My Story: From Life Crisis to Author, Speaker & Podcaster
7 April 2019
The crying spiraled into our worst nightmare.
“He’s not moving! He’s not breathing! His face has turned purple!” My wife’s voice pierced through the chaos, panic etched across her features. I fought to appear calm, but inside, fear clawed at my insides.
My palms were slick with sweat, a hot wave washing down my neck as I cradled our son, Finn. I patted his back frantically, desperation coursing through me as I struggled to clear the froth from his mouth. Time slipped away; seconds felt like an eternity. The froth dripped down his chin, a chilling reminder of how urgent the situation had become. His eyes were half-closed, and I could sense the life fading from him.
We rushed into the living room, my heart pounding like a hammer. I laid him sideways against my forearm, his little body limp. I felt his tummy—bloated and hard like stone—a terrifying sign. Panic surged as I looked at his limbs, motionless. I peered into his face—he stared past me, his features turning an alarming shade of blue.
“Go get our neighbors! Someone must know first aid!” I screamed, my voice raw with fear. She rushed out, returned empty-handed. Thankfully, one neighbor helped us call emergency services. I tried to reach my dad, a doctor, but my fingers trembled too much to dial.
I looked at Finn again. He stared past me, then closed his eyes. “Is this what dying people do? Do they look past you just before they go?” my inner voice taunted. What if this was it? What if I couldn’t save him? The weight of that thought pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating.
“A dad couldn’t save his son…” A mental image popped into my head, my hands shaking as I patted harder, fear gripping my throat. Tears blurred my vision as I rushed back to the couch, patting his back all the way.
In that moment, everything felt like it was collapsing around us. I had to act. I had to try. I gently pressed my fingers against his rock-solid tummy.
Finn briefly opened his eyes.
The emergency medical services arrived just in time. When they got there, Finn had fallen asleep. They slapped his foot to check for consciousness; he woke up, cried, then dozed off again. It was around 10 PM when we took him to the hospital for a check-up.
The night dragged on, and the pediatrician on call wasn’t immensely helpful. They frequently interrupted us, asking for details about the event rather than acknowledging our emotions. After checking his pulse and listening to his breathing, the diagnosis was, “The baby seems fine.”
“It’s likely ‘breath-holding spells,’” the doctor explained. “They affect about 5% of children. It usually happens when they’re angry, frustrated, or in pain. Sometimes, it can lead to passing out.” That was the initial diagnosis we received.
We asked what to do if it happened again.
“From my first-aid training last week, I think it looks something like this,” he said, tilting Finn face down between his legs at a steep angle and delivering a few back blows. Our jaws dropped as we saw the blood rush to Finn’s head, his face turning red. “That’s enough for tonight,” we said, horrified.
Years later, I watched the CCTV footage. The experience lasted five minutes—the most painful five minutes of my life.
My life for the next six months
I lived with fear, anxiety, guilt, and shame.
Fear & Anxiety
I anticipated a daily recurrence. I woke up to the slightest noises, often checking under his nostrils to ensure he was breathing in the middle of the night. I was paranoid another episode might be on the horizon, and what if we weren’t there to help?
Guilt
Was it really breath-holding spells? If it wasn’t, was it caused by me? Was it an allergic reaction to a vitamin D3 supplement? Or maybe it was staying in the car seat just a bit too long that day?
Shame
I was ready to teach him life lessons, but I wasn’t ready as a person, as a dad.
Six months later, I locked myself in a room for 3 days. I wrote my first 8,000 words. I wanted to leave something behind for Finn. This was the beginning of my writing journey. One year later, my first book was born.
Five years have passed, and we haven’t experienced another ‘spell’ since then. To this day, we’re still unsure what caused it. And Finn has a little brother now. Chace.
I’m grateful my son survived, and I’ve been given a second chance to become a better person.
At age 36, I published my first book, and then my second, and third.
At age 41, I became an author at Penguin Random House, Asia’s leading purpose podcast host, global speaker, and coach. I walked away from my corporate job at Microsoft to embark on an unknown path. It wasn’t easy for sure. But as Steve Jobs said, “you can’t connect the dots looking forward. You can only connect the dots looking backward,”
If you are navigating change, transition, or an unexpected life catalyst, here are a few lessons I learned about life that I want to share with you:
Getting stuck is a temporary feeling, not a permanent outcome.
Getting stuck is your doorway, not your end destination. You just need to turn the doorknob, one at a time.
Don’t try to look for step 10. Just take the next tiny step.
Imperfect action beats perfect inaction. Action beats insights. Don’t overthink.
Thank you for reading. I hope my story has inspired you to unlock your true potential.
Together, Aaron
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