I don’t have to believe all of them.

1. Rewiring

Your brain believes what you tell it on repeat. Your thoughts shape your feelings, your feelings drive your actions, and your actions become your identity. Your life will reflect who you think you are, and will rise up to the level of your audacity. I have a hard time believing this but I’m starting to learn to own this. I visualize the calm, capable, confident version of myself, who is a conscious person and parent, and whose biggest endeavors, both professional and personal will come to me, if I dare to believe it.

I went into therapy in 2024 the same way I built WeBarre. With drive, with intelligence, with a plan to do it well. I understood the frameworks before my therapist introduced them. I was probably an excellent therapy client — articulate, self-aware, doing the work. Then I realized that very capability was the resistance when my therapist said to me most recently, “Can you just sit with yourself without fixing anything?”

That was the most frustrating thing I have heard in therapy by far. I did not pay for my 1 hour session for her to tell me that there was nothing to fix.

Because if I’m doing therapy well, I’m still achieving, and it’s still a form of doing. I’m still the person who has it together, just in a new arena. The insights (like the pointers I listed above), while valuable, became another trophy.

Just when I thought that I’m making headway in my healing process, and feeling a sense of progress, I got hit by a new perspective — what if there was nothing to fix, what if just being is enough? It’s incredible to me, to have put in all the years of inner work to arrive at a place where I now have to learn to stop trying to achieve ‘progress’.

But I understand why. The goal posts just keep moving, and sometimes it moves in unexpected ways to uncover parts of my life that is the very work. It’s incredible to have been able to learn so much through these years to get to this present moment, where I feel like I can stop trying to put out fires and actually learn to just be and accept the very essence of this is the moment as it is. This very act of being comfortable in the stillness is healing me in ways that I never could’ve possibly comprehended.

“You are enough. Not when you’ve fixed yourself. Right now.”

I grew up with unscheduled afternoons, the kind where you disappeared into the neighbour’s house for hours, where boredom turned into imagination, where scraped knees were just part of the deal, and arguments with friends were settled by the kids, not the parents. That world is largely gone and I think we all feel it, even if we can’t quite name what’s missing.

Modern childhood is relentless, with structured playdates, screen time and extracurricular classes. We sign our kids up because we want the best for them and because it’s so easy to mistake a full calendar for a rich childhood. As a Type A, over-doer by nature, I tend to fall into over-scheduling as well. I catch myself doing it, I pull back, I readjust. But the pull is real and constant.

Which is why, in our family, free play is something we actively protect. I build ‘spacer days’ into our calendar especially when have had a few full-on days. I treat our unstructured time as a non-negotiable so that we make space for free play.

Here’s what that actually looks like for us, and how to start if you’re new to it.

Boredom is the beginning, not the problem

I try not to flinch when they say “I’m bored”. I reply, “You’re bored, that’s great! Now we can begin thinking of what we could do”. The discomfort is the point. Boredom is the birthplace of creativity, and if we rush to fill the void, we steal the discovery.

In our house it looks like: building cosy burrows and forts out of cushions and cardboard, pretend sword fight between pirates, kicking a ball around without ‘rules’, going for a calm walk in nature, or quiet reading.

Cut extracurricular classes

I’m convinced that is a modern fallacy that our kids need to do dance, sports, chess, music, creative writing, phonic or they will fall behind. Pick 1-2 things to focus on that genuinely light them up, and protect the rest of your time fiercely.

Go outside

One of the unexpected gifts of outdoor play is that nature doesn’t temperature-control itself. Most kids are completely unbothered once you stop worrying about the wind, rain or mud. And if they do, I call it building tolerance to discomfort. The unpredictability is the learning! Let them be in it.

Allowing risky play

Climb the tree. Scrape the knee. Take the tumble. Risky play teaches risk assessment, resilience, and confidence. My job isn’t to remove all danger, but to scaffold it thoughtfully and let them develop their own judgment and body awareness. When they are attempting something that raises alarm bells for me (note that it is me, not them), I calmly go to them and say things like, “Do you have a plan for making your way back down?”, “Are you trusting your body?”, “Remember, strong arms will keep you steady”, “I trust that you can find a way”. I’m immediately available if they need coaching. But I try to let them find out first. My three rules for play: keep yourselves safe, keep each other safe, keep the space safe.

