What does it mean to take a risk? Is it always about doing something incredible, impressive or life-threatening? Could a “simple” risk still be worth sticking out your neck for?
In this piece, one woman left a stable job to care for her sick daughter in a foreign country. Another opened a dance academy despite being told she might not be able to dance again after a back injury. Yet another moved past a difficult marriage to become an entrepreneur. They tell CNA Women their stories.
RUZANA AWALLUDIN, HOMEMAKER, 56
The risk she took: She left a stable job as a secondary school teacher to move overseas to take care of her sick daughter.
Ruzana (left) with her daughter, Samirah, at the latter’s graduation from The Queen’s University of Belfast, Northern Ireland, in 2022. (Photo: Ruzana Awaluddin)
My youngest daughter Samirah was 16 when she was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, a type of inflammatory bowel disease that can lead to abdominal pain, severe diarrhoea, fatigue and malnutrition. Due to this, she experienced severe stomach pain and was hospitalised often.
It was manageable when she was home, but difficult when she moved abroad. After her O Levels, Samirah enrolled in a pre-university institution in Kuala Lumpur (KL), Malaysia. When her condition flared up, I would take urgent leave, and my husband and I would drive up to KL to be by her side.
But when she went to Belfast, Northern Ireland, for her university degree, it got really tough. While the medical professionals there were more familiar with her condition and she received free medical treatment as a student, she struggled being alone.
Eventually, she fell into severe depression.
In March 2022, I had to make a decision: Stay in my teaching job or quit to take care of my daughter full-time in an unfamiliar country.
I had to consider my financial situation. Even though my other daughters, aged 28 and 27, were able to support themselves, it was tough to leave a stable income as my husband and I were both supporting our parents.
I also had to consider the responsibility I had as a teacher. I was teaching O-Level students then and to leave in April meant that I couldn’t guide them for the rest of the year.
But I knew being a mother was the biggest priority, so I took a risk and left the service.
After ensuring that matters would be cared for in our absence, my husband – who had decided to retire to be with Samirah – and I flew to Belfast to be with our daughter.
Since then, I’ve taken care of her, accompanying her to medical appointments, and supporting her.
Leaving my job and the rest of my family was a scary decision. I was aware that I’d lose my income – I didn’t know if we could survive on just our savings – and I wasn’t sure if Samirah would get better.
But I didn’t want to overthink it. I just knew that my daughter needed me and I had to be there for her.
Samirah graduated later that year and secured a research job in Newcastle, and we moved there with her. For her, I would risk it all over again.
KAVITHA KRISHNAN, ARTISTIC DIRECTOR, 52
The risk she took: She opened two dance companies that welcome people with disabilities.
Kavitha Krishnan started two dance companies despite being told she may not be able to dance anymore after undergoing surgery in her 20s. (Photo: Kavitha Krishnan)
When I was 20, after 12 years of being active in Indian dance, I was told that I may not be able to dance anymore.
In my late teens, I used to dance and play hockey. But due to my rough play, passion and stubbornness, I suffered a back injury. When it got worse, I was faced with a choice: Undergo high-risk spinal surgery or be confined to a wheelchair for life. I opted for the surgery.
For months after that, I wasn’t able to engage in any physical activity. But I worked hard with my physiotherapist and dance teacher, and after eight months, I managed to get on my feet again.
Even so, I couldn’t dance like before as it hurt too much to move certain parts of my back and legs.
Throughout my 20s, as I struggled to dance post-surgery, I began to empathise with people with disabilities who struggle with physical activity, even though our situations were different.
After my surgery, I had to learn how to dance in unfamiliar ways to accommodate my body’s new strengths and limitations – it was like dancing with a new body.
In my early 30s, I had an idea: Opening a space that welcomed different types of dancers, no matter their ability or disability.
I had many doubts. It would be hard for me to teach, for one. I also didn’t know much about running a dance academy. I hadn’t worked with many people with disabilities. And I wasn’t the most business-savvy person.
I could’ve stuck to dancing on my own but a voice kept telling me this was something I had to try.
In 2003, I took that risk. I founded the social enterprise Apsara Asia and in 2007, I started the dance academy Maya Dance Theatre. Both welcome people of all ages, abilities and disabilities.
