Why I Started Resilient Living Singapore: Not Just a Support Group, but a Space to Live
I don’t want this space to be about me. I wanted it to speak for itself. To take shape around shared experiences, not a single narrative.
It started not with a bold idea, but with a a feeling that there was something missing—one that many with chronic illness know well.
Support groups offered comfort, shared experience, and solidarity. And for that, they mattered deeply. But after a while, a quiet question kept surfacing: What if we could do more?
What if we could talk not just about symptoms and side effects, but also about meaning, identity, and the subtle art of rebuilding a life that no longer looks like the one we imagined?
That question is where Resilient Living Singapore began.
What I Needed, But Couldn’t Find
When chronic illness entered my life, I did what many of us do: I searched for answers, community, clarity—anything that could help me make sense of the unknown. I joined support groups, read articles, followed forums. The support groups were great. But over time, I found myself craving something beyond shared experience—something that could hold the fuller, often messier picture of what it means to live with long-term illness.
Many spaces focused on symptoms, treatment options, or coping strategies. And don’t get me wrong—those are crucial. But I was looking for something else.
I wasn’t just trying to survive.
I was trying to figure out how to live—really live—with a body and a life that no longer looked or felt the way I expected. I had questions about identity, about rest and productivity, about grief and growth, about joy. I wanted to talk about the emotional, social, and existential layers of chronic illness, not just the physical. But I couldn’t find a space that held all that complexity without flattening it into inspiration porn, toxic positivity, or medical dogma.
So I started one—not out of certainty, but out of hope that others might be looking for the same.
Why “Resilient Living”?
The name came to me slowly. I didn’t want something that sounded too clinical, or too “you can do it!” motivational. But I also didn’t want to lean into language that painted us as fragile or broken. Because while chronic illness is undeniably hard—and often invisible—it’s also a space of quiet strength, creativity, and wisdom.
Resilient Living felt right because it held a dual truth:
That we live with real challenges, losses, and limitations.
And that we still live—in full colour, even if sometimes that colour is grey.
Resilience, to me, isn’t about pushing through pain or bouncing back quickly. It’s about finding ways to root yourself in who you are, even when life shifts beneath your feet. It’s about making space for both comfort and growth.
A Different Kind of Support
So what makes this space different?
It’s not a medical resource site—though we do share information. It’s not a typical support group—though we offer connection and care. It’s not an advocacy campaign—though we believe in raising awareness.
It’s a living, evolving space where people with chronic illness can explore what it means to be human in all our messy, brilliant complexity. It’s a space where you can:
Come as you are, on your good days and your hard ones.
Be seen and heard without needing to explain or justify.
Engage in honest conversations that allow room for disagreement and nuance.
Celebrate small victories, grieve losses, and reflect on what matters most.
We don’t all have to take the same path. Some of us rely on medication. Others explore TCM, nutrition, spirituality, or rest. Many do a mix. Here, all respectful paths are valid—because healing is personal, and there’s no single right way to live with illness.
A Safe Space… and a Brave One
I often say that Resilient Living is not just a “safe space”—it’s a safe and brave space. That means:
You are welcome to rest here.
You are also welcome to stretch and grow, to ask questions, to rethink things.
We hold space for each other with gentleness, but we also make space for difference. We listen before we respond. We reflect before we react. We choose curiosity over certainty. In a world that often demands quick answers or endless optimism, we choose honesty, complexity, and care.
Why I’m Sharing This Now
For the longest time, I didn’t want to center my story. I wanted the community to speak for itself through shared resources, stories, and voices. I’ve published articles about local services, coping tools, reflections, and stories of others in the chronic illness space. I wanted you to see yourselves in this space, not me.
But now, as this community grows, I realise that context matters. Sharing the “why” behind Resilient Living Singapore isn’t about spotlighting my journey—it’s about anchoring the values this space is built on. And maybe, in doing so, it helps you feel a little more at home here. Because chances are, if you’ve landed on this page, you’ve felt that same need for something more than just coping.
Thank You for Being Here
Whether you’ve been following for a while or just found us, thank you. Thank you for reading, for sharing, for showing up with your truth and tenderness. Resilient Living Singapore is stronger because of every story, every reflection, every quiet nod of “me too.”
And while I do most of what you see here—from the writing and event planning to the tiny design tweaks and late-night edits—I absolutely haven’t done it alone.
To the contributors who’ve shared your personal stories on our platform: your honesty, vulnerability, and perspective have shaped this space in ways I couldn’t have imagined on my own. You remind us that lived experience is not just valid—it’s invaluable.
To the people who have offered your expertise at our events: thank you for showing up with generosity, nuance, and the kind of grounded wisdom that respects how complex illness can be.
And to the quiet cheerleaders—the ones who’ve sent encouraging DMs, forwarded an article, or simply said, “This helped”—you’ve given me the fuel to keep going when imposter syndrome whispered a little too loudly. Your affirmation isn’t just nice to have; sometimes it’s the lifeline that helps me trust I’m on the right path.
Resilient Living isn’t just an initiative. It’s a labour of care. And like all things built from the inside out, it’s held together by community—even when that community is scattered, slow-moving, or quietly observing from the edges.
We are not just surviving.
We are living—at our own pace, in our own way.
And we’re doing it together.