Another thread – Revealing itself – in a Tapestry

This past weekend, we gathered for our 2026 NOW Professional Member Reflection Gathering. Our event was held at The Sawdust – a unique event space in Malacca.

As I drove home to KL the next day, I realised I was carrying two very different feelings at the same time: completely exhausted .. and deeply grateful.

What I had envision for this gathering was that it would not be just another workshop or lecture. It was simply intended to create a space for us to pause for a while, reflect on our own journeys, reconnect with ourselves, and reconnect with one another.

Looking around the room, listening to the conversations, witnessing moments of quiet reflection, and celebrating those who completed our NOW Psychological Coaching Certification (NPC) Programme reminded me once again why I love what I do.

Throughout the morning, we listened to stories, had moments of silence, we reflected, laughed, shared some of our personal “tough times,” and finally celebrated the achievements of our NPC graduates. Sitting down for a simple lunch at the end ... we continued to hold space for each other and enjoyed our fellowship. Perhaps, for all of us, it truly became a Pause | Reflect | Reconnect moment.

As I continue to reflect on this experience, one thought lingers on with me:

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can offer one another is not more advice, more answers, or more solutions.

Sometimes, it is simply creating a space where people feel safe enough to pause... and listen to themselves.

To everyone who joined us – thank you for your presence, your openness, and for making the gathering so meaningful.

And to those who couldn't be with us this time, we missed you and hope to welcome you at our next gathering.

For me, this gathering wasn't an ending.

It felt like another thread revealing itself in a tapestry that has been quietly unfolding for quite some time.

I'm looking forward to seeing where it leads next.

Until our next opportunity …

May we all continue to find moments to pause, reflect, and reconnect.

#NOWWellnessCentre #Reflection #PersonalGrowth #Community #PsychologicalCoaching

#NOWMindBodyHealingCentre #NewOpportunityForWellness #PauseReflectConnect

A Second Chance: Reflections After a Heart Attack

Today marks exactly 1 week since I experienced a serious heart attack. I cancelled my morning’s appointment just 30 minutes prior to the appointment starting. I managed to get myself to the ER and just able to “sign” myself in – providing only my hardcopy IC, my full name, my mobile number, and an emergency contact name and number. That was about as much as I could do.

They rushed me into the Triage section, hooked me up to a machine (an ECG) and within minutes, I was told what I already suspected – I was in the middle of a heart attack.

There was no time for hesitation. The cardiologist was called, and preparations began for an angiogram which would then determine if angioplasty would be sufficient or, in the worst case scenario, immediately to a bypass surgery.

Ninety minutes later, I had survived. And now, one week later – I am still alive.

The Blessings I Notice
On looking back, I note that there are so many things to be thankful for. Among them:

1.   Listening to my inner voice:
Usually when faced with a similar situation (where I am not feeling well), I would normally have resisted going to the hospital, convincing myself that rest would be enough. I would very likely just go to bed thinking that if I just rest, I would be fine.

In fact, that was exactly what I started doing. Having cancelled my appointment (and feeling guilty about it but convincing myself that it would not be fair to my client for me to proceed if I could not be fully present for him), I decided to go lie down and rest. But an inner voice urged me to act differently this time. That decision likely saved my life. So, I got up and called my son to inform him I am checking myself in to the hospital. He offered to come over immediately to take me to the hospital. I declined and said I would go over myself. Another unusual and “right” decision  that might have had resulted in significantly different outcomes.

2.   Proximity of care:
There is a private hospital immediately opposite where I live. It’s just a stone-throw away – not even requiring crossing a major road to get to hospital. No traffic, no delay – just a short walk that made all the difference. I just walked myself over and managed to check myself in.

3.   Strength in weakness:
I am still amazed how I managed to get to the hospital and to check myself in as I was already experiencing significant discomfort in my chest, pain extending down both my arms, and sweating profusely. I felt like I was holding off and ready to pass out which is why I could not complete filling up the admission form. By the time I was wheeled into the Triage area, my vision was already quite blurred. Even as my vision blurred and my body weakened, I managed to give verbal consent to be wheeled off for the next procedure. That small act of perseverance gave the medical team the chance to intervene.

