When my daughter entered Primary 1, the children were asked to write compositions about their mother and father. For her father, she wrote that he was often away, travelling to Costa Rica (or some other exotic location) for work. That was not true. She had not seen him since he left when she was one year old.

In Primary 2, at a parent teacher meeting, her form teacher told me that my daughter wanted to be a Grab driver, like Mummy. In Primary 3, the school invited parents with “interesting occupations” to do a Show and Tell in class. I was not invited, and it was just as well, because I had nothing spectacular to share. However, it woke me up and got me seriously thinking.

What can my daughter write about me in school? What can she say about me to her friends?

These were the questions that kept me afloat after my divorce.

The maintenance job you gave yourself

Let’s turn the moment back a little bit to where you are now, fresh from the divorce. Perhaps you have decided that the rest of your life is a restoration project. Undo her memories of the arguments over the dinner table, fix the damage the divorce did to her, and constantly execute emotional maintenance for the next 20 years. That is the job you have given yourself, and you are doing it exhausted, at 11pm, staring at her closed bedroom door wondering what she is thinking about you in there.

However, may I tell you that this mindset will not fix anything. Not only does it not fix anything, it is accentuating the damage.

Every time you treat your child like something to be repaired, you are affirming to her that the divorce was a disaster and she is the casualty of it. You do not need to say this out loud. She feels it in the extra gentleness of your voice, the apologies for things she never mentioned, the way you watch her at breakfast like she might crack any time. As a teacher and a parent you know this too well - children read everything that is unsaid.

The other end of the telescope

If the question is “how do I fix the damage,” you spend your energy scanning for cracks, and she starts to feel like a wound.

However if the question is “what story is she going to tell,” you start building new memories instead of patching old wounds. We’re not talking about sugarcoating - we’re talking about creating new experiences for her (and yourself).

What I did, and what you might try

I answered questions and tackled knowledge gaps head on. I sat her down and explained that her father was not travelling in Costa Rica. This is what happened, he won’t be living with us, and it is also unlikely he will visit. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a family.

As a single parent, I was spending more hours than most others trying to earn a living, but I always made sure I made it in time to tell her bedtime stories, and I was around (and awake) to send her off to school in the mornings. I never gave her an extra long apologetic hug when we parted, because I was sure we would be seeing each other again at night.

Most importantly, I started writing our future-history. We may not be in the most ideal situation now, but I had to make sure every step I took and every choice I made was made from a place of love, strength and hope, so that she can look back and say “What a wonderful mummy I have, and I want to be strong and loving just like her.”

You are not writing an apology letter with the rest of your life. You are writing the story she will tell, and that story is not about the divorce at all.

Yan (Athena’s Truth) is a life coach based in Singapore, who helps expat educators rebuild their lives after divorce. If you would like to know more about how you can rebuild yours with her, book into her calendar and get on a chat with her (no charges).

Once, there was a woman who lived in a house with too many rooms.

Nobody remembers how the house grew so big. It just kept adding rooms, one after another, until she lost count.

Some rooms were loud. In one, the telly blared Demon Hunters while she helped with homework, spelling tests and times tables, shouted back and forth over the noise. In another, laughter spilled out from a Saturday gathering, pots clattering, someone’s playlist that is too loud, the smell of something she had baked that morning still in the air.

There was a quiet room she loved, mat rolled out, incense burning, an hour where nobody needed anything from her. But the door to that room always seemed to have a queue outside it. Marking to finish. A form to submit before Thursday. Her kids needing help with a project. By the time she got to the front of the queue, the hour was gone and the incense had burned itself out.

Some rooms were colder than she would like it to be. There were scratches on the wallpaper from arguments, photographs on the shelf gathering dust. She stood in that room sometimes and realised she missed the shouting, because the shouting meant something was still alive.

This is not a new fiction book I am writing.

It is what goes on in a divorcing teacher’s mind. Every day.

The Door That Would Not Shut

There was one door that never shut properly, no matter how many times she pushed it closed. Some mornings a gust caught it. Other mornings it felt like a full storm on the other side, throwing itself against the wood, threatening to blow the whole thing open.

At 10.30am, she stood in front of her class getting her 1st graders to pronounce “three” with their tongues out, her mouth forming the words while every ounce of her strength went into holding that door shut. Her attention slid inward, further and deeper, until she was not really in the room with her students at all.

She did not notice the small boy who had walked right up to her asking for a pencil sharpener. She did not notice him tug at her dress once, twice, then a third time, waiting for an answer she was not there to give.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT???”

It came out of her before she could stop it. Loud. Sharp. Wrong.

The boy froze. He looked up at her, innocent eyes wide, more startled than hurt.

She was mortified at her own behaviour. Catching herself straight away, she knelt down, softened her tone and fixed it in thirty seconds. The boy was fine. He had already forgotten and gone back to his worksheet.

But she has not forgotten and will not forget for hours, days, maybe even months to come.

Did I speak too harshly? Why did I use that tone? Is he sitting at home tonight thinking his teacher doesn’t like him? Did I make him feel small? What kind of teacher am I becoming? What kind of mother am I becoming, if I can’t even hold my temper with a child who isn’t even mine?

Behind Closed Doors

This is what happens in a teacher’s head after the door closes and the class moves on. A private trial for something that lasted three seconds and meant nothing to anyone but you.

I have a whinge about this, and perhaps a few of you will want to join in. We would never let a student believe one sharp moment defines them. So why do we let one human moment convince us we are failing at everything - our job, our marriage, our own child?

We believe that picking on ourselves is part and parcel of being a good teacher. It is not. It is giving the best to everyone else while blaming ourselves for anything that happens (eg. “It is my fault that the wind blew the door open”).

When your head is full of rooms like this, you cannot see two steps ahead, let alone be a good teacher or imagine a life on the other side of this divorce.

Get That House Cleaned Out

Clarity does not come from fixing, it comes from clearing (quite literally). If there is no need to shut the door, then you do not have the problem of fighting to keep it shut.

