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

Reflections on healing, voice, and choosing a life you’re awake inside of

2025 did not arrive gently.

It arrived on baited breath—tight-chested and heavy—with crisis, pain, shame, and fear sitting far too close to the surface. A career pivot I didn’t fully recognise myself inside of. Quiet questions about approaching 40, about a decade of marriage, about being childless and whether my partner and I were still growing together—or slowly apart. Grief over friendships that revealed themselves not as friendships at all, but transactions. Others who needed to walk away to chase their own goals, even if that meant leaving us behind.

I remember feeling like I was treading water in a pool of despair with no visible edge. No ladder. Just the exhausting effort of staying afloat.

And yet—here I am.

2026 arrived not with fireworks, but with wind. Gentle at first. Then steady. The kind that clears your lungs and reminds you that breathing doesn’t have to hurt.

I am calmer now. More confident. More rooted in myself. Therapy helped—immensely—but so did a burning decision to put my voice, my body, my wants, my life back at the centre. To stop living in anticipation of the next pay cheque, the next qualification, the next perfectly curated LinkedIn or Instagram moment that might finally signal, I’ve made it.

Healing, it turns out, is deeply unglamorous—and utterly magnificent.

Two days ago, my husband and I sat outside debating whether a visiting bird on the power line was pooping seeds or spitting them out. A real, earnest discussion. Meanwhile, my dogs were in a joyful tizzy, getting mental stimulation and exercise, and I wasn’t hiding from the sun for fear of getting darker. This moment followed morning movement, a comforting lunch, and a Yeti filled with leftover champagne—yes, leftover champagne, I know, blasphemy—but it’s been an indulgent season and I’m letting it be.

And that’s the truth of it:
So many things can coexist.

I still think about career pivots. About what’s next. About the shape my work will take. But it no longer consumes me. It’s a piece of the whole now—not the price of admission to feeling worthy. My life has quality again. The best it’s had in a long while.

These last two weeks of Christmas and New Year were wonderfully indulgent. A re-imagined circle of friends. Activities that spoke to my soul, not my social media profile. There is power in that kind of quiet. In fear faced gently. In finding your voice.

There’s a shift that happens when the little girl inside you no longer needs to protect you—because you can protect yourself now. That shift is everything. It’s perspective. It’s power.

I’m grateful for the lessons. Even the painful ones. Especially the painful ones. I’m carrying them into this year with a peaceful mind, fun things to look forward to, and responsibilities I no longer resent. I’ve always believed there’s room for everyone at the table—but standing firmly in myself, I know now that no one gets to keep their seat at the cost of my sanity.

Titles are not worth friendships.
Jobs are not worth your self-respect.
Friend circles that aren’t for you will slowly dim your light.

And it is more than okay to say no—to re-imagine your life daily if needed.

There is no prize for living a life that looks right but feels wrong.

Fill your time with people who hold you—and whom you can hold in return. Don’t worry if that life doesn’t look the way you once imagined. If you’re willing to do the work, on yourself and for yourself, a year can change everything. You can choose to stay in the life you have—but this time, with your eyes wide open.

Lessons I’m Carrying Into 2026

• Healing doesn’t erase ambition—it reorders it.
• Anger, grief, joy, and gratitude can coexist without cancelling each other out.
• Not everyone is meant to come with you, and that’s not a failure.
• Rest is productive. Quiet is powerful.
• Your voice gets clearer when you stop apologising for using it.
• You don’t need permission to choose peace.

Clue of the Week

I’m learning to enjoy moments without narrating them—to myself or to the world.

About the Author

Shalini S. Rambachan is a corporate commercial attorney, governance advisor, and reflective writer navigating life, leadership, and reinvention with honesty and heart. Through her blog, she explores growth, healing, purpose, and the courage it takes to build a life that feels as good as it looks.

If no one has told you yet this year: you’re allowed to change. You’re allowed to choose yourself. And you’re allowed to enjoy the life you’re living—right now.