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

It’s been a while since I sat down to write here. Not because I had nothing to say—but because life, in its usual unapologetic fashion, has been lifing.

And honestly? Sometimes when life is lifing, the words stay in your head longer than they make it to the page.

So, here we are. A proper catch-up.

First things first: I survived the flu from hell. You know the kind—the one that has you questioning every life choice, every immune-boosting vitamin you forgot to take, and whether breathing has always required this much effort. Recovery felt less like “bouncing back” and more like a slow, reluctant crawl back to humanity.

But in brighter news… I started golf lessons.

Yes. Golf.

If you had told me a year ago I’d be voluntarily standing in the sun, trying to perfect a swing while muttering at tiny white balls, I may have laughed. And yet here we are.

And I am absolutely loving it.

There is something unexpectedly therapeutic about it. The focus. The frustration. The tiny wins. The reminder that you cannot muscle your way through everything—sometimes you need rhythm, patience, posture, breath.

Honestly? Feels like a metaphor for life.

Speaking of life metaphors…

I am deep in preparation mode for the Fearless Women’s Summit in St Lucia at the end of June, and let me tell you—being brave is expensive.

This is my first time doing a swag bag for an event.

A thing I decided to do entirely on my own because I want to promote my business, create something meaningful, and maybe—if I’m being fully transparent—prove to myself that I belong in these spaces.

Cue me spiralling between “quality matters” and “dear God, why does branded anything cost THIS much?”

Entrepreneurship has a very particular flavour of fear, doesn’t it?

Corporate courage looked different. There were budgets. Approval processes. Expense lines.

This version? This is looking at your own bank account while whispering, we’re doing this, right?

Terrifying.

Also deeply affirming.

Because somewhere between the quote comparisons, logo proofs, and internal negotiations, I’ve had to confront something important:

I have credibility that exists independently of a company title.

Not theoretically.

Actually.

A few client recommendations recently reminded me of that.

That people see the value.

That my work mattered.

That my experience is mine.

That worth does not evaporate because the business card changed.

Apparently growth looks like crying over Canva mockups and then having an identity breakthrough.

Who knew?

And because life believes in emotional multitasking, therapy decided this was also an excellent time to hand me a particularly difficult truth.

That some of the hurtful things my mother says to me…

…have nothing to do with me.

Read that again.

Nothing.

To.

Do.

With.

Me.

That doesn’t mean they don’t hurt.

It doesn’t mean I suddenly float above them in enlightened peace.

It simply means that love and hurt can co-exist in complicated relationships.

That someone can love you and still wound you.

That “mother” does not automatically equal emotionally safe.

That boundaries are not betrayals.

Whew.

That one was… deep.

On a wildly less profound but equally real note—I am also hosting a house party.

Which apparently means I have become Operations Director of Pool Deck Restoration, Plant Rehabilitation, Glassware Logistics, and Domestic Crisis Management because my darling husband has absolutely no interest in cleaning the pool deck or repotting the plants.

Marriage is beautiful.

And sometimes marriage is looking at a neglected hibiscus and choosing peace.

Also on my heart lately: George.

I’m increasingly convinced my sweet boy may be losing his hearing.

Not the selective “I heard you but respectfully decline” kind.

The real kind.

The calling-him-and-getting-nothing kind.

And if you’re a dog parent, you already understand how these quiet observations settle somewhere tender in your chest.

We’re watching.

Adjusting.

Loving him loudly anyway.

In happier doggie news, over the past six months we’ve become those pet parents.

The ones introducing fresh human-grade bone broth, chicken, spinach wet food, and thoughtful supplements to support hips, joints, coats, and general canine fabulousness.

And honestly? The dogs are thriving.

The unexpected joy in all this has been discovering and supporting a local Trinidadian business doing something genuinely needed.

Kaja Pet Food.

Woman-owned. Smart. Fresh. Filling a gap.

And perhaps because of where I am in life right now, supporting her business feels bigger than pet food.

It feels like alignment.

Because let’s be honest—the cost of living right now is offensive.

Consumerism is exhausting.

Everything costs more.

Everyone is selling something.

And yet.

There is something deeply meaningful about intentionally choosing where your dollars go.

Especially when they go toward another woman building something brave.

Because I understand those scary spends now.

I understand the hope attached to every order.

The self-doubt.

The courage.

The “please let this work.”

And perhaps that’s made me softer.

Or stronger.

Maybe both.

Which brings me to my newest mantra:

No compare. No compete. No gossip.

Simple.

Not easy.

Because if I’m honest, competitive thoughts still creep in.

Comparison still taps me on the shoulder.

The old reflex still whispers.

But now I notice it.

I pause.

I self-check.

And I choose differently.

That’s growth too.

The humbling kind.

The kind where you realise peace is less about eliminating human thoughts and more about deciding which ones get to stay.

And there is something incredibly freeing about becoming deeply committed to your own path.

Not hers.

Not theirs.

Yours.

Messy.

Beautiful.

Expensive.

Healing.

Golf-playing.

Dog-broth-buying.

Boundary-learning.

Speaker-prepping.

Plant-neglecting.

Very human.

Yours.

Anyway.

That’s the catch-up.

Thanks for being here.