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

A life well-poured: work, wine, and everything in between.

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Hi, I’m Sarala — Caribbean corporate strategist/executive woman writing honestly about power, identity, leadership, reinvention and emotional truth. After years navigating boardrooms, deals, and governance across the Caribbean, I’ve learned that life — like leadership — is best lived in chapters. Some are bold and ambitious. Some are quiet and healing. And most are best shared over a glass of wine and a wagging tail nearby. This space is where I write about it all — the beautiful, messy balance of careers, canines, and cabernet. From reflections on purpose and courage to lessons from leadership, love, and dog walks, these are the stories that shape who I am — and, maybe, who we’re all becoming. Pull up a chair (or pour a glass) and stay awhile. Here’s to life in chapters — imperfect, authentic, and deeply human.
  • The Healing, After Them- Lessons.

    The Healing, After Them- Lessons.

    🌿 Chapter One: When the Friendship Was Only Real in My Mind
    “The hardest heartbreaks don’t always come from romance — sometimes they come from the friends we thought would stay forever.”

    Who hasn’t felt the quiet ache of a friendship lost?
    It’s a pain like no other — sharp yet shapeless, familiar yet bewildering. The heartbreak of friendship can trigger its own kind of grief. It’s not the romantic kind that society gives you permission to wail about; it’s the quiet unraveling of something that once felt safe, nourishing, and true — until you realize maybe it only existed in your mind.
    This is the story of one of my first heartbreaks in the chapter of my thirties. Not the deepest wound, but one that left a lasting mark. One that, now through therapy and healing, I can finally look at with more clarity— and with enough distance to see my own reflection in the story too.

    The Friendship I Thought I Had
    For years, I believed I’d found a true friend.
    To some around us, this person was known for being controlling, even a bully. But to me, they were warm and welcoming. I chose to see that side — because the unhealed version of me needed love and validation, even if it came dressed in dominance.
    I showed up for this friend. Never went empty-handed to their home. Left mine to help with theirs. Advocated for them, supported them, thought we had something mutual — something family-like.
    And then one day, came the text:
    “We need to talk. In person.”
    No context, no hint. Just an invitation to what would become one of the most painful evenings of my adult life.

    The Backyard Conversation
    I remember being led through the side gate into the backyard — so as not to disturb the household. I sat, unsuspecting, until the “charges” began to unfold like a list rehearsed in advance:
    • I had never invited them to my (then tiny) home.
    • I didn’t share my personal problems with them.
    • They made vegetarian food and shared their best wines, yet I hadn’t reciprocated enough.
    • They’d heard updates about my life from others, not from me.
    Each statement landed like a stone.
    I sat in disbelief — shocked, hurt, confused. My instinct wasn’t to defend, but to flee. The little girl in me — the one who’d always tried to make herself small and agreeable — wanted to hide.
    Driving home through tears, I called another friend who quietly helped me get back safely to my husband- who would later try to balance his own fury at the situation with comforting me. I was shattered, questioning everything: my worth, my instincts, my boundaries.

    Seeing My Own Part
    With time — I’ve come to see that while the delivery was cruel, some of what was said wasn’t entirely wrong.
    I was guarded. I did keep my private life close. I often tried to earn connection through doing. And I expected them to know that I cared.
    That doesn’t justify how it ended, but it does remind me that in every relationship, even the painful ones, there’s a mirror somewhere.
    And healing means being brave enough to look into it.

    The Real Lessons Beneath the Pain
    That conversation taught me lessons I couldn’t name back then — but healing has a way of illuminating the dark corners.

    1. People show you who they are. Believe them the first time.
      I ignored the red flags others saw because I wanted to believe my experience was special. It wasn’t.
    2. How someone treats others is how they will eventually treat you.
      Charm and control can share the same room — but only one builds real friendship.
    3. Boundaries are love — not walls.
      If someone tells you that a friendship requires you to overshare your private life, that’s not closeness; that’s control.
    4. You can only show up in the way you’re able.
      If your effort isn’t enough for someone else, it doesn’t mean you’ve failed.
    5. Grace is strength.
      My friend was clearly hurt too. But not every hurt must be healed together. Sometimes, release is the only respectful answer.

