Jade Yuting Pang

A year of gentle becoming, quiet courage and letting go.

Here we are again, another birthday, another chance to pause, and wonder how time manages to sprint and crawl all at once. This year, my birthday feels less like a number and more like a quiet checkpoint. A pause to look at the life I’ve been building.

I’m not one for dramatic declarations or tearful retrospectives, but this year does feel like it deserves a moment of reflection. Not because anything wildly extraordinary happened, but because life quietly shifted in ways that feel worth noticing.

In the past twelve months, I’ve settled into a new home that has soaked in the laughter, tears, and footprints of my family, together with the daily joys and chaos of motherhood. My days are a dance between the needs of two growing children, one hand holding space for their boundless energy, the other holding space for my own dreams.

I’ve stepped away from the steady rhythm of salaried work into the uncertain, exhilarating freedom of charting my own path as a designer.

Somewhere in between sketching ideas, finding myself nose-deep in essential oils studying aromatherapy and wiping little faces, I realised: this past year hasn’t just been about moving into a new house, raising children, or leaving a job, it’s been about moving deeper into myself.

One Year in Our Home (and the Mysterious Case of the Missing Teletubby)

When I first stepped into our newly renovated house, it felt like the start of a new chapter. It wasn’t just a place to live, it became a canvas. Not because the walls have seen their fair share of toddler pencil scribbles, but because it’s become the backdrop to our everyday lives. The late-night storytellings, early morning giggles from the kids’ room, weekend muffin smells that lingered into the afternoon and corners that carry the scent of vetiver, geranium and sweet orange.

These sounds and scents have become part of our family’s tempo, gentle anchors to the present moment. In a year filled with change, my home offered a kind of calm I didn’t know I needed, and that sense of rootedness has been a gift.

Motherhood: Two Kids, One Mom Brain Still Functioning… Mostly

In my twenties, I was certain motherhood wasn’t part of my story. I loved my freedom too much to imagine giving it up. Yet here I am in my thirties, with two wonderfully clingy little ones who seem to believe I’m the centre of their universe.

They drain my energy daily, tugging at my arms, my patience, and sometimes my sanity, but I’ve come to see what a profound privilege it is to be wanted so completely. Their need for me, exhausting as it can be, is also the purest reminder that I am loved in a way only they can give.

What humbles me most is how they love me without conditions, even when I’m short-tempered, tired, or far from my best self. They don’t measure me by my mistakes or moods. To them, I’m simply “Mummy”, good enough just as I am. In their wholehearted embrace and tiny kisses, I’m reminded daily of being loved for who I am.

Motherhood has been equal parts chaos and beauty. I’ve become a master of multitasking: snack distribution, sweeping crumbs off the floor, and answering existential questions like “Why do people pass away?”.

At the same time, I see my eldest grow into a protective older brother, and my youngest discover the world with a fearless curiosity that reminds me to keep my own sense of wonder.

There’s a rhythm to our days now, even if it’s occasionally set to the soundtrack of sibling squabbles and suspicious silence (which as every parent knows, is rarely a good sign).

I’ve learned to embrace the chaos with a bit more grace, or at least remind my husband to get through bed time negotiations with less dramatic sighs.

Some days feel like a blur of routines and give-and-takes, but tucked inside are moments that stop me in my tracks: a spontaneous hug, a shared giggle, a surprise exclamation of “Mummy I love you” when we are fooling around at the playground or grocery shopping in the supermarket.

What’s shifted most this year is my perspective. I’m no longer trying to be the perfect parent (spoiler: she doesn’t exist). I want to be present, calm, and open to learning, because these tiny humans are constantly teaching me to be patient, creative and hold space for their big feelings. I learned to let go of control, find joy in repetition, and take things in stride even when the sofa is covered in vomit at 8:51am.

Motherhood hasn’t gotten easier, but it’s become more familiar. In that familiarity, I’ve found a quiet confidence. I may not have all the answers, but I do have a heart that’s grown in ways I never expected.

Aromatherapy has unexpectedly become part of my parenting toolkit too. A few calming drops on the chest when the kids are sick, and a comforting blend at bedtime to help everyone settle. It’s a small but tangible way of bringing a little more peace into our days.

Stepping Away: Designer, Unemployed But Not Uninspired

Life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it, like the sudden jolt of a retrenchment. This past year, I stepped out of my role as a salaried designer and in to a limbo which I now call “a mini early retirement” when people ask me what I’ve been up to.

It’s easy to feel fearful in such moments of “unpredictable income”, but with that, I’ve come to truly appreciate the quiet power of having money set aside in investments. Having that financial cushion provided me the freedom to breathe and reclaim agency when everything else feels uncertain. That cushion becomes a bridge between panic and possibility, giving me space and options to recalibrate, and choose my next step with intention instead of reacting in panic.

Letting go of being a salaried designer was one of the scariest decisions I’ve made, and also one of the most liberating. For more than a decade, my identity was tied to my job title.

Somewhere along the way, I started to crave more space to create on my own terms. With the exit from my ex-company, I made a decision that it was time. Time to pause, reassess, and figure out what creativity looks like when it’s not tied to deadlines, design sprints, business politics, people-pleasing and performance reviews.

The leap into being an independent designer has been equal parts freeing and terrifying. It felt like jumping off a moving train with nothing but a backpack full of half-baked ideas and a vague sense of direction.