Step back

Child-led play means I’m not directing it and not joining it unless I’m explicitly invited. This means I get to sit with a warm cup of tea, read, journal, take in all in. I try to stay off my phone, although not always perfectly, because someone does have to order the groceries — but I try. I don’t intervene unless someone is about to get badly hurt. The permission to not perform parenting every second is its own gift.

My biggest advice for parents who are new or unsure about this is: not to rush to fill the void or to structure the play. Create some simple safety rules and remember that boredom is the birthplace of creativity.

Play is the language of children; it is how they build confidence, learn and make sense of this world. They practice taking risks and danger in small doses, scaffolded by the parent. They negotiate, fail, get up, try again… and they keep doing this until they are ready for the real world, one day. Internally, there is a lot more going on, because through play, children metabolize stress, rehearse emotions like fear and anxiety, and build skills for self-regulation.

What I’ve noticed in my own kids, and in the kids we spend a lot of time with, is that children who have the gift of unstructured time use it well. They develop a capacity to stay absorbed in one activity for ages. They get creative in ways that surprise you. When they play with other kids, they figure out the social negotiation themselves — the negotiation, conflict and repair. But more than the skills it is an unbridled joy, a sense of wonder, the feeling of a childhood that belongs to them.

The trouble with the modern digital age is that most of us are never where we are, at any given time. We spend most of our time thinking about the past (regrets, mistakes, should haves, resentment), in the future (planning ahead, daydreaming, anxiety of what might come our way, fear of the unknown), and in alternate realities (being engaged on social media while your IRL coffee date is sitting right in front of you, obsessing over someone else’s life that you may or may not know, fantasizing). How often can we truly say we are fully immersed in the present?

On the rare occasion that we are truly present, it is easier to be when we are in an optimal environment - watching the sunset in total awe and amazement, hiking in nature or deeply immersed in an engaging conversation. But what about instances where a colleague overstepped boundaries, your children are screaming in tears mid-meltdown, or when your partner left the toilet seat up (or down) for the millionth time, against your preference?

An all too familiar example as parents is when we are running late - the kids are not helping to move things along and get out the door. If anything, the dawdling is starting to drive everyone even more mad. We get stuck in our heads about the future: We need to leave NOW. We need to bend their will to meet our demands to get going. If we don’t leave now, we will be late, because what if there’s a traffic jam? I don’t want to be the last to arrive, again. Finally when everyone is in the car, your mind circles back to the power struggle before and you replay the scenario over and over in your head, thinking, “Ugh, I should have got them dressed earlier. They are always so difficult. Why are we going through all this trouble to go out? Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled at them, now we are all miserable”.

We do anything but to surrender and accept that this is the moment, as it is. This is just the way things are, that is not a reflection of who we are (parents with bad time management), and certainly not who your kids are (deliberately testing boundaries). As parents, we often want to react to our children quickly, solve their discomfort, fix problems, champion our own agenda… that we rarely pause to even think about how we might respond.

The heightened awareness, acceptance, surrender and consciousness understands that this is the moment, as it is. We can choose non-reactivity, we choose neutrality. The same situation can happen to 10 different people, but how each person chooses to see the situation results in very different responses and outcomes.

But that doesn’t mean that we become a robot. It is simply that heightened awareness that we understand what triggers us, what overwhelms us, and how our ego jumps in to defend past conditioning. But it also reminds us to learn through these experiences to elevate us into our highest self, by seeing each uncomfortable circumstance and asking ourselves, “What is this trying to teach me?”

Can we fully be with an experience as it unfolds before us, instead of thinking how we want to change and how we need to have it our way? We can allow ourselves to feel each experience fully, without attachment, we can then release it instead of holding energy in resisting and reacting.

This is the moment, as it is. There is no judgment. The situation is neither good not bad. It is just the way it is. During difficult and uncomfortable moments, I take a deep breath and repeat this over and over again, “this is the moment as”.

There’s a saying: “Don’t have kids if you can’t tolerate loud mornings.”

I must have missed that memo.

So I had kids.

And I have not had a quiet morning ever since.

I’m only half joking. I do love their excitement in the mornings — except on the days when the excitement turns into a screaming match at 7am. Today was one of those days.

Nobody was fighting. It was just noise. Big feelings. Big energy.

I took a breath, got myself dressed, and got us out of the house. I’ve learned that on mornings like this, there’s no point negotiating or reasoning or trying to “fix” anything inside four walls. We just have to go outside.