Dance is a healing agent and a tool that connects us. Even with my injury, I’m glad I didn’t give up on it. And I’m grateful to be running these companies that make dance accessible to those who may not have considered it possible for them.
EMILY LIM-LEH, CHILDREN’S BOOK AUTHOR, 52
The risk she took: She left her career to focus on her health – then became a children’s book author.
Emily Lim-Leh, with some of the 40 children’s picture books she has published. (Photo: Emily Lim-Leh)
When I was 28, my career was taking off. I was in the hospitality industry, awarded quick promotions, worked with top-level executives and attended meetings abroad with big figures in my company.
I was attached to my identity as a “successful career woman”. At a young age, I felt proud about where I was and where I was headed. Everything in my life seemed perfect.
That same year, I started losing my voice.
When I tried to speak, I’d sound breathless. People had trouble hearing me. I could only manage two to three comprehensible words in every sentence. This was 1999, when e-mail was new and WhatsApp didn’t exist – being unable to speak in your job was debilitating.
I tried everything to get better. I met with multiple doctors, tried acupuncture, and even flew to Europe and the United States to meet medical professionals there in hopes that they’d solve my problem.
I clung desperately to my career for seven years – terrified of losing it. I was an overachiever, but without my voice, I couldn’t perform as I normally did. I started losing influence and began to feel unconfident and powerless.
When my condition worsened in 2006, I had to choose between staying and leaving. Despite not knowing what I’d do with my life, I decided that even if I could have stuck with my career, I didn’t want to deny my health any longer. So I took the risk and quit.
I was 35 and lost. I questioned myself: How did this happen to me? Wasn’t I supposed to be at the height of my career? Who am I anymore without my job? Will people still value me?
In time, I found out I had abductor spasmodic dysphonia, a rare voice disorder that caused my voice muscles to painfully pull apart instead of coming together rhythmically every time I spoke.
Without the ability to speak normally, I tried another mode of expressing myself: Writing. I’ve never written creatively before but slowly, I started believing in myself again and seeing my worth beyond the career I used to have.
In 2007, I won a competition organised by the National Book Development Council of Singapore and published my first book, Prince Bear & Pauper Bear.
Since then, I’ve been writing children’s books. Now, almost two decades later – and with an improved voice condition – I still love what I do. It’s miles away from what I did in the hospitality industry, but it’s joyful and fulfilling.
Looking back, it’s unbelievable how life ended up taking me on a completely different path. Though leaving my job was a hard risk to take, it also happened to be the best decision I ever made. It made me discover another strong voice I didn’t know I even had.
ZARINA ABDUL RAHMAN, BAKER, 42
The risk she took: She started a baking business from scratch and rebuilt her life after a difficult marriage.
Zarina cooks, bakes and loves to share her culinary knowledge with others. (Photo: Zarina Abdul Rahman)
For 10 years, I struggled in a difficult marriage where I had no confidence, few friends and no source of income. I was always reliant on my former husband.
When matters got worse for me and my two kids, I turned to the Singapore Council of Women’s Organisations (SCWO) for support. There, I got to meet other women in similar situations and discovered what it felt like to be part of a community.
One of the activities we did together was baking for SCWO events or bake sales.
Baking became therapy for me. When I felt stressed, I’d be focused on baking treats like Nutella blossoms or tarts. Seeing and tasting the results made me happy.
Over time, I had to think of ways to support myself and my children – and I started to wonder if I could start a baking business.
It took me a while to believe in myself. I questioned whether anyone would want to taste – let alone buy – my treats. It was also hard to run a business and think about profit, revenue and capital – terms I was not familiar with.
Though I had these doubts, I still decided to try. With SCWO’s help, I made my first few sales and successfully sold my baked goods to people I knew.
They started telling others about my bakes and with time, more orders started coming in.
When my divorce was finalised in 2019, with the savings I had and the support I received, I expanded my baking business, calling it Hazel Premium Delights. I learned to use Instagram, where I would share my offerings, such as Nutella tarts and traditional Malay kueh.
Today, the business is my primary source of income and it’s helped my kids and me through tough times. Being an entrepreneur has also taught me to be more confident.
I never would’ve believed I could start a business, but I’m so relieved I did.