In the midst of change and self-doubt, I turned to the Tao Te Ching and the I Ching as anchors for my mind and spirit. I see them not as ancient relics, but as living companions. These texts help me center myself, especially when the world feels noisy or uncertain.

The Tao teaches us to live in harmony with the natural order of life by embracing stillness, letting go of control and trusting the flow of things as they are. It reminds me to value simplicity, balance, and quiet strength over brute force and ambition. I learned to flow with life rather than resist it, to find harmony and strength in non-resistance, and to act with intention rather than force.

The I Ching, with its shifting hexagrams teaches me to read change not as chaos but as rhythm, an invitation to adapt gracefully, and that every challenge carries within it the seeds of transformation.

Together, the Tao Te Ching and I Ching become tools for mental training, to gently rewire my thoughts to lean toward acceptance, patience, possibility and kindness for myself.

Once the dust settled, I realised I hadn’t lost my identity. I’d just peeled off a layer. I also discovered how much space opens up when I’m not constantly chasing someone else’s “3 horizons” and EBITDA. I started noticing things again—textures, scents, colours. My creativity, once boxed in by design briefs, frameworks and brand guidelines, began to stretch its legs.

In this new space, I found room not only for client work, but also for teaching. A dialogue across generations of creativity where I offer what I’ve learned to a room full of emerging designers, and in return, rediscover the wonder that first drew me to design.

There is a quiet joy and deep sense of meaning I’ve found in my work as a guest lecturer and mentor for design students. It is a role that feels less like teaching and more like tending to sparks, sharing not just techniques, but the human nuances of empathy, curiosity, and deep listening that will shape and influence meaningful design.

I find fulfillment in guiding students beyond the surface of aesthetics into the soul of storytelling and user experience. To witness fresh minds wrestle with ideas, challenge status quo, and uncover their own creative language is a privilege I hold with reverence.

I realised that guiding young designers is not just about passing on knowledge, but about creating space for curiosity, confidence, and the kind of growth that cannot be rushed.

This transition wasn’t about quitting, it was about shifting and choosing to explore rather than react in panic. While I don’t have a neat job title to offer at social events yet, I do have a growing sense of clarity.

Aromatherapy: Following My Nose, Literally

It began innocently enough with a perfumery course focused on synthetic fragrance oils. What I hoped would be a creative escape quickly turned uncomfortable. The artificial scents gave me persistent headaches.

That discomfort, however, led me to a gentler path: the world of 100% natural essential oils. From there, curiosity deepened into study, and I found myself captivated by how botanicals could do more than smell beautiful. They could soothe, uplift, and quietly guide you back to yourself.

Diving into the study of aromatherapy, I started to understand how scents interact with the body and mind. I imagine how I might one day merge design and wellness into something personal and purposeful. The designer in me didn’t vanish, she is starting to show up in different ways.

Studying aromatherapy has felt like opening a door to a quieter kind of magic. There’s something deeply satisfying about blending oils with intention, to ease a child’s discomfort and calm an adult’s anxiety. It’s a quiet form of creativity that feels nourishing and sincere, not driven by performance or praise, but by care. It nourishes not just those I support, but something within me as well.

Whether this path leads to a new career or simply becomes a part of my daily life, I’m grateful for the way it’s helped me connect with nature, with myself and to live in the present moment.

I realise now, my home, my children, my career shift, and now my studies in aromatherapy are all about the same thing: creating and holding space. Space to grow roots, to nurture relationships, and to care for the soul.

This year has taught me that stability and change can co-exist, that I can be both anchored and adrift, and still be exactly where I need to be.

My husband’s steady love and kindness

In this season of evaluating my career path and deep personal reflection, I find myself especially grateful for my husband’s quiet strength and steady presence. He doesn’t rush me to figure things out or judge the uncertainty I’m sitting with. He offers me the space to pause, reassess, and move through this transition at my own pace. 

I also see him slowly rising to the occasion, taking on more of the financial weight with calm acceptance and a steady sense of responsibility and care. It’s not dramatic or performative but it’s steady, like a hand on my back when I need it most. 

In his calm, I find courage. In his patience, I find room to breathe, reflect, and rebuild not just my career, but also my sense of self and our shared life. I see him, and I’m deeply thankful.

Looking Ahead

This past year has been a season of pain, fear, disorientation and profound transition. With it came a whole new level of mental training without a roadmap. However, each step led me closer to a life that feels more aligned. Less about proving, more about being.

As I step into this next year of life, I’m simply choosing to keep moving with intention, openness, a gentle defiance of fear, and a little more trust in the quiet unfolding of things.

I’m also holding on to gratitude for the home that shelters us and the little voices that call me “mummy”. I’m thankful for the love from my husband, my parents and my brother.

My hope for the year ahead is simple: a season of gentle growth, roots deepening, wings unraveling. I wish for courage to keep choosing growth even when the path is unclear, curiosity to keep leading me into new worlds and endurance to last me through the tough times.

To continue building a life with good habits and environments that nourish my body, mind, and spirit. To continue to speak with care, eat well and build routines that train my body and attune my mind.

Hopefully with that, my inner world comes into alignment and I may live a life that feels true to who I am, kind to the people I love, with the sweet, healing scent of possibility to begin again.

And perhaps, when the stars align, I may finally, have a few uninterrupted cups of tea.

Birthday photos, 2025