    Healing and Reframing Friendship
    It took years before I could be around that person again without the sting of sadness. And when I finally could, I realized something vital:
    Two people can live the same friendship and walk away with entirely different stories — and that’s okay.
    Today, my friendships look different…and not by design…but by fate after many other losses and lessons; and in one or two pockets of pure magic and connection. They’re not mirrors reflecting what I want to see. They’re windows — open, honest, sometimes messy, but safe.
    I have friends who’ve seen me at my worst — black-out crying, ugly tears, regret-drunk grief — and they love me still.

    Those friendships aren’t about constant contact or shared secrets. They’re about respect, empathy, and space to just be — without performance or expectation.
    And as we journey perhaps I will share about some who have seen me at my worst and… no longer love me.

    What I Know Now
    Looking back, I can hold both truths:
    There was love in that old friendship, and there was pain.
    There was laughter, and there were lessons.
    It wasn’t all false — but it wasn’t all healthy either.
    And now, when I meet new people, I try to lead with the healed parts of me. I remind myself that being private isn’t being cold. That being discerning isn’t being distant. And that the friendships worth keeping will never ask you to shrink to fit inside them.
    Sometimes, losing what you thought was real is how you finally make space for what truly is.

    Closing Thought:
    “Not every loss is a wound. Some are gentle releases — the soul’s way of making room for lighter love.”

    ✨ About SaralaLife
    A Caribbean woman learning, unlearning, and becoming — one chapter at a time. Writing about careers, courage, canines, cabernet, and the quiet moments that change us.

    #friendshipbreakup #healingjourney #femaleempowerment #selfdiscovery #growth #caribbeanwomen #saralalife #boundaries #therapyheals #healingwithgrace

  • Toppings, Thoughts and Therapy

    What food would you say is your specialty?

    Well, I wouldn’t claim to be a Michelin-star chef, but I am a certified ‘pizza is life’ philosopher. I believe in the sacred art of a crispy crust, the balance of melty cheese, and the power of a perfectly placed topping. Pizza is my love language, my coping mechanism, and my celebratory meal—sometimes all at once. I don’t just eat pizza—I reflect on it, celebrate it, and occasionally judge people based on their topping choices. So yes, my speciality? Existential pizza appreciation. Pizza has seen me through the best and worst.

    And if you really want to win my heart or comfort stress- we are looking for pineapple, mushroom, onion, green peppers and cheese 🤷‍♀️

    Ps: I also love a brownie and vanilla ice cream 🫢

    Pps: it seems pineapple on pizza is not a favorite in Rome

  • “A bird sitting on a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking, because her trust is not in the branch, but in her own wings.”

    What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?

    The biggest risk I’d like to take but haven’t yet is betting entirely on myself — stepping away from stability and structure to fully pursue a vision or venture that’s mine alone. Whether it’s launching something creative, entrepreneurial, or personal, it’s the fear of losing security that holds me back, not the lack of passion or ideas. But I know the biggest growth often lives on the other side of discomfort — and I’m working on building the courage to take that leap.

  • Thanks, but Reality.

    Coming off a beautiful vacation and walking straight into Diwali season, I’ve been reflecting on just how far I’ve come. This year, I realised something quietly powerful — I am living one of my own prayers.

    And that hit me.
    To wake up each day in a space that once existed only in my hopes — that’s something I don’t take for granted. I am deeply, genuinely grateful.

    But gratitude doesn’t make the reality of a “back to normal” morning disappear.

    A New Kind of Routine

    This morning looked different. No rush to meetings, no quick dash to prepare for a call, no corporate chaos. Instead — my “new normal.”