DEBORAH SEAH, ADMINISTRATOR, 41
The risk she took: She opened up about her depression and mental health struggles to her company and now helps others.
Deborah Seah used to be afraid to reveal she had depression but she realised the benefits of being open about it. (Photo: Deborah Seah)
I have had depression since I was eight. I struggled in silence and the condition went undiagnosed for more than two decades. It was normal for me to go through life with extremely low energy and feeling down almost all the time.
When I turned 30, I hit rock bottom. I had postpartum depression, suffered burnout from work, and nearly ended my life. It was a tough period, but it was also the big wake-up call I needed to start seeking help.
I was admitted to the Institute of Mental Health where I received treatment. One of the things that helped me was speaking to a peer supporter. He was not a doctor or medical professional, but an individual who also went through a tough time in his life with his mental health struggles.
It inspired me to be a peer support specialist myself, which I did, in 2017.
In 2018, when I was applying for a new job, I contemplated disclosing my mental health struggles to the company.
I don’t describe myself as a risk taker. I’m conservative, I don’t like surprises, and I prefer to be in control.
So I completely surprised myself when I included my struggles with depression in my resume and cover letter for my job applications.
A part of me questioned: It’s scary and unnecessary, why make yourself go through this? What’s the point of sharing? What if you don’t get the job? What if the interviewers judge you?
But I wanted to be open about my depression. I no longer wanted to hide or repress it. I wanted my future employers to know how much I could achieve even with my depression and that it isn’t always a limitation – as long as you know how and where to get help.
I also knew how lonely it was to go through the workspace with mental health struggles, feeling as if you were the only one with the condition and everyone else was doing fine. I didn’t want others – even in the professional realm – to feel the same way.
Thankfully, I got the job. And I also became a wellness peer supporter for my company.
Today, I continue advocating for mental health awareness both in my company and as an ambassador for Beyond the Label, a mental health campaign by the National Council of Social Service.
CNA Women is a section on CNA Lifestyle that seeks to inform, empower and inspire the modern woman. If you have women-related news, issues and ideas to share with us, email CNAWomen [at] mediacorp.com.sg.
Continue reading...
In this piece, one woman left a stable job to care for her sick daughter in a foreign country. Another opened a dance academy despite being told she might not be able to dance again after a back injury. Yet another moved past a difficult marriage to become an entrepreneur. They tell CNA Women their stories.
RUZANA AWALLUDIN, HOMEMAKER, 56
The risk she took: She left a stable job as a secondary school teacher to move overseas to take care of her sick daughter.
Ruzana (left) with her daughter, Samirah, at the latter’s graduation from The Queen’s University of Belfast, Northern Ireland, in 2022. (Photo: Ruzana Awaluddin)
My youngest daughter Samirah was 16 when she was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, a type of inflammatory bowel disease that can lead to abdominal pain, severe diarrhoea, fatigue and malnutrition. Due to this, she experienced severe stomach pain and was hospitalised often.
It was manageable when she was home, but difficult when she moved abroad. After her O Levels, Samirah enrolled in a pre-university institution in Kuala Lumpur (KL), Malaysia. When her condition flared up, I would take urgent leave, and my husband and I would drive up to KL to be by her side.
But when she went to Belfast, Northern Ireland, for her university degree, it got really tough. While the medical professionals there were more familiar with her condition and she received free medical treatment as a student, she struggled being alone.
Eventually, she fell into severe depression.
In March 2022, I had to make a decision: Stay in my teaching job or quit to take care of my daughter full-time in an unfamiliar country.
I had to consider my financial situation. Even though my other daughters, aged 28 and 27, were able to support themselves, it was tough to leave a stable income as my husband and I were both supporting our parents.
I also had to consider the responsibility I had as a teacher. I was teaching O-Level students then and to leave in April meant that I couldn’t guide them for the rest of the year.
But I knew being a mother was the biggest priority, so I took a risk and left the service.
After ensuring that matters would be cared for in our absence, my husband – who had decided to retire to be with Samirah – and I flew to Belfast to be with our daughter.
Since then, I’ve taken care of her, accompanying her to medical appointments, and supporting her.