4.   Swift response:
As this is a relatively new hospital and not very big – there wasn’t the usual long wait for people to be assessed and admitted. They were able to triage me, call in the cardiologist, and prepare for the necessary procedure at what seemed to be lightning fast. Speed was everything. In total, from admission through the entire angioplasty procedure – it probably took no more than 90 minutes.

5.   Competent, compassionate staff:
With a set of very professional, competent, and friendly staff – they were able to do all the necessary – and while I was informed earlier that they would likely require a minimum of 3-days stay – from HDU to ICU to general ward – for observation, eventually the doctor was comfortable giving me a discharge after just a 2-night stay. With a total of four blockages: three being 90% blocked and one other at 100% – I am pleasantly surprised my situation is not worse than it is. Their professionalism and kindness carried me through the procedure and the two nights of recovery.

6.   Support network:
Not least of all – I am most grateful for is having family members (including siblings rushing back to KL from out of town), friends who dropped what they were doing to come to the hospital immediately, and many other well-wishes including clients & former clients, students & former students, colleagues and associates – so many sending prayers, blessings, and healing energy. I felt held by a community larger than myself – I was not alone. I am not alone.

As I think about all those who showed up (in person or otherwise) — family, friends, clients, students … even those I may not have seen or heard from — I am reminded that none of us are ever truly alone. Sometimes, it takes a moment like this to see more clearly the people who are already there, quietly holding us in ways we may not always notice.

The Path of Recovery
Since being discharged, I have been recuperating at home. It has not been a smooth everyday since my discharge. As we are all very aware of – “Healing is not linear.” There are moments of “recurring discomfort” – whether they are “real” or imagined. Bouts of high and low energy. Inability to remain focused on any task (which I am not supposed to be doing anyway) as my “brain” seems to go out of focus and into a “fog” – becoming tired out very quickly.

As I consider all that has happened over this past week – and possibly the journey of recovery ahead – I am mindful there is so much to be grateful for … so much I AM grateful for.

I think about my interaction with all my clients over the years. The things I have shared with them – especially when they felt they were at their wit’s end – where they may have been experiencing a sense of “hopelessness,” of “depression,” of overwhelming “fear” or “anxiety.” What was my role? How was I able to be present for them? Was I able to hold space for them? What can I draw from those experiences to bring to my own experience now? How do I hold space for myself?

During moments of weakness – not just physical but also mental when I feel “less than adequate” – unable to do so many things that needs to be done. Feeling like my brain just literally shuts down even over the simplest tasks. Continually experiencing: compromised stamina, an almost empty battery struggling to recharge, a continuous choice – of my brain or my heart shutting down.

Yet, in each moment of weakness I am reminded of the fragility of life – and the gift of still being here. Right here – right NOW. I am learning to hold space for myself, just as I have held space for clients in their moments of despair. Perhaps this is my “physician, heal thyself” moment.

Facing Mortality

I remember there was a moment when I was in the hospital when my son asked me something along the lines of “ … is it scary .. are you afraid …” I am not sure to what he was referring – the heart attack experience or the procedure I just came out of (since there was no general anesthetic and I was conscious throughout) – but my answer, without thinking, went something like “I am not really too worried if my time is up. That, I am not too worried or scared of. However, I would like to at least be able to get out of the hospital and be given a little time – at least – to put somethings in order. I may not be able to set everything right as I would like, but at least clear up some stuff.” I remember, then, offering a silent prayer for an extended time (even if just a little) to put some things in order.

What I feared was leaving things unfinished – relationships unrepaired, words unsaid, responsibilities unresolved. In that moment, I prayed for more time. Not endless time, just enough to set some, if not all, things in order.

It would seem my request has been granted. And so, for now, I choose to honour this time … to notice, to appreciate, and to gently put in place what I can … one moment at a time.

Regret and Remorse: Two Ways of Looking Back

Most of us know what it feels like to look back on something we have done and wish it were different. We might replay that moment over and over again – imagining a myriad of alternative choices. We may wonder how life might have turned out if we had acted otherwise. This is what we often refer to as regret.

To regret is very human. It is part of being reflective and self-aware. In that sense, it can be something positive. But regret also has a quiet danger: it can keep us mentally living in a place we can no longer change. Regret can initiate reflection (this is the good part), but staying in it is the problem.

