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

There is something deeply daunting about attending conference events when you are in a season of transition.

Not the polished, curated version of transition we like to talk about on panels—but the raw, unsteady, “who am I in this version of my life?” kind.

You walk into a room alone.
No company banner behind you.
No colleagues orbiting you.
No easy identity to slip into.

And if I’m honest… that part is uncomfortable.

But what is even more uncomfortable?
Being in a room with people who are not your people.
Who never were.

I went to an event yesterday—stellar, energising, exactly where I wanted to be.
I looked fantastic (yes, I’m claiming that).
I felt prepared. Open. Ready to receive.

And the keynote speaker? Brilliant.
The kind that reminds you why you show up in the first place.

But more than that—something shifted.

Because when you take the step for yourself…
when you show up imperfectly, independently, without a safety net…
opportunity meets you there.

Not before.
Not when it’s comfortable.
There.

But let’s talk about the human moment.

That flicker of imposter syndrome.
That quiet question: Is this the shame we talk about in therapy? The one that whispers that your value is conditional?

Because what I noticed—what I felt—were the glances.

The people who know you.
Who have worked with you.
Who have shared rooms, wins, maybe even drinks with you…

…and now see no reason to say hello.

And yes—it gives you pause.
It can sting, if you let it.

But only for a moment.

Because then something else settles in.

Clarity.

That behaviour? It says nothing about your value.
But it says everything about theirs.

We talk a lot about corporate politics—and I am not new to it.
But I have always chosen to be open. Warm. Generous.

Not perfectly. But consistently.

So when someone looks straight past you—
when someone who once stood beside you now chooses silence—
you realise something important:

Shame does not reveal truth.
It distorts it.

And then there are the others.

The ones who do acknowledge you.
Who meet your eye.
Who say your name.

The brave ones.
The grounded ones.

The ones who understand that value is not situational.

And here is the truth I am anchoring into:

Knowing your value is not something you say.
It is something you stand in—whether they speak to you or not.

Life has taught me that it is both vast and incredibly small.

We come back around.

We cross paths again.

And the quiet lesson remains—
never become so important that you forget to be decent.

Because what is more telling than power… is how you hold it.

I had a moment—twice, actually—over two days.

The same person.
Two different spaces.

Close enough to speak.
Close enough to acknowledge.

And yet—nothing.

And instead of anger, I felt something unexpected:

I felt sorry for them.

Because imagine being so consumed by perception, by positioning,
that you cannot offer something as simple as hello.

This season I am in—the one outside of direct corporate structure—has stretched me.

It has stripped away titles, proximity, easy validation.

But it has also given me something far more powerful:

Perspective.

Because two things can be true at once.

You can honour where you came from…
and still outgrow the spaces that once defined you.

So here is the reminder I am holding onto:

You are valuable. Full stop.
Not because of who stands beside you.
Not because of who acknowledges you.
But because of who you are.

There are moments I still feel the urge to shrink.

To soften my presence.
To make others comfortable.

But I am learning—slowly, deliberately—

to walk differently.

With intention.
With ownership.
Like someone in command of her own path.

In other news—because life is always layered—

I’ve started preparing for the Fearless Women’s Summit.

A speech that feels deeply personal.
One about transformation—about stepping out of a life I let define me for far too long.

It’s scary.

I want to get it right.

But I also can’t wait to stand in a room filled with powerful women
and just… be present.

Easter has passed.

My husband and I are now playing a little game of travel tag over the next few weeks.
And I am quietly looking forward to our anniversary weekend—not just to celebrate us, but to celebrate, full stop.

Because life… is worth celebrating.

I’m also back to preparing for an exam.

I was in a rut for a bit—real life, real feelings, real fatigue.

But something has shifted.

The dusty exam brain is waking back up.

It’s been a sun-filled week.

Pool time.
Doggy time.
Quiet moments.
A reset that didn’t look dramatic—but felt necessary.

So here’s what I’ll leave you with:

Make the moments.
And then make them count.

Even the uncomfortable ones.
Especially those.

Because sometimes the room that tests you…
is the very one that reminds you who you are becoming.