You have probably heard that meditations are good for this, but are unsure how to do it ‘properly’ or fail to find the right one you can resonate with. I wrote these 1-minute meditations just for the divorcing teacher. They are guided, so you just have to plug in and follow the words. Only about 1 minute each, so they are very useful and easy to use during the school day.

Give them a try - it does not cost you anything, and you gain by being able to keep your cool better in front of everyone.

Yan (Athena’s Truth) is a life coach who helps expat educators keep their sanity during and after divorce. Follow for more content to keep your sanity intact.

If you’re a 45 year old divorced teacher secretly scrolling dating apps at 3am, telling you this might make you feel less crazy (and ashamed). It’s a story that goes 15 years back into my past life, when I first had my divorce.

I used to get really annoyed when people tell me it’s ok to be alone.

“You don’t need anyone”

“You’re such a strong, independent woman”

“You’ve survived being a single parent for so long, why do you need anyone now?”

There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone. Just because you lie in bed at night wanting someone who actually gets your jokes, remembers how you take your coffee, or gives you a cuddle unconditionally doesn’t make you weak, pathetic or unattractive - it means you are human.

Shame grows on you like dirty, disgusting mould

At the beginning, I felt ashamed for wanting these basic human things. I thought, “Maybe I’m needy. Maybe I haven’t healed enough. Maybe I’m one of those women who can’t function without a relationship.”

So I paste on a smile when people asked how I was doing after divorce. “Oh, I’m loving my independence!”. I lied through my teeth, while disgust grew in my gut - perhaps at myself for speaking against my heart, perhaps at others for placing that expectation on me.

I watch other divorced friends post about their “glow ups” and solo adventures, and I wonder what’s wrong with me for wanting someone to share the mundane Tuesday evenings with.

Then it makes you really angry

After a while, it made me really angry. Why wouldn’t anyone understand what I wanted? I’m a beautiful, wonderful person worthy of love. Yes I’m strong and independent - that doesn’t mean I don’t get tired being it.

I want to wake up one day and not feel guilty for wanting companionship. I want to believe that wanting love doesn’t make you incomplete or unevolved. I want someone to agree with me that it’s normal and healthy to crave connection, especially after betrayal.

I was getting angry that everyone was making me feel bad about myself.

So I started accepting myself (since nobody else wanted to)

It was not an easy journey - after years of self-coaching and countless meditation sessions, I came to a revelation that helped me overcome this shame and anger.

I realised what was making me miserable wasn’t other people. It was from me rejecting my own feelings. Every time we have a feeling that we have brainwashed ourselves to believe is undesirable, our first instinct is to push it away with anger. Yet because that feeling is a part of us, it is what we want - pushing it away makes us feel empty and unhappy.

That’s what makes us feel lousy.

So I tried something different. Instead of pushing it away, I tried sitting with it. Whether you feel it in your stomach, chest or throat, resist the urge to throw it away immediately, and try keeping the feeling in that part of your body.

“I’m feeling lonely” - sit with it.

“I feel sad” - hold it in

“I need someone” - say it out loud

The magical thing is, it didn’t feel as bad as I thought it would.

It’s not the feeling that destroys you

That’s when I realised it’s not the feeling that destroys me, but the denial of it. You may be horrified at the idea of it, but try it and you’ll see what I mean. The magic happens when not only does it feel more comfortable, the feeling seems to bloom into something beautiful, because you honour it as a part of who you are.

Acceptance kills shame.

Next time you catch yourself feeling ashamed about wanting love, don’t push it away. Sit with it for five minutes. Don’t try to fix it or change it. Just notice it without judgment.

Ask yourself: “What if this feeling is actually perfectly normal and human?” Then watch how your relationship with that desire changes when you stop making it wrong.

I work with divorcing expat educators to help them keep their sanity, jobs and residency, so they can move forward without losing everything. If this is you and you want to stop feeling guilty about wanting love again, DM me and let’s chat about how to get there without losing yourself.

I believe in being a good teacher. Why is this important to me?

My father taught me to learn from life itself. He made learning fun, and my childhood was filled with fascination and curiosity about the world. That curiosity built the resilience I needed to face challenges - it allowed me find solutions rather than freeze.

My mother was a school teacher, for 60 years. Ironically and unfortunately, I cannot say the same about what she brought to my childhood. Her level of EQ was nowhere close to my father’s, and she caused much emotional damaged that took me decades to come to terms with. Being a good teacher is from the inside out.

I also had my share of bad teachers. In primary school, I confided in a counsellor that the Gifted Programme syllabus was too overwhelming for me. As a 10 year old, I was on the brink of tears under this pressure. Shockingly, she simply told me quitting was not an option - pretty much “Too bad, you’re stuck with this” in adult counsellor language. In secondary school, a teacher questioned if I was really from the Gifted Programme, because my homework was slipping. In my O Level year, my chemistry teacher advised me to drop the subject, in case I pulled down the school’s national ranking. (I studied at an elite school where the school’s standing was apparently more important than my personal growth.)

I grew up detesting bad teachers.

Then I went to university in Perth, and I met good ones again. I once told a lecturer I was unsure about taking a module because I knew nothing about the subject. He said, “That’s okay, that’s what you’re here to do, to learn.” Perth was a season of liberation for me. There, I saw that being a good teacher was not about following the rules, but about listening, embracing and having a spirit of exploration.

I became a drama educator after graduating. 6 years later, I went through my divorce. In class, images of his affairs (yes in plural) surfaced in my mind every few minutes. I was teaching drama, so you can imagine the spectrum of scenarios in class that easily triggered my emotions. Some days I managed to hold the tears back. Some days I could not.

Eventually I stopped that career path and closed all my school projects. On the last day of my last project, I sat in my car and cried for an hour. It was not only the pain of leaving the children. I began to question whether I was fit to be a teacher at all.

Of course that wasn’t true. But in those moments, there was no way I could feel otherwise. Looking back, I should have taken a break without carrying that doubt about who I was. In that break, I could have anchored myself and remembered my qualities as an educator, instead of letting the crisis rewrite them.