The past is fixed. We cannot rewrite it. No amount of replaying, wishing, or self-criticism alters what has already taken place. When we remain stuck in regret, our attention stays pointed backward, even though life only moves forward.

Regret may feel like reflection, but it often becomes rumination. We can view rumination as a loop that drains energy without offering direction. Sometimes this is replaying thoughts or memories, and sometimes repeating only the feeling of guilt or self-reproach, long after the original moment has faded.

This is where a different experience becomes important: remorse. Although the two words are often used as if they mean the same thing, they do not describe the same inner process.

Regret is mainly about the outcome.
It says: “I wish this had turned out differently.”
Its focus is on what was lost, what went wrong, or what we did not get.

Remorse is about responsibility and values.
It says: “I recognize that my action did not align with who I want to be.”
Its focus is not just on what happened, but on who we are becoming.

Regret tends to look backward.
Remorse looks inward – and then forward.

A person can regret something endlessly without changing anything.
But when someone feels genuine remorse, something different happens: there is an inner movement toward repair, learning, and eventually growth. Remorse carries within it a quiet question: “What kind of person do I choose to be now?”

This is why regret, while normal, can become non-beneficial.

Regret keeps us tied to what cannot be altered.
Remorse helps us shape what comes next.

Recognizing a mistake does not require living inside it. We can acknowledge that something did not go well, accept that the past is unchangeable, and still choose to grow from it. Learning does not require self-punishment. Insight does not require emotional self-imprisonment.

Remorse, when held gently and honestly, becomes a compass. It helps us:

• clarify our values,
• take responsibility without self-attack,
• and make different choices in the present.

Regret asks, “Why did this happen?”
Remorse asks, “Who do I want to be – going forward?”

Both emotions arise from reflection. But only one of them leads us back into life with greater clarity. The key is not to eliminate feeling altogether, but to choose which feeling we live from.

We can allow regret to visit – acknowledge it, learn what it has to teach, and then let it pass.
And we can honour remorse as a sign of conscience, integrity, and growth. We cannot change the past. But we always retain the power of the present.

And in that present moment, remorse does not trap us in who we were.
It quietly invites us to become who we are capable of being.

One way to hold this shift is through a simple present-focused process: Noticing what is arising; Owning it with honesty; and Welcoming the experience without self-punishment.

Notice the feeling – whether it is regret, guilt, or self-reproach. Own what is yours to own, without denial or minimising, while recognising that the past cannot be changed. And then – Welcome the experience as part of being human, allowing it to inform your next choice rather than define who you are.

This is what I refer to as the NOW Process.

It is not something that needs to be mastered or perfected. It is simply a way of meeting ourselves more honestly in the present moment – noticing what is here, owning what is ours to own, and welcoming the experience without self-punishment.

If this way of relating to yourself resonates, you are welcome to sit with it, return to it, or explore it further in your own time. And if at some point you feel that having support or conversation around this process would be helpful, I am available to walk alongside you.

Navigating Public Tragedy: Holding Space for Complexity as Mental Health Professionals

 

In light of the recent, heartbreaking cases involving youth, I, like many of you, have been grappling with the public discourse and our role within it. The conversations are charged with pain, fear, and a desperate search for answers.

Several people I know, colleagues and members of the public alike, have asked whether the person accused of this heinous act is “psycho” or simply “mad.” As professionals caught between clinical facts and public sentiment, I’ve been reflecting on how we can contribute most effectively.

It’s tempting, when we see terms like “mental” or “psycho” being used flippantly, to launch into a corrective lecture. We feel a duty to defend the populations we serve, citing the robust evidence that people with mental illness are far more likely to be victims of violence than perpetrators. This corrective impulse comes from a place of deep care and professional integrity.

But I’ve been wondering if our most powerful role isn't to correct, but to connect and reframe.

The public’s use of the word “crazy” is rarely a clinical statement. It is a visceral, human reaction to an incomprehensible act. It is their way of saying, “A healthy, well-functioning mind could not do this.” And on that fundamental point, they are right. Our task is to honor that intuition while gently guiding it toward a more precise and less harmful understanding.