Nature is where my kids off-gas — where they release the tension and emotions they’ve been holding in their bodies.

I’ve stopped thinking of time outdoors as a “nice-to-have.” It’s become our reset button. And it doesn’t have to be a forest trail or a long scenic hike. Sometimes it’s just:

• Running barefoot on the grass

• Picking leaves and sticks

• Watching ants carry crumbs

• Climbing trees

What matters is that their bodies get to let go a little.

I’ve learned to notice when everything starts to feel “tight” and patience evaporates. Those moments don’t need a lecture, ultimatum or refereeing. They just need to GO OUTSIDE.

And it works. After twenty minutes, they slowly came back to themselves, and we lived to fight another day.

Now, can I also say this honestly, that I find the 3-year-old stage the hardest, so far. (If you have a tween or teenager please don’t feel the urge to need to comment, “oh just you wait ‘til they are…”, I will get there when I get there).

Newborn sleepless nights, BLW messes, toddler clinginess — I can handle all that. But 3.5 to 4? The intensity, the volatility, the HUGE feelings in such a tiny body…

But I look at my 5-year-old recently and I notice the shift and the growth. There was this huge leap around the 4.5 year mark — it’s as if something just clicked in the executive functioning of the brain. The fruits of the slow, repetitive, daily work do show up. We do get there. It just takes time. My youngest is now 3.5 years old and we’ve officially entered the thick of it all, once again.

This morning, I sat in the shade as they played. I tried to sip my tea and not let it all get to me. The truth is, I’m tired. It’s been a long stretch of solo parenting these past 2 months. I’ve been “on” day and night, my period is due in the next 1-2 days, this recent heatwave is not helping. Normally, I would have more capacity to hold it all up, but when it all comes at once, there is only so much I can do!

So today, the win was simple:

We went outside.

We reset.

We tried again.

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It’s been almost a year since we first moved into our beach house. We’ve been back for three weeks now, and I can’t help but notice all the little things that have changed quietly in just one year.

As I walk down the familiar path in front of our house, I recall how it was so difficult and frustrating teaching the kids to ride their bikes. There were tears, tantrums, and screaming matches (from both them and me). It was not easy getting them to go on walks without them whining that it was too far or that they wanted to be carried.

Our nightly routine used to feel like struggle town. The kids would stall bedtime, ask a million questions just as I am about the close the door, having a sibling squabble or revving each other up at bedtime.

I remember being surrounded by clutter that never seemed to go away. I would remind them a gazillion times to pack up their toys, help with the dishwasher, laundry and chores that would, at best, have a 50% success rate.

As I sit with each kid during every one of their big feelings today, I remember how last year was meltdown central every day, multiple times a day that went on for weeks.

Then suddenly…

The kids now ride their bikes effortlessly along the coast. Walks are part of our daily rhythm. Bedtimes feel almost a bit too good to be true — how are they so willingly and happily going to bed without pushing boundaries? They chip in with household chores and doing their part to keep our house clean and working well (they still need to be asked, but at least they are doing it!). This morning, the kids woke up early, but they left me to sleep in while they made themselves a simple breakfast and sat at the dining table playing Junior Monopoly.

Meltdowns still happen, but now, they feel so much less triggering, the intensity has softened, and so have I. I find myself having more patience and empathy.

But then I realize that this was not “all of a sudden”. It is not magic, and it is certainly not luck. It was the slow burn of showing up, day after day, even when it didn’t seem to be working. It was the belief that what we were doing mattered— discipline, looking after our bodies well, unity, contribution, resilience and self-awareness.

I read about the law of invisible progress: the relentless work that happens behind the scenes— showing up every day, doing the reps, the consistent effort, the moments that no one claps forIt is what turns the invisible into the undeniable.

From the time we decide we want something to the moment we finally see it, it can feel like eternity. That’s why, when things do click, it feels sudden. But it never is. It’s the compound effect of putting in the work, day after day.

As @ReadswithRavi puts it perfectly:

“What you do in private shows up in public. Reading shows up in conversations. Your diet shows in your energy. Your workouts show in your physique. Your discipline shows in your confidence. Your focus shows in your results.”

That’s what invisible progress looks like. It doesn’t announce itself, it just quietly changes everything. A year later, I notice it in the small things but also in the physical traces too — longer legs, bigger shoes, less chubby faces, and that left me with all the feels. Change rarely feels dramatic while it’s happening, but it’s unmistakable once you stop and really look.

