Embracing Change: A Journey of Reconnection

The Weight of Goodbye

They always say you don't know how good you have it until it's gone. This sentiment has echoed throughout my life.

We can't hold onto everything tightly. We can't appreciate every moment all at once. Often, we overlook the significance of what we have until it slips away.

Preparing my then 10-year-old daughter for weekends with her father was an unexpected feeling. I never anticipated the heartache that came with it.

When Sophie began spending Friday evenings with her father, I stood in our flat, watching the elevator doors close. He waited downstairs, and I felt tears welling up. It felt like I was giving part of my daughter away. Eight years later, saying goodbye on Friday evenings still stings.

I didn’t realize how much her presence was the backbone of my weekends.

Saturdays had a rhythm. Tuition first, then lunch out. We would stroll through shops before settling in for a cozy movie night.

This empty Saturday schedule seemed like a dream when Sophie was a baby. But now, it was a reality I had to fill.

The Lessons of Divorce

Filing for divorce in Singapore comes with mandatory classes. They teach you about the amygdala hijack—the fight or flight response. This knowledge helps you manage emotions, ensuring your children remain unaffected by the turmoil.

But they don’t prepare you for the human side of it. The parenting side. They don’t warn you about the emptiness—Fridays, Saturdays, days that will never be shared again. Missing out on so much of Sophie's life because I only see her five days a week was a lesson I learned too late. Life doesn’t always align with our desires, so we adapt.

I sought solace in friends. However, most were happily married, engaged in the same activities I once enjoyed.

Finding New Connections

I had to forge new friendships. All I wanted was a place to be on Saturday afternoons—somewhere to enjoy brunch, to avoid the loneliness of an empty home.

I established Saturday brunch with friends as my weekly anchor. Afterward, I would tackle laundry or wander through bookstores and malls. I had to accept that I would return to an empty house, regardless of how I filled my time.

Netflix became my evening companion. I embraced this without shame. Over the years, I learned to unwind by watching television while scrolling on my phone.

I expanded beyond school-gate friendships. The mothers I knew were tied to Sophie’s school life. Without her at the center, I needed to find people who were there for me, not just for shared parenting logistics.

I noticed the same struggle in others whose long-term relationships had ended. They often found themselves lost, unsure how to fill their time alone. Their social lives had been intertwined with their partners, who organized dinners and vacations. When that partner was gone, so was the entire structure.

What we often fail to realize—what I didn’t see while standing at that elevator—is that every small decision made in the absence of that structure is a step toward trusting ourselves again. The brunch you booked, the bookstore you wandered into, the Netflix series you returned to—these become your new weekends. They don’t need to be extraordinary.

These tiny adjustments are significant. They are your practice in learning that your judgment is enough.

The Texture of Expat Life

The friends I built my Saturday routines with before COVID became like family. When they left Singapore, I found myself alone again—an all-too-familiar feeling.

This is the texture of expat life. It’s a collage of cities, each with two-year stints that may or may not extend. Friends, neighbors, and even Sophie’s school friends left.

One father from Sophie's preschool once told me something both funny and true: he advised his daughters to find Singaporean kids and hold onto them. This way, they could save themselves from heartbreak. Leaving parties are a constant in Singapore, and I’ve attended more than I can count.

I call myself a displaced Singaporean. I am Singaporean, yet I don’t live like one. Every circle I built was expat or tied to one. When the company says move, they relocate.

Some transitions require building once. Others demand repeated efforts. I’ve built more times than I ever planned.

Resilience Through Repetition

What I understand now is this: resilience isn’t forged by sheer will. It grows through repetition. Just as our bones strengthen with controlled impact in strength training, our hearts learn to face the waves instead of turning away.

The wise say trials build character. Life is like the tide—it rises and falls. Our heartbeat mirrors this rhythm. We never want it to flatline.

The heart must check the mind in cycles. If we harden our hearts to avoid discomfort and vulnerability, we lose the essence of life.

The most crucial part of living, in my view, is to feel. Through experience, our hearts expand.

Learning isn’t just about career advancement or material gain. It’s about allowing your heart to feel and teaching your mind to move without armor. In doing so, you can approach life with an open heart.

This is what rebuilding has taught me. It’s not about strategy; it’s about the willingness to allow. By practicing this repeatedly, you gain confidence in reshaping your life as needed.

Embracing the In-Between

If you find yourself in that in-between space—the place where what was has ended and what comes next hasn’t yet revealed itself—know that you are not failing. You are simply in the part that nobody photographs. You possess more strength than you realize.

If you need support in calming your mind, join me at aroranin.com where you can find a selection of free meditations.

With a Quiet Heart and a Quiet Mind,

Arora.