Perhaps we can begin by introducing a simple, crucial distinction:

We might think of psychological distress on a spectrum. On one end, there are what we could call “Broken Bones” – these are the clinical conditions like major depression, anxiety disorders, and schizophrenia. They are illnesses of the mind that cause immense suffering, most often to the person who has them. They are treatable, and they are not predictors of violence.

The acts we are witnessing now seem to stem from something different: a “Broken Moral Compass.” This is not an illness of mood or reality-testing, but a profound impairment in the very foundations of empathy, conscience, and impulse control. It is a catastrophic failure in a person's ability to see others as human.

Making a clear distinction between the two, in my opinion, can be significantly impactful. Why? Well, because:

1. It Protects the Vulnerable. By separating the “Broken Bones” from the “Broken Moral Compass,” we stop the unfair stigmatization of the millions of people living with mental health conditions. We protect those who are already suffering from being falsely seen as threats.
2. It Focuses the Solution. If we mislabel this violence as a symptom of general “mental illness,” we miss the real target. The solution for a “Broken Moral Compass” isn’t just medication; it requires a societal focus on early childhood intervention, fostering empathy, building resilience, and identifying youth who are developing these dangerous deficits in character long before a crisis occurs.

So, when we engage in these difficult conversations, perhaps we should begin with agreement:

“You are right to be horrified and to look for a disturbance in the mind behind this act. Let’s talk about what that disturbance really is, so we can truly understand it and work to prevent it.”

This isn’t about diluting our clinical knowledge. It’s about translating it into a framework that the public can grasp – one that validates their fear while directing it toward accurate understanding and constructive action. In holding these two complex truths at once, we can be a calming, clarifying voice in the storm.

In conclusion, I believe what may serve us better is an approach that:

• Frames our response as a personal reflection, not a rebuttal.
• Uses “we” and “us” to create a sense of shared personal and professional journey.
• Acknowledges the “corrective impulse” we all feel, making it relatable.
• Offers a simple, powerful metaphor the public can grasp (Broken Bones vs. Broken Moral Compass).
• Clarifies why this distinction matters, both for reducing stigma and for guiding real prevention efforts.
• Positions us, as mental health professionals, as guides and bridge-builders rather than correctors.

If this reflection resonates, I’d love to hear how you hold space for complexity in your own practice or conversations.

When Resistance Speaks: Knowing When to Push and When to Give In.

This morning, I found myself navigating one of those little modern inconveniences that somehow carry a bigger message.

I had planned to schedule my social media posts ahead of time – one version for Instagram, another for LinkedIn and Facebook. But then I discovered that Instagram doesn’t allow direct scheduling if you’re creating an IG Story. It sounds simple enough, but in that moment, something in me bristled as I thought, “We are in the year 2025 – a time where practically everything is automated – an era of technology. And here I am faced with an app that doesn’t allow for automatic uploading. WT…!”

I could feel the familiar wave of irritation rising – the urge to “bitch and moan” rather than accept what is.

I felt the pushback – the inner sigh, the quiet “Ugh, I don’t want to deal with this right now.”
My body chimed in too: “I’m tired.”
And my inner child? He wanted to “pout.”

I’m mindful that even our self-talk can easily slip into judgmental language – describing something (or ourselves) as being “lazy,” “immature,” or “unproductive” – or even “pouty.” But awareness is always the first step toward reframing.

Here we are again – that familiar crossroad between pushing through and letting be.

So, I did something I regularly advocate others do. I chose to pause. To listen. I gave myself permission to “give in,” not from defeat, but from curiosity.

Was this resistance, or was this my body’s wisdom asking for space to adjust? Actually, it was both.

In my work – and in life – this question shows up often. Whether it’s a client on the edge of a breakthrough, a parent deciding between discipline and compassion, or a leader balancing firmness with empathy – the perennial question remains: when do we push, and when do we honor the pause?

I’ve come to believe resistance isn’t always the enemy. Sometimes it’s an ally, whispering, “Wait – something in you isn’t aligned yet.” The resistance, the echo, the voice within isn’t saying “No. You cannot.” It’s simply suggesting: “Pause, breathe, then decide.” That’s awareness; that’s conscious, intentional choosing.

The voice is not necessarily telling you – go left or go right. It’s reminding you: it’s your choice – take ownership. And this, really, is what the NOW Process and Conscious Transformational Healing are all about.