15 years on, I am back in the classroom, and I know I am a good teacher. I still hear colleagues say things like “I’m just trying to get through the hour” or tell a parent “She just has to keep up.” I get it, and I know all of you who are reading this get it too - it’s really not easy. We all slip into such moments. But if there is one thing I strive for, it is not an easier way to get through the hour. It is making the classroom safe, exciting and nurturing, for every child, every time.

Perhaps those tired teachers are fighting really tough battles in their personal lives. Perhaps, like me back then, they are good teachers at the core, just overshadowed by some really nasty things for now.

Which is why I now spend my days helping teachers through their darkest hours, so the great teacher can shine through.

You deserve to let your best come through too.

If this sounds like you too and would like help with this, DM me to book a call.

People think that if they just wait long enough, things will get better. That time heals all.

I have never agreed with this statement. What in the world made us believe that? If nothing different is being done during this ‘time’, why would anything change?

Time doesn’t magically heal things. We do.

Just because you have found a way to tolerate your husband, and the arguments and coldness don’t pierce your heart as much anymore - perhaps you’re even crying less because you’ve gotten used to the infidelity - doesn’t mean you have healed. It just means you have stopped caring about how you feel (because it hurts too much).

And the more you try to ‘keep it together’ in this manner, the more you are breaking down inside.

Waiting is not a plan - it’s avoidance. I believe the trending term we use these days is ‘trauma bonding’.

The Reality You’re Living In

You’re an expat teacher going through divorce. Your visa depends on your job. Your job depends on you holding it together, both in front of your students and your child.

Right now, you’re doing that thing where you cry alone in your room because you believe your child shouldn’t see your weakness. You’re faking smiles in the staff room. You’re lying awake at 3am with your heart racing, wondering “Is this just the way it’s going to be?”

Maybe you’ve even caught yourself thinking, “If I had all the money in the world, I would leave. I daydream about this, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

Or worse - you’re secretly wishing for some miracle force, a sign from the universe, to help you decide.

Guess what - none of these is going to help you move forward.

The Healthy Way To Hold It Together

So let’s talk about what ‘keeping it together’ actually looks like when it’s not slowly killing you inside:

1. Stop pretending everything is fine

Because it’s not anyway. And the energy you spend holding up that facade is draining you dry. Your students can sense it. Your child can sense it. You can sense it, and this is the worst bit, because teachers hate being inauthentic.

2. Taking a pause to ask yourself “What do I really need?”

Everyone around you keeps telling you to fight for your rights, to think about your child, to squeeze what you can from your husband. But nobody - not one person - has stopped to ask you, “How are you?”

Well, how about you lead by example and be the first person to do so?

3. Reaching out for help when you need it

This isn’t weakness, it’s being smart. I’m sure you don’t expect your students to learn everything on their own. In fact, what do we so very often encourage them to do? (Ah…) So, why are you holding yourself to that impossible standard?

The Question You Need To Ask Yourself

Nobody is going to fix this for you. You are the only one who can change what happens next. If you’re telling yourself “This isn’t a good time” (we could all come up with 101 reasons why) - STOP. Ask yourself this question instead: “When is a good time?”

It’s a rhetorical question. The answer is, the only good time is now. Your exhaustion and unhappiness have already been waving red flags at you for AGES. When are you going to answer to them?

It’s Okay To Let Go

I know everyone around you has been pressing you to reconsider and save the marriage.

Let’s take a moment to think from their perspective - it’s really, really hard to tell a loved one “Divorce him and leave immediately”.

Asking you to save the marriage isn’t good advice - it’s advice that’s easy and comforting for an outsider.

You have to trust that you know best.

Change is scary, but that’s what I help women like you with. If you would like to have a chat about this, book a call with me.

I hear it from divorcing teachers all the time.

“School was my saving grace.”

“Work was the one normal part of my life.”

“I focused on my students and nobody knew what I was going through until the day before court.”

It is true. School really does hold you together. But what happens after you walk out of the school gates?

What happens after school

The moment you finish playing your roles as a teacher, wife, mother and housekeeper, you shut your room door and sit in the quiet of the night… the timetable is gone, the class is gone, and you are alone with everything you spent all day not thinking about. Ever since the divorce proceedings started, you detest having time or silence, because that’s when the chaos and confusion gets loudest.

School helps you handle the battle against your internal chatter - but what about the other battles? The lawyer. Your work visa. Your residency. The custody. The alimony. Your finances. The children. Your future. A good day in the classroom does not answer any of that. Sometimes a good day makes it worse, because it lets you put off the decisions for one more week.

Sanctuary or hiding place?

The danger is if school is your safe place, you might also start hiding there. Pouring everything into your students is familiar, and people praise you for it. It is also a very neat way to avoid your own life. You barely have time to cry in the washroom in between classes, then you wipe your face and carry on.

The cost of relying on school as the coping mechanism shows up later - during term break, Christmas, summer holidays. The structure disappears for what feels like infinity, and that is often when everything hits hardest, because you finally have nothing to hide behind.

Building strength that stays with you

I’m not here to shame your career or coping mechanisms. In fact, I agree with you and celebrate you for taking pride in the work you are so passionate about, and it being able to serve as a sanctuary for you.

But precisely because I recognise how important your work is to you, particularly in these precarious circumstances, I’m here to offer an important reminder to you - that you’re not just surviving the school day and crumbling at home once the marking is done. That your work continues to be a safe space for you instead of becoming a brewery for avoidance, denial and toxicity.

What I want for you is that you are truly building a sustainable, lasting strength that sparks new hope and inspiration for your new life, that isn’t something you borrow from a classroom for 7 hours and lose the second you leave.

If you need help with that, shall we get on a free 30min call to talk?

When you’re going through a toxic divorce, every email from your ex’s lawyer can feel like a punch to the gut.

You read those cold, clinical words threatening to take away custody. Or demanding ridiculous financial terms. And your stomach drops because you know this isn’t about fairness anymore. It’s about control.