Leaving my job and the rest of my family was a scary decision. I was aware that I’d lose my income – I didn’t know if we could survive on just our savings – and I wasn’t sure if Samirah would get better.
But I didn’t want to overthink it. I just knew that my daughter needed me and I had to be there for her.
Samirah graduated later that year and secured a research job in Newcastle, and we moved there with her. For her, I would risk it all over again.
KAVITHA KRISHNAN, ARTISTIC DIRECTOR, 52
The risk she took: She opened two dance companies that welcome people with disabilities.
Kavitha Krishnan started two dance companies despite being told she may not be able to dance anymore after undergoing surgery in her 20s. (Photo: Kavitha Krishnan)
When I was 20, after 12 years of being active in Indian dance, I was told that I may not be able to dance anymore.
In my late teens, I used to dance and play hockey. But due to my rough play, passion and stubbornness, I suffered a back injury. When it got worse, I was faced with a choice: Undergo high-risk spinal surgery or be confined to a wheelchair for life. I opted for the surgery.
For months after that, I wasn’t able to engage in any physical activity. But I worked hard with my physiotherapist and dance teacher, and after eight months, I managed to get on my feet again.
Even so, I couldn’t dance like before as it hurt too much to move certain parts of my back and legs.
Throughout my 20s, as I struggled to dance post-surgery, I began to empathise with people with disabilities who struggle with physical activity, even though our situations were different.
After my surgery, I had to learn how to dance in unfamiliar ways to accommodate my body’s new strengths and limitations – it was like dancing with a new body.
In my early 30s, I had an idea: Opening a space that welcomed different types of dancers, no matter their ability or disability.
I had many doubts. It would be hard for me to teach, for one. I also didn’t know much about running a dance academy. I hadn’t worked with many people with disabilities. And I wasn’t the most business-savvy person.
I could’ve stuck to dancing on my own but a voice kept telling me this was something I had to try.
In 2003, I took that risk. I founded the social enterprise Apsara Asia and in 2007, I started the dance academy Maya Dance Theatre. Both welcome people of all ages, abilities and disabilities.
Dance is a healing agent and a tool that connects us. Even with my injury, I’m glad I didn’t give up on it. And I’m grateful to be running these companies that make dance accessible to those who may not have considered it possible for them.
EMILY LIM-LEH, CHILDREN’S BOOK AUTHOR, 52
The risk she took: She left her career to focus on her health – then became a children’s book author.
Emily Lim-Leh, with some of the 40 children’s picture books she has published. (Photo: Emily Lim-Leh)
When I was 28, my career was taking off. I was in the hospitality industry, awarded quick promotions, worked with top-level executives and attended meetings abroad with big figures in my company.
I was attached to my identity as a “successful career woman”. At a young age, I felt proud about where I was and where I was headed. Everything in my life seemed perfect.
That same year, I started losing my voice.
When I tried to speak, I’d sound breathless. People had trouble hearing me. I could only manage two to three comprehensible words in every sentence. This was 1999, when e-mail was new and WhatsApp didn’t exist – being unable to speak in your job was debilitating.
I tried everything to get better. I met with multiple doctors, tried acupuncture, and even flew to Europe and the United States to meet medical professionals there in hopes that they’d solve my problem.
I clung desperately to my career for seven years – terrified of losing it. I was an overachiever, but without my voice, I couldn’t perform as I normally did. I started losing influence and began to feel unconfident and powerless.
When my condition worsened in 2006, I had to choose between staying and leaving. Despite not knowing what I’d do with my life, I decided that even if I could have stuck with my career, I didn’t want to deny my health any longer. So I took the risk and quit.
I was 35 and lost. I questioned myself: How did this happen to me? Wasn’t I supposed to be at the height of my career? Who am I anymore without my job? Will people still value me?
In time, I found out I had abductor spasmodic dysphonia, a rare voice disorder that caused my voice muscles to painfully pull apart instead of coming together rhythmically every time I spoke.
Without the ability to speak normally, I tried another mode of expressing myself: Writing. I’ve never written creatively before but slowly, I started believing in myself again and seeing my worth beyond the career I used to have.
In 2007, I won a competition organised by the National Book Development Council of Singapore and published my first book, Prince Bear & Pauper Bear.