Our body, our inner voice, the echo: is our internal mechanism (our adaptive response) helping us pause long enough to choose consciously rather than react automatically.
And the key here is exactly that – to consciously choose. To remember we have agency. There’s no right or wrong choice, only awareness in the moment.

Sometimes rest is avoidance; other times it’s exactly what allows clarity to emerge. What matters most is noticing that moment of choice – and honoring it without judgment.

Today, that choice meant stepping back, taking a breath, and allowing my system to catch up with change.

Tomorrow, it might mean showing up despite the resistance.

Either way, I’ll keep listening more deeply – because even resistance, when noticed with kindness, will lead us home.

Note to self (additional note I should say):
A lot of the insights gathered here - comes from my most recent book Human Struggle With Change: When We Resist and How To Thrive. That's not to say they only appeared after writing that book. But it seems to me - with each book I write, and at times with each coversation I have with my clients (especially my clients), I gain greater clarity on my values, my beliefs, and my practices. These help shape and strengthen my life in so many ways. That's what I call "evolution."

Additional-additional note:
With reference to the picture at the start of this blog - it is generated by AI (perplexity). Quite fascinating. It was even able to give me an "interpretation" for the image (provided below):

This illustration represents "Resistance - and when to push and when to give in" through several symbolic elements:

At the center is a person standing at a crossroads, symbolizing a moment of decision where one must choose a course of action. This reflects the internal struggle of encountering resistance.

One path has a strong wind pushing back against the person, symbolizing resistance, obstacles, or challenges that may require strength, persistence, and pushing forward. The forceful wind visually communicates struggle and opposition.

The other path appears calm and open, illuminated by soft light, representing the option to give in, accept, or yield when resistance signals that persistence might be counterproductive or harmful. The peaceful light suggests relief and acceptance.

The person's contemplative expression embodies the inner discernment needed to decide when to push against resistance and when it is wiser to give in or retreat.

Overall, this visual metaphor captures the dynamic tension between resilience and surrender, inviting reflection on the wisdom of responding to resistance with either steadfastness or flexibility.

Mini Reflection — Adjusting Expectations

 I’ve realized something: sometimes I spend energy “calling out” what isn’t working in my interactions. But really, that “calling out” actually doesn’t change much. What is, perhaps, more beneficial is how I am able to adapt.

Speaking with my friend, MI the other day, I was quickly getting frustrated with how I needed to repeat myself and yet the mistakes continued to be made. Too add salt to the injury, I felt like what I was getting is a whole bunch of “explanation” (or excuses) with little to no accountability. The good thing, though, is that the reply almost always started off with an apology or a “thank you for calling out my mistake.”

It was at that point it clearly dawned on me – it’s not so important how another behaves, how I choose to respond is what matters.

Instead of focusing on what I can’t change, I ought to be focused on what I can change. Trying to change MI’s actions isn’t my responsibility or my role and function. I am not even sure if he can actually change. He is just “wired” the way he is now and functions according to  the way he is designed. And even if he can change, that’s not really my place to do. Although I have repeated my requests/instructions numerous times – and the answers that I usually get is, for example: “You’re right — we’ve been around this loop more than once. You’re heard — loud and clear. Thank you for being so direct and for saying exactly what you feel. I’m sorry for the slip-up earlier and for adding to your frustration.” Shortly thereafter, that same action/behavior may be manifested once again.

So, I realized – that’s not about to change. What can and will change is how I respond to that. And perhaps, just perhaps, it’s all about what I expect: I expect MI to change; I expect MI to do exactly as I say. I will remind myself of what can be expected — and adjust accordingly. That shift is subtle, but it feels lighter.

It’s not resignation; it’s clarity. It’s growth. A small reminder: sometimes the most important adjustment is within.

This whole encounter reminds me of a lesson from Dr. Wayne Dyer. He wrote in his book, Your Erroneous Zones:

“The #1 rule of life is to have no rules! It’s your life. You can choose to be happy or sad, kind or cruel, compassionate or selfish. It’s entirely up to you. You can choose to be a complainer or a problem-solver. You can choose to be a victim or a victor. It’s all up to you.”