Last week, a client showed me an email where her ex demanded she pay for his therapy sessions. The same man who spent 20 years in the same bed as you, raising the same children, two of which was spent having an affair. The audacity was breathtaking, but sadly, not unusual.

What toxic divorce warfare looks like

It’s 2am and you’re wide awake, scrolling through WhatsApp messages that give you that nauseating feeling that sucks your guts dry. Messages designed to trigger you, to make you react badly so they can screenshot your response for court.

Your ex shows up unannounced at your work - the same school that your child goes to - creating shameful drama in front of colleagues, students and your child’s peers who don’t need to know your business.

Legal bills pile up while you’re trying to keep your job secure so that you can keep your visa status intact. All whilst pretending to be fine in the classroom.

The worst part about all this is it gives you fear that overwhelms you like a cold shower. The weight in your stomach gets so heavy it feels like a magnet sucking you through the ground. He twists every conversation, every memory, every fact until you start wondering if maybe you really are the problem.

This is not your failure. This is toxicity.

Three ways to stop feeding the beast

Document everything, respond to nothing emotional. Keep a folder of screenshots. But don’t engage with the bait. File those 2am rage texts, but don’t answer them. Your silence drives toxic people mad because they feed off your reactions.

Set up a buffer system. Get a friend to read inflammatory emails first. Or use a separate email account that you only check twice a day. You don’t need that poison dripping into your consciousness every five minutes.

Remember the long game. Every crazy demand, every unreasonable request, every attempt to provoke you is evidence of their character. Judges aren’t stupid. They can spot manipulation a mile off. Your job is to stay calm, document everything, and let them hang themselves with their own rope.

The thing about toxic divorce battles is they only work if you play along. The moment you stop dancing to their tune, stop reacting to their provocations, stop trying to defend yourself against ridiculous accusations, the whole show falls apart.

Because without your participation in the drama, they’re just shouting at themselves.

If you want to reclaim your peace and protect your future without losing your sanity, there are ways to navigate this that don’t involve becoming someone you don’t recognise.

I run 1:1, personal, private sessions for divorcing expat teachers like you, where every session is a reminder of the safe space and love you deserve in your life. DM me and let’s talk about how we can get through this together.

You have been waking up at 5.30am for the past 20 years. The difference is, for the first 5 years, it was done with enthusiasm as you started your career as a fresh, young, passionate teacher in this new country you have just started to call home. For the next 14 years, you’re an experienced teacher, getting into the momentum of stepping out of the house everyday to fulfil your life purpose in education.

However for the past 1 year since you found out about his affair and now in the process of divorce… when the alarm goes off, you’re dragging yourself up, wondering why you should be starting your day before the sun is up and before anyone else in your house is awake. For 5 seconds you wonder if you can call in sick, but decide against it because your loving responsibility towards your students kick in. “My students need me. Their exams are coming up.”

By 7am you’re at school. By 3pm you’ve managed the emotions of 75 different students and 3 parent complaints. By 5pm you’re home and the real shift starts. Dinner. Homework. His call about money. The lawyer. Housework. By midnight your body is exhausted but your brain won’t stop. So you lie there, the clock ticking to 5:30am when the world starts making demands on you again.

Day after day, the same treadmill, for the past 174 days.

Imagine actually wanting to get out of bed when your 5:30am alarm goes off

Your nervous system is calm. You make your tea and actually taste it. You sit for 5 minutes and just breathe without worrying. You get to school and you’re present - not running on fumes, not counting down the minutes until you can escape. The marking doesn’t feel like a punishment. You’re actually teaching, not just surviving.

Imagine his text comes through at 6pm and you read it without your stomach dropping

No spiralling or your stomach twisting. No “what does this mean?” No replaying the conversation in your head for the next three hours. You read it, you decide what to do, and feel good about being in control. Neither do you worry about what others will think of your decision, because you’re just so clear what you want and what is good for yourself.

Imagine actually sleeping

8 hours where your brain knows how to shut up. Where your body knows it’s safe to rest. You wake up at 5:30am and you actually feel rejuvenated. You’re not dragging and feet and not running on your 3rd coffee before 12pm. Even amidst the court battle, you actually feel… okay.

I have no time to imagine

Maybe you think you have no time to imagine or daydream when you need to be making real plans to survive this crisis. Except all this is not fantasy!

I work with expat teachers in your exact situation - drowning in the early mornings and the never-ending nights, convinced this is just what their life has to be. About mid-way through our time together, something begins to shift. Their lives begin to change. What they imagined begins to be reality.

If you want to look forward to living your life again, DM me and let’s talk about what you would like to have instead.

I am going to say the thing your friends are too kind to say.

The way you are coping right now is not actually protecting you - it is costing you.

You are an expat teacher going through a divorce

Of course you are afraid of losing your visa the moment your employment wavers. Of course you are watching every dollar because unlike a Singaporean, there is no housing subsidy - just full market rent and a salary that has to stretch further than it ever did before. Of course you are terrified of losing custody because that might mean being geographically apart from your child.

Your job is not just your job. It is the pivotal thread that holds all three of those fears together.

So you hold on tighter, push on stronger, hang on longer.

Even though the truth is you are staring at a pile of marking at 10pm and not able to pick up the pen. The truth is tears are welling up as you watch your students do their work. The truth is you can barely breathe as you say ‘yes’ to leading a school celebration.

The problem is you think coping means stubbornly trudging on

I can empathise with that. Keeping your job means stable finances, winning custody and being able to continue the life you built here for 15 years.

But coping this way means you’re “half-in and half-out”. You are still turning up, still marking papers (barely, perhaps), and still smiling through parent-teacher conferences - all while something inside you feels empty. Have you ever been so hungry it becomes nauseating? Yeah, it feels something like that, doesn’t it.

When your Head of Department pulls you aside and quietly offers you to take leave, you say no. Because you do not want to look like you are falling apart. Because you have a class who needs you. Because, honestly, what would you do with yourself if you stopped?

So you keep going. Half-present. Half-functioning. Telling yourself this is what strength looks like.