For the past decade, I’ve been in the business of empowering people to live better, move better, and lead more active lives. When I co-created WeBarre, I wanted it to challenge limits in small but powerful ways. Movement has always been central to my life until I realized I wasn’t really moving at all.

In 2024, after two pregnancies and births, I decided to hire a personal trainer to complement my barre practice with heavier lifting. One of the first questions he asked me was: “What’s your average daily step count?”

I raised a brow. What did step count have to do with anything? Yet, the number staring back at me was horrifically low and I felt like an imposter—teaching fitness, yet barely moving outside of workouts. Two to three workouts a week, yes, but otherwise? Sedentary. Granted, I was emerging from the “baby blur” with two kids under two. But still, it felt so out of sync with the identity I had built for myself.

So, I made a change.

Setting a different kind of goal

At the same time, I was part of a personal growth community called Deep Human Club, where our first assignment was goal-setting. My goal was simple:

• Increase my step count by 50% on a weekly average

• Pain points: Hate the humidity, hate mosquitoes, don’t want to be in the sun, time consuming activity

• How I will succeed: Walking on the trendmill with aircon and integrating it into my day (walk on treadmill when i’m on passive calls that i don’t have to actively speak, answering simple emails/WhatsAp, editing IG reels)

• Bonus: Take a big bottle of water with me to the gym and aim to finish it by end of walk

Once I reframed walking as something integrated into my day rather than something that required carving out precious extra time, it became possible. From a miserable 2–3,000 steps per day, I quickly climbed to 4–5,000.

The key, I learned, wasn’t chasing the “gold standard” of 10,000 steps. It was about setting a goal that stretched me just enough to feel challenging, yet attainable. Small wins build momentum that propels you forward.

The setback

Unfortunately, 3 months in, as if the universe was playing a bad joke on me, I fell down a flight of stairs at home. It was 6am and both kids were screaming. I sprinted up and down the stairs, half-asleep, fell hard and fractured my ankle.

I was livid. For weeks I limped, struggled with stairs. Suddenly, I couldn’t carry my kids and couldn’t even stand for long. But as soon as my physio cleared me for some ‘light walking’, I got back on the treadmill. It was extremely humbling; I started at a glacial pace of 3.5km/h. Ten minutes. That was all I could manage. A far cry from my 6.5km/h power walks, but it was a start. It was almost as if this fall made me more determined. Losing the simple ability to walk reminded me that movement isn’t something to take for granted—it’s a gift.

It was a grind, but slowly, my foot healed and I got back on my walks again. By mid December 2024 I was back, hitting an average of 6000 steps a day. It’s not a huge number, but far more than in 2023, and it was a big win nonetheless.

Becoming a ‘walker’

Since then, walking is now part of my whole identity. It comes in many forms:

• Power walking to a podcast or a great playlist

• Walking while scrolling Instagram (yes I allow myself that! If I’m going to be scrolling I decided I would make it slightly more productive), paying bills, ordering groceries or doing life admin

• Taking my kids hiking so we can walk together

• Having my kids cycle while I jog next to them

• Walking to places instead of driving

• Living by the sea so that I can enjoy coastal walks

• Post-dinner walks with the family before bedtime

• Waking up at 6am for outdoor morning walks to see the sunrise before the household chaos

In 2025, my average step count is 9000, which is wild! A number I never thought possible.

The real shift wasn’t in finding time, it was in shifting my identity. Instead of collapsing onto the couch by default, I go out for a walk. When I do sit, it’s intentional. That’s what I’m most proud of—living with purpose, not by autopilot.

I’ve realized this is how I’ve approached much of my life. I don’t go to work “just because” the calendar says that I have a meeting at 9am. I don’t parent “just because” I’m a mother and I have to. Over and over, I’ve chosen to navigate my life around what feels purposeful, what makes me come alive. These choices have carried me further than I could have imagined.

Walking into the unknown

As I write this, I wonder about the next chapter of my becoming, and something that I have been thinking about more and more lately. There’s fear—of not living up to what I’ve already done. There’s doubt—about how I’ll get there. But there’s also hope, and trust.

Because walking taught me that purpose isn’t found in giant leaps, but in small steps taken with intention. The next chapter of my becoming is unknown, but I know I can walk into it, one step at a time.

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