Since then, I’ve been writing children’s books. Now, almost two decades later – and with an improved voice condition – I still love what I do. It’s miles away from what I did in the hospitality industry, but it’s joyful and fulfilling.
Looking back, it’s unbelievable how life ended up taking me on a completely different path. Though leaving my job was a hard risk to take, it also happened to be the best decision I ever made. It made me discover another strong voice I didn’t know I even had.
Related:
ZARINA ABDUL RAHMAN, BAKER, 42
The risk she took: She started a baking business from scratch and rebuilt her life after a difficult marriage.
Zarina cooks, bakes and loves to share her culinary knowledge with others. (Photo: Zarina Abdul Rahman)
For 10 years, I struggled in a difficult marriage where I had no confidence, few friends and no source of income. I was always reliant on my former husband.
When matters got worse for me and my two kids, I turned to the Singapore Council of Women’s Organisations (SCWO) for support. There, I got to meet other women in similar situations and discovered what it felt like to be part of a community.
One of the activities we did together was baking for SCWO events or bake sales.
Baking became therapy for me. When I felt stressed, I’d be focused on baking treats like Nutella blossoms or tarts. Seeing and tasting the results made me happy.
Over time, I had to think of ways to support myself and my children – and I started to wonder if I could start a baking business.
It took me a while to believe in myself. I questioned whether anyone would want to taste – let alone buy – my treats. It was also hard to run a business and think about profit, revenue and capital – terms I was not familiar with.
Though I had these doubts, I still decided to try. With SCWO’s help, I made my first few sales and successfully sold my baked goods to people I knew.
They started telling others about my bakes and with time, more orders started coming in.
When my divorce was finalised in 2019, with the savings I had and the support I received, I expanded my baking business, calling it Hazel Premium Delights. I learned to use Instagram, where I would share my offerings, such as Nutella tarts and traditional Malay kueh.
Today, the business is my primary source of income and it’s helped my kids and me through tough times. Being an entrepreneur has also taught me to be more confident.
I never would’ve believed I could start a business, but I’m so relieved I did.
DEBORAH SEAH, ADMINISTRATOR, 41
The risk she took: She opened up about her depression and mental health struggles to her company and now helps others.
Deborah Seah used to be afraid to reveal she had depression but she realised the benefits of being open about it. (Photo: Deborah Seah)
I have had depression since I was eight. I struggled in silence and the condition went undiagnosed for more than two decades. It was normal for me to go through life with extremely low energy and feeling down almost all the time.
When I turned 30, I hit rock bottom. I had postpartum depression, suffered burnout from work, and nearly ended my life. It was a tough period, but it was also the big wake-up call I needed to start seeking help.
I was admitted to the Institute of Mental Health where I received treatment. One of the things that helped me was speaking to a peer supporter. He was not a doctor or medical professional, but an individual who also went through a tough time in his life with his mental health struggles.
It inspired me to be a peer support specialist myself, which I did, in 2017.
In 2018, when I was applying for a new job, I contemplated disclosing my mental health struggles to the company.
I don’t describe myself as a risk taker. I’m conservative, I don’t like surprises, and I prefer to be in control.
So I completely surprised myself when I included my struggles with depression in my resume and cover letter for my job applications.
A part of me questioned: It’s scary and unnecessary, why make yourself go through this? What’s the point of sharing? What if you don’t get the job? What if the interviewers judge you?
But I wanted to be open about my depression. I no longer wanted to hide or repress it. I wanted my future employers to know how much I could achieve even with my depression and that it isn’t always a limitation – as long as you know how and where to get help.
I also knew how lonely it was to go through the workspace with mental health struggles, feeling as if you were the only one with the condition and everyone else was doing fine. I didn’t want others – even in the professional realm – to feel the same way.
Thankfully, I got the job. And I also became a wellness peer supporter for my company.
Today, I continue advocating for mental health awareness both in my company and as an ambassador for Beyond the Label, a mental health campaign by the National Council of Social Service.
Related:
CNA Women is a section on CNA Lifestyle that seeks to inform, empower and inspire the modern woman. If you have women-related news, issues and ideas to share with us, email CNAWomen [at] mediacorp.com.sg.
Continue reading...