This kind of strength has a costly price tag

And your career is going to be picking up the bill.

You are not performing at the level you know you are capable of. People will notice not your pain, but the dip. The declined promotion nominations. The conference presentation you pulled out of last minute. The curriculum meetings you stopped attending because you had a lawyer’s call and could not face explaining why, again, you could not make it.

Each one of those feels like a reasonable call given everything you are managing. But they add up, term by term, opportunity by opportunity. The gap between you and your less-experienced colleagues, the ones who are still showing up and putting their hands up, does not stay the same size. It widens.

Career capital is not a savings account. You cannot pause contributions and expect the balance to stay intact.

A real break, an intentional one, with a plan and a return date, is not the same as quietly disappearing while pretending you are fine.

One says: I know what I need and I am taking it, with intention.

The other says: I am not coping, and I am hoping no one finds out.

Your career can survive a well-managed leave. It has a much harder time recovering from two years of going through the motions while being emotionally hollow.

It deserves more than survival mode.

This is something really, really important to you, and I’d hate to see you waste it away when we can do something about it. Something that isn’t giving up or withdrawing, but something that helps you protect everything you have worked for.

I can help you protect your career and your sanity at the same time. Shall we talk?

He was the one who cheated, but he won’t let you go

I understand how perplexing that is. What in the world does he want?? I understand how that makes you feel like your freedom is at this mercy. I understand how painful this can be, that he seems to only know how to express himself in ways that hurt you more and more. I also understand how it exhausts you, because every single time he changes his mind, you have to start again emotionally, mentally, physically.

The torturous part about this is somewhere in the dark crevices of your mind, you secretly wonder whether his ambivalence means something.

“Perhaps I am the one he truly loves? Perhaps it was a pure mistake? People make mistakes right? Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance? Does it make me the bad person if I leave without trying to make it work?”

A true story

A client of mine lived this psychotic insanity for years, before she started coaching with me. In the course of her coaching program, her husband changed his mind three times about getting a divorce. Three times she thought she could finally move. Three times he pulled the ground out from under her. When she finally stopped waiting for his permission to proceed, he started threatening her.

He told her she would lose her child, that the courts would side with him because she was not Singaporean, that she was a bad mother ruining their child’s life.

My poor client started to believe him. He attacked her when she was most vulnerable - past midnight, when her mind spiralled the most, when most of the world was asleep and he could be loudest.

Most women in that situation would start to believe such bullocks toxicity, at least for a moment, because those messages are precisely targeted at all the tender spots raw fear that are already existing within them.

Moral of the story: Get a coach who doesn’t sleep early

You know I’m kidding about that. But in all seriousness, it was a good thing I’m a night owl. I received her screenshots and messages close to 1am, and this is what I told her:

“He changed his mind three times NOT because he loves you and can’t let go. THIS IS NOT LOVE. He changed his mind three times because every time he did, you stopped in your tracks. He recognised that this would soften you and it worked, every single time. Now, when it stopped working… when he saw your resolution in getting a divorce, when he saw that you were prepared with plans for the future (that didn’t include him), and when he started to smell confidence in you… he reached for the next weapon - your child. What a pathetic cheapskate.”

(Ok, no, I didn’t say the cheapskate part)

“The threats are not confidence. They are panic in disguise. Telling you that you will lose custody, that you are at a disadvantage because you are not Singaporean, that you are an unfit mother - none of this is a legal assessment. It is a desperate man who can see he is no longer in control, doing the only thing left below the belt. This is exactly what he wants you to feel - small, guilty, vulnerable - so that you will give up.”

Divorce Is psychological warfare

Divorce isn’t just legal. It is also emotional and psychological. Having a way to keep your mind in the sanity zone can make all the difference to how you’re going to walk out of this episode, and is the most important thing you can do for yourself and your child during this time.

My client came out of this a very happy woman. By the end of the coaching program, she managed to secure a stable job with a stable income, find a good rental place with a good environment for herself and her daughter (which was crucial in the custody battle), and needless to say, won care and control of her daughter.

Now what are you waiting for? DM me and let’s have a free chat for 30 min.

A 1968 study found that teachers make around 1,500 educational decisions per day. Yup. And that was in 1968. Imagine what the number is like now!

Should I move that kid?

Should I call on her now or wait?

Do I blow up at them now?

Should I scrap this lesson and try something different?

How can I restructure my lesson to match the kids’ energies today?

Half the class didn’t do their homework - what else can I do?

Do I bring them to the bathroom now?

A thousand of these. All before lunchtime.

For a teacher who is going through divorce, this is only half your life.

The REAL Life-Changing Decisions (+1,500)

After the school bell rings, the other half is waiting.

How much alimony should I be asking for?

What kind of custody arrangements should I set that is best for my children?

How are we going to settle the assets and joint bank accounts?

Am I asking for too much?

Am I asking for too little?

Should I forget it and just get it over and done with?

Can I support my kids independently from now on?

Where will we live from now?

These are not small calls. Every single one of them will shape the next ten years of your life (and your children’s). One unfortunate decision 15 years ago led you to this today. Can you be sure you are making the best decisions for yourself and your children from this day on?

Nobody Can Make The Perfect Decision

Let me make it clear that I am not pressing you to make the perfect decision. Because nobody can and there is no such thing.

There is no perfect custody arrangement. No magic number for alimony. No asset split that will feel completely fair. No way to know, right now, whether the choice you make today will look wise or regrettable in ten years’ time.

We cannot control the outcome. What we can control is the state in which we make these important calls. Making decisions from a place of calm, peace and love may not guarantee our future, but we can be sure that we tried our best with what we knew and what we had.

This is very important! It is what reduces regret quotient when things don’t turn out the way we expect (and it very often will).

Get Help With Those Emotions

This is what I help women with. I help divorcing expat educators keep their sanity, so that they can keep their jobs, residency and life, so that they can move forward without losing everything (including their minds).

If you are in the middle of this right now and you’re exhausted chasing your sanity around, I would love to have a chat with you - because I can help you. DM me to book a call.

