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

It has been a couple of weeks since I last wrote here.

Life has been full.

I spent last week speaking at the Fearless Women’s Summit in St. Lucia, and somewhere between standing on a stage, sharing my story, laughing over dinners, praying with women I had only just met, and having conversations that stretched long after the sessions ended, I realised something.

Sometimes you don’t travel somewhere to teach.

Sometimes you travel somewhere to remember.

One of the biggest gifts of the week wasn’t speaking. It was witnessing women who were genuinely secure in themselves.

Women who offered encouragement without competition.

Prayer without performance.

Warmth without expectation.

Advice without agenda.

I left reminded that there is still extraordinary goodness in people.

Ironically, one conversation kept surfacing over and over again.

Women hurting other women.

It’s remarkable how universal that experience is, yet how quietly we speak about it.

Different countries.

Different careers.

Different ages.

Same story.

Not always dramatic betrayal.

Sometimes it’s exclusion.

Sometimes it’s gossip.

Sometimes it’s gatekeeping.

Sometimes it’s the subtle message that there isn’t enough room for both of us.

We don’t talk about it enough because somehow it still feels uncomfortable to admit that one of our deepest professional wounds sometimes comes from another woman.

But perhaps healing starts by acknowledging that it exists.

Thankfully, the women I met in St. Lucia reminded me that there is another way.

One where your confidence doesn’t require someone else’s insecurity.

One where another woman’s success isn’t a threat to your own.

One where kindness is still powerful.

I came home carrying that with me.

I also came home with another question.

What exactly am I building?

Running your own consultancy is exciting.

It’s also wonderfully terrifying.

Exposure is lovely.

Speaking invitations are lovely.

Meaningful conversations are lovely.

Purpose is beautiful.

But purpose doesn’t replace fear.

And choosing yourself doesn’t pay the mortgage.

That line landed with me this week.

There comes a point where passion has to become strategy.

Where you stop asking, “What do I love doing?” and start asking, “What problem do I solve?”

I’m standing at that intersection now.

I know I have something valuable to offer.

I know my experience has value.

I know I’m meant to build something that reaches beyond the immediate environment around me.

Now comes the work of making that sustainable.

That’s entrepreneurship.

Not the Instagram version.

The real version.

The version where you wake up wondering whether you’re brave enough to bet on yourself again today.

Thankfully, the answer keeps being yes.

Speaking of betting on myself…

It’s time to behave like someone who has holiday photos coming up.

For the next couple of weeks, it’s mission health.

Less flour.

More intention.

A carefully negotiated relationship with Prosecco and Sauvignon Blanc during the football matches.

(I’m realistic, not delusional.)

Bestie’s birthday trip is around the corner, which means it’s time to dust off the swimsuits and remember that confidence isn’t a dress size—it’s showing up anyway.

Then there was the sweetest part of coming home.

George and Isabella.

I genuinely don’t know if anyone has ever been happier to see me than those two little faces.

There is something profoundly grounding about being loved by dogs.

No questions.

No expectations.

No conditions.

Just joy.

They don’t care whether your speech went well.

They don’t care how many people followed you on LinkedIn.

They don’t care about your business model.

They just missed you.

And perhaps we all need someone—or something—that reminds us who we are outside of achievement.

Of course, life also has a way of slipping in one final lesson.

My husband’s family recently published a book documenting their family history.

It’s beautifully done.

As I turned the pages, I noticed something.

On the relevant family page, every immediate family member was represented.

Except me.

My husband is there.

His brothers are there.

His parents.

His niece.

But the only wife missing was me.

One of the women at the conference looked at me after I told the story and said quietly,

“They’re writing you out of the family.”

Now, I don’t actually care about being in the book.

That’s not the point.

The point is that no one even thought to ask for a photograph.

And yes, a tiny part of me wondered whether, because we don’t yet have children, I somehow remain… optional.

It’s amazing how quickly your mind can wander into old narratives.

But therapy has taught me something invaluable.

Instead of asking,

“Why is this happening to me?”

I’ve started asking,

“What is this teaching me?”

The lesson isn’t about a photograph.

It’s about noticing where you are seen.

Where you are valued.

Where you are considered.

And equally importantly…

Where you aren’t.

Not every omission is malicious.

But every omission gives you information.

Information that helps you make better decisions about where you invest your energy, your loyalty and your heart.

That shift—from victim to student—changes everything.

So here we are.

Back to work.

Back to client meetings.

Back to figuring out how to build the business.

Back to finding time for exercise.

Back to booking George’s vet appointment because I think my distinguished old gentleman has developed a little eye ulcer.

Back to ordinary life.

Except…

It doesn’t feel quite so ordinary anymore.

Because sometimes you leave home to change your environment.

And sometimes you come home having changed yourself.

I think this trip was the latter.

And I’m quietly grateful for that.

Perhaps that’s what reinvention really is. Not becoming someone else. Coming home more fully as yourself

Question for you:

Have you ever come home from a trip, a conversation, or an experience and realised that nothing around you had changed—but you had? I’d love to hear what that moment taught you.