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

There are friendships that enter like a hurricane — loud, sweeping, all-consuming.
And then, years later, when you’ve weathered storms and lost pieces of yourself you once held tightly, along comes another kind — gentle, familiar, like stepping through your own front door after a long day.

The coming-home kind.

I met my window friends later in life — at a stage where I had already learned that loss does not always come from death, but from distance, growth and misalignment. Where I had watched friendships from my twenties and thirties change shape — some fading into silhouettes, some bursting like firecrackers then disappearing into smoke. I had loved deeply and lost deeply. I had held on longer than I should have, and I had let go with trembling hands.

But then, unexpectedly, new friendships arrived — not to replace what was gone, but to remind me what healthy feels like.

My window friends.
The ones who see me clearly through the glass without demanding I always wipe it spotless. The ones I could disagree with and still love afterwards. The ones who could say, “You hurt me,” without ending us. The ones who encouraged me to show up as I am — unfiltered, unpolished, sometimes tired, sometimes stubborn, but always me.

With them, I learned that coffee and conversation can feel like therapy.
That laughter at midnight can heal what the world wounded at midday.
That comfort does not have to be loud — it can be a soft chair, a shared look, a quiet “I get it.”

No, I never imagined my best friends would look like this — different ages, careers, backgrounds, histories nothing like mine. And yet, maybe that’s the beauty. They widened my world beyond what I knew. They reminded me that true support rarely mirrors you perfectly — it reflects what you need.

Talking to them feels like fresh December air, when the house smells of cinnamon, lights flicker softly, and your heart finally rests. Maybe that’s why I think of friendships most around Christmas — the season of gathering, giving, remembering. The season where old wounds throb just a little but new joy also sparkles if you let it.

Some friendships are for seasons.
Some are for growth.
Some are for lessons.
And some — precious few — are for home.

Lessons I carry now like ornaments stored carefully in my memory:

✨ Quality over quantity — always.
A room full of people who half-know your heart will never feel as safe as two who hold it gently.

✨ Nurture what nurtures you.
Friendships, like gardens, bloom when watered and wilt when ignored. But watering doesn’t mean overpouring — balance is love.

✨ Space is not distance.
We are all carrying silent battles. Sometimes love is saying, “I’ll be here when you come up for air.”

✨ You can disagree and still love each other.
Maturity is not about avoiding conflict — it’s about surviving it with care, honesty, and respect.

✨ Wait for the friendships that feel easy in your spirit.
The ones where you don’t rehearse your words before speaking. Where you are not performing, but simply being.

✨ Authentic women build each other quietly and powerfully.
We are not always taught how to make friends as adults — so when it happens, honour it.

These women reminded me not to shrink to fit.
They taught me that I don’t need to apologise for being soft or strong — I can be both, and still loved. They showed me what a friendship rooted in maturity feels like: gentle accountability, respectful honesty, deep care.

A Note to Any Woman Still Waiting

And if you are waiting for your window friends — the ones who feel like a warm home on a cold December morning — hold on. Good friendships don’t demand perfection; they allow room for humanity. Life has a beautiful way of sending the right people when you are ready to receive them — when you’re wiser, softer, and more rooted in yourself. When you are ready not just to receive love, but to give it gently.

When you find them, you will know.
Not because of fireworks — but because your soul exhales,
“I’m safe here.”

🌿 If you’re still searching for this kind of friendship — you deserve it. Don’t settle.
The right people always arrive on time.

About the Author

Shalini Sarala Rambachan is a corporate commercial attorney, governance advisor, writer and storyteller who believes in leading — and living — with heart. With over a decade of legal and strategic experience across the Caribbean, she is equally passionate about people, personal growth, and the unspoken spaces where stories shape us. Her writing explores transition, womanhood, healing, and the chapters we rarely talk about, blending truth, tenderness, and the courage to evolve. When she’s not drafting board papers or negotiating deals, she can be found with a glass of wine, two dogs at her feet, and words waiting to become something honest.

Clue of the Week: I’ve learned that sometimes, waiting is a form of love — especially when it comes to the right people.