Let me put the disclaimer right at the front. I’m not saying self-help books are useless. They are good nourishment for the soul when you have some quiet time by yourself. But just reading the books alone is not enough to get you out of your misery.

Why Isn’t Van Gogh A Zen Master?

Have you ever wondered - if art is supposed to be therapeutic, then why are famous artists not the most self-regulated zen masters in the world? In fact, many of them were riddled with mental illness. Vincent van Gogh had depression and psychosis. Edvard Munch suffered from anxiety. Yayoi Kusama was haunted by hallucinations.

These are people who immersed themselves in art day in, day out. Yet it did nothing to get rid of the demons in their minds.

You Started Journalling - And Then What?

You’re an educated, accomplished expat educator going through a divorce, and you’re doing exactly what everyone expects you to do - keeping it together on the surface while everything falls apart underneath.

You show up to work with that professional smile for the kids. You attend department meetings. You grade papers. You even post those perfectly curated photos on social media showing that wonderful new exercise you did in class.

Yet on the inside, you’re drowning in a sea of visa anxieties, custody concerns, and the terrifying question: What happens if I lose my job and have to leave Singapore with nothing?

So you scramble to get your hands on whatever you can. You might have bought every self-help book on Amazon. Downloaded meditation apps. Maybe even started journaling. And yes, these things make you feel like you’re healing and doing great. “I’m doing all the right things to help myself.”

And then what? When you finally have time and the mind space to take a look at your life in the bigger picture, you’re still lost, confused, no idea where you’re going and no clue how you’re going to be an award-winning single parent.

The Difference Between The Good Kid And That Excellent One

The complexity of rebuilding your life in a foreign country as a single-parent is not something that self-help books can solve. Because whether you realise it or not, you’re facing a triple threat: maintaining your sanity, protecting your career, and securing your residency.

Let me give you another analogy that I suspect will hit home with you immediately.

Why do schools even hire teachers? Why can’t we simply get kids to read the textbooks at home, practise the exercises on their own, then sit for the exam? As teachers, you know this well enough - that difference between the kid who memorises her text and the one who asks questions, reflects on your teachings and applies it with an extra flair. The latter are the kids who stand out from the crowd, get a scholarship and have a fantastic career.

When you try to self-help - which is a fantastic first step - you’re going through the motions of self-care and recovery without actually processing the deeper implications of what you’re experiencing. Like an artist creating beautiful work but never stepping back to understand what it reveals about their soul. While healing and growing is a process that takes a lifetime, there are some things that require your immediate attention as an expat teacher going through divorce:

• Your work permit renewal deadline approaches

• Your children are watching and absorbing your stress

• Your emotional and mental reserves are depleting faster than you can replenish them

If Van Gogh had a therapist to talk him through his art work, perhaps he would have lived longer.

I’m not here to give you another generic self-help framework or tell you to “just think positive.” I know that what you need isn’t more information - it’s proper reflection with someone who understands the unique complexities of your situation.

I help divorcing expat educators like you get your life back piece by piece. Shall we talk?

It’s 2am, and you’re going over divorce lawyer emails and custody schedules in your head. Bills are piled on your desk. Your ex just sent another text about who’s picking up the kids.

And then, out of nowhere, this thought sneaks in: “What if I could fall in love again?”

Almost immediately, the shame hits, fast and hard.

The Fairy Tale You’re Too Old For

You’re a grown woman, a mother and a professional educator. You have stretch marks, a teenage daughter and parent-teacher conferences to prepare for.

Yet, last week, you found yourself watching that rom-com you watched when you were a teenager. Sam on the radio, talking about his late wife with such quiet love that Annie pulls over her car and weeps listening to a stranger; and that iconic Empire State Building ending! Where Sam and Annie finally meet - no raunchy, cheesy kisses. He simply offers her his hand. So serendipitous, so pure, so romantic.

You were giving yourself permission to imagine, just for a little while, what it might feel like to be wanted again. To be chosen. To have someone look at you and make you blush like a girl.

That little secret makes you feel foolish. A 47-year-old woman watching fictional romance because her real life feels so far from anything like that.

When Everyone Forgets You’re Still Human

What makes it worse is that ever since the divorce, nobody asks you about love anymore. Maybe it’s too soon. After all, it’s only been two months since the divorce proceedings started. Legally, you’re still married (eeks!).

Your friends ask how the divorce is going. Your family asks if you’re coping. Your colleagues ask if you need time off. Everyone wants to know if you’re okay, if you’re managing, if you’re surviving.

Very nice of them, but, no one asks if you’ve met anyone. If you might be ready to open your heart again.

It’s as though the world decided that part of your life is just over. And that brutal little voice inside agrees with them: you had your chance, you couldn’t hold it together, and now here you are. That inner critic doesn’t need much encouragement.

There’s No Shame In Wanting More

Ask that inner critic to step aside, and let me step in instead.

That desire to fall in love again is not a fairy tale, not naive, and there is nothing to be embarrassed about.

It is actually one of the strongest signs that you are healing. I would encourage you to sit with that and say to yourself: thank God I still have the ability to love.

Research on post-divorce experience shows that while many women report significant emotional growth and increased happiness over time, a segment of female divorcees experience long-term disillusionment, emotional numbness, and a reduced desire for future romantic connection. What a hollow way to live!

Wanting love means you still believe you are worthy of being chosen. Of being seen. Of building something good. It means your soul has not given up, even when life has been brutal.

I work with divorcing expat teachers who are still in the thick of it. They are fighting to keep their work visas, their homes, their children’s schools, the entire life they built here in Singapore. Every day feels like they are one wrong move away from losing everything.

Yet, somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, they start to feel that quiet hope and secret wish for someone who will make them laugh again, hold their hand, and see them as more than just a divorcee on borrowed time.

Moving from Survival to Something More

Holding it together isn’t only about getting through the divorce. It’s about moving towards something more. It’s about believing that your story isn’t over, that there is still space for joy, for lightness, for love.