The lesson there was simple but can be profoundly life-changing:

to pause before reacting and ask, "Will this complaint (callout) improve the situation, or is it just a release of negativity?"

Choosing the higher path is what Dr. Dyer was about. And that’s also the path I will choose to travel on.

 

Sitting With the Imposter Feeling

 ✨ Midweek Reflection ✨

A couple of days ago - I don't quite recall what I was dealing with then - but the thought of being authentic and honest vs the feeling of being an imposter was on my mind. So, here's what I jotted down. I've spent the past couple of days sitting with this reflection and in some sense processing it.

I’ll admit – sometimes I do feel like an imposter.
Why? Because I don’t always practice everything I preach.

But here’s the truth: do we have to live out every single thing we advocate in order to help others? Does a cardiologist need to have had a heart attack to save lives? Or as I often say when I am teaching young counselors, we don’t stop to tell our clients “hey, I’ve never been raped before. So, let me go out and be a raped victim first. Then I’ll come back and help you deal with that trauma.” That would, obviously, be ridiculous, right? But that also does not mean a therapist cannot be of assistance to an individual without first having first hand experience of the tragedy the client has experienced.

But that having said, the tension is still real:

• If I’m honest with clients, some might think, “If you don’t have the experience I have and you do not do what you are advocating,  why should I?”
• If I pretend and suggest I’ve mastered it all, I may build rapport but then I would also be lying.
• And being evasive feels no better – that’s something I personally find very distasteful in others.

So what do I do with this (the feeling like an imposter)?
I lean on the NOW Process – Notice, Observe, Welcome.
Notice the discomfort I am feeling.
Observe my thoughts about honesty, consistency, and integrity – without judgement. Recognize where these thoughts come from and how they shape my experience and decisions.
Welcome the lesson hidden inside. Integrate what this teaches me and choose how to move forward: continuing to adhere past narratives or form a new and more functional/adaptive narrative.

The process ends with action. Integrating the lesson or lessons and taking action to move forward. Even small steps to realign with what matters.

Maybe the tension I felt, the tug or “imposter,” is also experienced by others as well – between what we teach or believe and how consistently we live it. If so, then I am not alone. Sometimes being human is the most honest thing we can offer.

So where does this leave me? For now, the task is simple: notice the tug of “imposter,” observe the thoughts without judgment, welcome the lesson, and choose one small action that brings me back into alignment. That is the measure of integrity I can hold.

Just a self-reminder:  💙 “We are perfect in our imperfection.” 💙

From “Everything Happens for a Reason” to “I Can Grow From This”

 I used to say, “Everything happens for a reason.” I didn’t really see this as being dismissive or hollow – not until I started writing my latest book The Human Struggle with Change: Why We Resist and How We Thrive.

While writing, I realized something: To say “That was unpleasant, but I can grow from it” is a better response. It’s not only more honest, it’s more empowering.

To be fair, my old “everything happens for a reason” line wasn’t really empty. It wasn’t just a resignation or a surrender. Behind it was always the idea of finding – or creating – some new meaning or purpose out of what happened. Less of the “why did this happen” and more “what can I do with this” attitude. But I can see now, shifting the mindset just slightly can make a world of difference.

So, here’s my resolve: I’m retiring the old phrase. From now on, when life throws me something uninvited and unpleasant, I’ll remind myself: I can grow from this.

That’s the thing about coping mechanisms, isn’t it? They’re not good or bad, right or wrong. They’re just the tools we use to get through what hurts. And they usually work – until they don’t.

Take kids, for example. Throwing a tantrum in the candy aisle might actually work when you’re five – tears and flailing arms often wear parents down, especially when they just want to avoid a public scene. But if you carry that same coping strategy into adulthood? It won’t get you very far. At forty-five, tantrums don’t get you the candy – they get you fired, divorced, or unfollowed on social media. What saved you once can sabotage you later.

Coping strategies are meant to evolve as we do. When they don’t, we end up trapped – stuck replaying old survival patterns in a life that needs new ones.

So maybe the question isn’t whether my coping mechanism is right or wrong. The question is: Is it still helping me, or has it outlived its purpose?

The truth is, growth doesn’t come from clinging to what worked yesterday. It comes from daring to change the tools we use today.