Sarala Life — Life in Chapters: Careers, Canines, Cabernet & Courage

Some wounds don’t bleed — they burn.
And sometimes the fire is just anger finally asking to be heard.

In earlier chapters I spoke about regret and lessons, but anger — this one was harder. Regret is retrospective. Lessons can be reasoned. But anger? Anger requires honesty without explanation.

I have always understood sadness. Regret. Disappointment.
But anger?
Anger was the emotion I kept chained in the basement.

In therapy, we traced that back to a childhood where anger was disobedience, in marriage where anger made you a nag, and in workplaces where anger was “unprofessional.” Anger was always the thing that made me the problem.

So I never learned to sit with it.
I learned to silence it.

Until this friendship.
Until this ending.
Until the anger finally had a name.

Once Upon Three — The Musketeers

There were three of us.
I joined last — older, steadier, the one who mothered the group because love, to me, meant service.
If I poured enough validation into others, maybe I would finally feel worthy of receiving it.

Friend Two — the middle musketeer — was layered, colourful, chaotic and meaningful.
She was there in career highs, gone in the lows.
A bridesmaid holding my dress as I peed (friendship rite of passage), then later a ghost.
She sat at my table, lived in my home on weekends, loved my dogs, cooked in my kitchen like family.

But when the original trio cracked — when Friend One and I collapsed — the truth spilled like broken glass. There were years of comments, whispers, pity disguised as friendship, stories told about me that I was never even present for passing between the original two.

And instead of seeing it then, I clung harder.
Because grief can make even betrayal look like love.

The Year My Life Split at the Seams

I was in a private storm — marriage questions, fertility fears, thyroid meds, career pressure, success with no space to collapse. I was the strong one until I wasn’t. I cracked under unanswered calls and messages, and shared more of myself than I was ready to.

And Friend Two — the one I let into my home, into my dogs, into my circle, into my wounds, then — simply disappeared.

And she re-appeared back beside the friend she once cried over.
Back in a circle I was no longer welcome in.

And I was left with silence that screamed louder than any goodbye.

Sadness Festered — Until Therapy Named It Properly

I didn’t have language for what I felt. I had tears. I had silence. I had years of replaying conversations in my head like evidence in a trial I could never win — because I was trial, witness and judge all at once.

Years later, in one quiet therapeutic moment, my therapist said five words that landed like thunder:

“You aren’t sad. You’re angry.”

And suddenly everything aligned.

I wasn’t grieving a friend —
I was furious at how she left.
Furious that she walked away without accountability or closure.
Furious that someone entrusted with my depth dropped me when I finally needed something in return.

And then — here’s where growth humbles you —
I had to admit my part.

This Is Not the Story of the Perfect Friend

I have hurt people too.
I have made thoughtless choices and held grudges and failed to communicate.

I am not telling this story to paint myself clean.
Only honest.

Maybe she could not give me what I needed.
Maybe our friendship was seasonal.
Maybe I never rooted myself deep enough in her for her to hold me when I fell.

Or maybe she was just a selfish bitch.
Truthfully?
Not my job to diagnose anymore.

Because accountability is not self-blame —
it’s self-respect.

And Self-Respect Changes Your Circle

Losing these friendships cleared space for the right ones.

I now have new women in my life who are thunder and steel —
who teach me how to command, decide, act.
And I have the not-so-new ones who are windows, not mirrors —
who give space instead of reflection, acceptance instead of performance.

Quality over quantity.
Depth over proximity.
Presence over history.

2024 was the Christmas of endings —
empty chairs, hollow lights, losses I couldn’t swallow.

2025 is abundance.
A Christmas filled with proof of how life rebuilds in the space left behind.

This chapter is not about bitterness.
It’s about finally naming the emotion I swallowed for years:

Anger.
Valid, cleansing, overdue anger.

And if you’re reading this in a season where everyone expects joy but you only have fragments —
you don’t owe anyone festive spirit.

The Grinch stole Christmas, and we still adore him.

So be angry if you need to be.
Be quiet.
Be healing.
Be honest.

What you lose in volume, you gain in quality.
What leaves was never rooted.
And what remains —
is real.

May you honour anger without shame.
May you treat endings as beginnings.
May you choose quality over noise — especially in friendship, and especially in December.

Not every friendship ends loudly. Some slip away in silence — and the only word left behind is anger. And for once, that is enough.

This chapter held anger, but the heartbreak with Friend One was a tragedy — and one day, I’ll write it.

Next week, we talk not about who left — but who stayed.
And the kind of friendship that feels like coming home.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sarala Rambachan is a Caribbean corporate commercial attorney, governance advisor, and writer who believes in building a life with truth at its spine. Her work sits at the intersection of leadership, humanity, and healing — exploring friendship, grief, anger, growth, and the many versions of womanhood we evolve through. When she isn’t drafting legal frameworks or speaking on ethical AI, she is writing chapters of her own becoming: reflective pieces on love, friendship, self-worth, and the courage to unravel and rebuild. She lives for authenticity, dogs, good wine, and turning personal lessons into collective light.

SECRET LESSON ABOUT ME — THIS WEEK

I am no longer willing to mother friendships.
I no longer earn love through effort, over-giving, or proximity.
I choose relationships where capacity is mutual, where care is not currency, where love is offered without begging for it.

The secret is — I finally believe I deserve that.

A Christmas of abundance isn’t about gifts or glitter.
It’s about the quality of the people at your table.
Sometimes the greatest growth is realizing you can set one fewer place, and still feel full.