If you’re ready to start believing that your story isn’t over, let’s talk.

It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow in Singapore. You have been making cards with your students all week, encouraging them to honour their mums and smiling brightly when they proudly show you their creations. There are little surges of tears and pain that threaten to surface, but you fight them with these thoughts.

“I may have made a mess of my own family but I cannot and must not project this unhappiness onto their perfect little lives.”

“Their mums are great. Their mums are fantastic. They must be beautiful, lovable beings who did everything right. Unlike me.”

You snap yourself out of your thoughts and force yourself to be present in this happy, meaningful learning moment for your students.

“They’re going to have a perfect Mother’s Day. What kind of Mother’s Day have I given my own kids?”

You mentally slap yourself back to the present again - and this time, your tears are sitting right at the edge of your waterline.

What you are carrying right now is tremendous. You are going through a divorce, holding down a full-time job and parenting a child who is also trying to make sense of what is happening. The cruel constant reminder of your own broken marriage as you look at other people’s children as a teacher is a gruelling test of your emotional resilience that most people cannot manage. You are doing all of them at once, every single day.

It’s not easy. Know that someone sees this.

I know that saying “divorce does not make you a bad mother” will not make the guilt go away. You have probably heard some version of it already, and it comforts you for a moment - and then it doesn’t.

Being a new kind of mother takes working through and coming to terms with many types of feelings: guilt, anger, resentment. Just how would you approach parenthood in the coming days?

Before we get there, here’s a little suggestion for this Mother’s Day. Forget the big, bombastic, picture-perfect moments. For tomorrow, let’s just focus on being present. The trick to being present is to notice. Notice what your child is wearing, notice how they are giggling, notice the sensation of their skin on yours. Let yourself receive whatever they offer - a drawing, a hug, even just their presence next to you. That is the relationship. It is still intact, and it is still yours.

You are their mother today, the same as you were yesterday, and the same as you will be tomorrow. That cannot be divorced.

I have walked alongside many divorcing teachers struggled through this difficult journey. I would love to help you with this as well, because I believe being a mum is a super power, and this super power deserves to shine through. Shall we talk?

If you are a teacher going through a divorce, there is a very good chance you have already spent months asking yourself what you could have done differently. Whether you were attentive enough. Attractive enough. Whether you gave enough, said enough, stayed quiet enough, spoke up enough. You run through the marriage the way you would run through a lesson plan that went badly, looking for the part where you made the error.

Perhaps what I'm about to say next can help answer these questions.

The class that only misbehaves for you

Before you continue reading, please be very clear that I am not offering excuses for anyone's behaviour. I am simply suggesting a different perspective that you may want to consider - because this perspective definitely helped me breathe a little better about what happened in my divorce.

Every experienced teacher knows this scene. Your class is loud, unsettled, testing every boundary. Then a colleague steps in to cover for five minutes, and they sit up straight, lower their voices, and behave. You watch from the door and feel the sting of it. What is she doing that I am not?

A newer teacher would spiral. "It must be my classroom management. My rules are not firm enough. I am too soft. I have lost their respect."

An experienced teacher will tell you something else entirely. They behave for her because they do not feel safe enough with her to be themselves. With you, they know they can fall apart a little and you will not fall apart back. You are the one they trust to hold the room even when they cannot hold themselves. Their noise is not disrespect. It is proof that you are the safe place.

What this has to do with your marriage

The same thing happened in your home.

When a partner takes more than he gives, when he stops trying because he stopped fearing the consequences, when he crosses lines you were reluctant to draw too clearly because you believe home is a place of love, not rules - he is doing exactly what those children do. He is behaving in the way that people behave when they feel held. When they feel that the person in front of them will not leave, will not stop loving, will not withdraw the warmth.

That holding becomes even tighter because you are living thousands of miles from home. Your family is all the family has. You believed you had to be each other's everything. You made the home the one thing that had to stay whole, because everything outside it always felt uncertain.

You were the unconditional one. The one who stayed steady when he was not. The one who kept the home calm, kept your children protected from the worst of it, kept showing up to school every morning when your chest felt like concrete. You were not failing at the marriage. You were holding it. And people who are being held by someone steady are not always careful with that person. Sometimes they are careless with them, precisely because they feel safe enough to be.

You did not fail. You provided a safe space.

I work with expat teachers going through divorce, and what I see in almost every conversation is a woman who has spent so long giving that she has started to believe the giving was the problem. That being compassionate was naive. That loving fully was a mistake.

It was not. What you gave was real, and it was good. The failure was not yours to own.

Do you see what the divorce is doing to you? It didn't just upend your visa status, your living arrangements, and your custody plans. It made you, an intelligent, self-aware woman question whether her own character is a flaw.

You are not foolish for having loved fully. You are not weak for having held space. You are not to blame for what someone else did inside the safety you built.

What you are allowed to feel instead

You are allowed to grieve the marriage without deciding it was your fault. You are allowed to be angry at what happened without turning that anger back on yourself. You are allowed to look at 20 years of loyalty and recognise it as something worth being proud of, even though it is ending in a way you did not choose.

If you want to stop carrying the weight of someone else's choices, I am here. Shall we talk?

"I'll sort it out when things settle." That is not a plan. That is how you come home to a flooded house.

I know it takes a lot to reach out for help.

It seems straightforward to others - dial a number, send an email, get out of the room. That’s because everyone focuses on the actions and fails to recognise the emotional effort it takes. Doing all that feels like one more thing. It feels like admitting something out loud that you are not ready to say yet. It feels like spending energy you simply do not have.

Asking for help is even more counterintuitive if you are a teacher. You are the one who holds things together - for your students, for your children, for everyone in the family.

So, I understand. I was in that same emotional lethargy 15 years ago when I was going through my divorce. But 15 years on, I also look back and realise seeking help wasn’t about doing more - it was about showing up for myself.

Your pipes just burst

Your best dress gets drenched and your makeup is ruined. You need to drop your kids off at school in 20 minutes, just in time before your most important presentation of your life as a first-time speaker at the education conference. You planned to touch up that last Powerpoint slide for the presentation.

But you don't "wait for things to get better" - you still call the plumber first anyway. Everything else HAS to wait. Otherwise, you will come home to a flooded house.

You are exhausted from staying up all night preparing for that presentation, and you didn’t have time that morning. But the stark urgency of seeing water gushing out of your pipes right before your eyes made you call for help anyway.

This is exactly where you are right now

The divorce proceedings are happening. The 3am spirals are happening. The performance you are putting on in the staffroom every single day - that is happening too. Your pipes are already bursting.

Yet you are telling yourself:

"I'll get help when the term ends." "I just need to get through this week first." "I'm not ready yet. I need to feel more stable before I start anything new."

These are not plans. These are the same thing as standing in the flood and waiting for the water to stop.

The hardest time to reach out is the exact right time to do it

Nothing is going to change by itself. Time does not fix the pipes. You do. You didn’t have to know how to do it. You didn’t have to learn a new skill. You didn’t have to feel ready. You called the plumber with the assurance that someone would create that safe space for you, so you could have the peace of mind to do what you needed to do in life.

You did your part by raising the alarm and showing up for the comfort of your home.

And that was all that was needed.

If this sounds like what you are going through - would you consider showing up for yourself? DM me and let’s chat.

There may be a version of "okay" that you have been chasing ever since the divorce proceedings started, and it looks like this: the divorce is finalised, your children are settled, you find a place that feels like home and the job is secure.

Then you'll be okay.

Then you can breathe.

Then you'll be ready.

This is where I challenge my clients' beliefs: waiting until everything is "fixed" before you allow yourself to feel okay is not a strategy. It's a trap.

In life, our goalposts keep moving. You get through one thing and another thing surfaces. The visa question gets sorted and then the custody conversation starts. You stop crying at work and then a student asks where your husband is and you nearly lose it in the corridor.

There will always be a reason why now is not the time to be okay.

The Ground-Shaking Truth

Your students don't need you to be perfect. They need you to be present.

Your child doesn't need you to have it all figured out. She needs you to show up.

Your job doesn't need you to be exceptional right now. It needs you to be steady.

There is a difference between perfect and good enough. Good enough is not settling. It is not giving up. It is not weakness. It is the most intelligent thing you can do.

Think about it the way you think about your classroom. When a child is going through something hard at home, you don't expect them to produce their best work. You look for signs that they are coping. You celebrate the fact that they came in. You notice that they tried.

Give yourself the same grace you give your students.

What Does "Good Enough" Look Like?

It looks like getting through the school day without breaking down. It looks like making a decent meal for your children even when you're exhausted. It looks like sending that one email you've been putting off. It looks like getting out of bed when everything in you wants to pull the covers over your head and disappear.

These are not trivial things. This is survival. In fact, it is extraordinary.

You don't have to be healed to be okay. You don't have to be over it to move forward. You just have to keep going, one ordinary day at a time.

The New Mantra

Good enough is the new perfect.

What this means is the version of you that shows up imperfectly, tired, a little bit broken and still trying, is a version that is more than enough. Even when you take a little break and don't show up at work - that's okay, because you're showing up for yourself.

Say it like a mantra. Write it on a Post-it and stick it to your bathroom mirror. Say it before you step out the door every morning.

If you're ready to feel okay again, I'd love to talk. DM me.

I am going to say the thing your friends are too kind to say.

The way you are coping right now is not actually protecting you - it is costing you.

You are an expat teacher going through a divorce

Of course you are afraid of losing your visa the moment your employment wavers. Of course you are watching every dollar because unlike a Singaporean, there is no housing subsidy - just full market rent and a salary that has to stretch further than it ever did before. Of course you are terrified of losing custody because that might mean being geographically apart from your child.

Your job is not just your job. It is the pivotal thread that holds all three of those fears together. 

So you hold on tighter, push on stronger, hang on longer.

Even though the truth is you are staring at a pile of marking at 10pm and not able to pick up the pen. The truth is tears are welling up as you watch your students do their work. The truth is you can barely breathe as you say ‘yes’ to leading a school celebration. 

The problem is you think coping means stubbornly trudging on

I can empathise with that. Keeping your job means stable finances, winning custody and being able to continue the life you built here for 15 years.

But coping this way means you’re “half-in and half-out”. You are still turning up, still marking papers (barely, perhaps), and still smiling through parent-teacher conferences - all while something inside you feels empty. Have you ever been so hungry it becomes nauseating? Yeah, it feels something like that, doesn't it.

When your Head of Department pulls you aside and quietly offers you to take leave, you say no. Because you do not want to look like you are falling apart. Because you have a class who needs you. Because, honestly, what would you do with yourself if you stopped?

So you keep going. Half-present. Half-functioning. Telling yourself this is what strength looks like.

This kind of strength has a costly price tag

And your career is going to be picking up the bill.

You are not performing at the level you know you are capable of. People will notice not your pain, but the dip. The declined promotion nominations. The conference presentation you pulled out of last minute. The curriculum meetings you stopped attending because you had a lawyer's call and could not face explaining why, again, you could not make it.

Each one of those feels like a reasonable call given everything you are managing. But they add up, term by term, opportunity by opportunity. The gap between you and your less-experienced colleagues, the ones who are still showing up and putting their hands up, does not stay the same size. It widens.

Career capital is not a savings account. You cannot pause contributions and expect the balance to stay intact.

A real break, an intentional one, with a plan and a return date, is not the same as quietly disappearing while pretending you are fine. 

One says: I know what I need and I am taking it, with intention. 

The other says: I am not coping, and I am hoping no one finds out.

Your career can survive a well-managed leave. It has a much harder time recovering from two years of going through the motions while being emotionally hollow.

It deserves more than survival mode.

This is something really, really important to you, and I’d hate to see you waste it away when we can do something about it. Something that isn’t giving up or withdrawing, but something that helps you protect everything you have worked for.

I can help you protect your career and your sanity at the same time. Shall we talk?