    I started my day reading the Daily Mail (yes, it’s still a vice), scanning job sites to see what’s out there in the legal landscape, browsing upskilling courses so I don’t feel like I’m stagnant or “doing nothing,” preparing some material for an existing client, deciding what to make for lunch, planning my workout, and taking the dogs for a walk before shaping an evening on my own while my spouse travels for work.

    It’s slower. Quieter. Re-imagined.

    And while I’m happy — truly happy — there’s also fear. The fear of financial independence. The fear of “what next.”

    I’ve been working since I was eighteen, fighting to earn, to stand on my own, to create a life and lifestyle I’m proud of. I’m grateful to have a partner and a support system, but that deep-rooted desire to pull my own weight is still there. It’s not about pride — it’s about identity.

    Sitting with Fear

    On this healing journey, I’m learning to sit with fear instead of trying to out-run it. To acknowledge that it’s not a weakness — it’s simply part of being human.

    The fixer in me still wants to find solutions, to plan, to do something. But my faith reminds me: things unfold when they’re meant to. Lessons arrive when you’re ready to receive them.

    Still, it’s hard not to be afraid of the unknown — especially when the responsibilities are real.

    I’ve been here before. Years ago, I found myself questioning everything — career, motherhood, purpose. I remember coming off social media because I had fallen into the trap of comparison. Everyone else seemed to be moving forward while I stood still. Their highlight reels made my quiet reality feel smaller.

    We talk so often about “balance,” but where do we really find it?
    Where’s the balance between trust and reality?

    Life in Chapters

    Life, for me, has always been a book of chapters. And lately, so many pages have turned.

    In my quieter moments, I’ve reflected on my communities too — the circles that change, the people who stay, the ones who fade. During my birthday and Diwali this year, I noticed who reached out… and who didn’t.

    That quiet question we all ask sometimes: “If I don’t reach out first, will you?”

    Some friendships have fallen away like autumn leaves. Maybe because there’s nothing left for them to gain. Maybe because they were imagined — created in moments of convenience or need. Perhaps they were never really friendships at all.

    It hurts to admit, but it’s also freeing. Because it reminds me to cherish the souls who do stand — the ones who see you even when you’re not shining.

    Healing, Not Healed

    I’m not healed — I’m healing.

    Still navigating family dynamics, a career pivot, imposter syndrome, self-doubt, fear, and faith. I’ve learned that growth and grief often coexist — even when challenges resolve, consequences remain.

    I used to joke, “adulting is hard,” but now I see it differently.
    It’s hard because we’re the ones making the informed decisions — the good, the bad, and the in-between. There’s no manual. We’re learning as we go, trying to stay kind to that younger version of ourselves who just wanted reassurance and safety.

    I’ve learned there will always be a moment of pain or fear waiting to test your peace. Last year, I had two huge challenges running in parallel. Both have since resolved — but even resolution has its weight.

    So now, I pray, plan, and yes, still fear the consequences.

    Because even when the light returns, you remember the dark that taught you how to see.

    Little Sparks of Hope

    Through it all, I hold onto small joys — those little anchors that remind me I’m still growing. Lately, that’s come in the form of an idea:

    A podcast.

    Yes — me. The girl who’s shy about making a TikTok but somehow loves to talk.
    Some of my heaviest days have been lightened by podcasts that made me laugh or feel seen. And maybe that’s something I want to give back — to talk about healing, fear, faith, work, womanhood, and all the things that sit between “thanks” and “reality.”

    I’m off to consult Dr. Google about how to start one from home — after I finish this post.

    What’s Next

    I haven’t decided what the next story on SaralaLife will be — it’s a toss-up between “The Friends I’ve Lost” series and the beginning of my “Wine Chapter.”

    Because honestly — it’s almost Christmas. And healing, like wine, is best when shared. 🍷

    Gentle Reminder

    It’s okay to be both grateful and afraid.
    Faith doesn’t mean we won’t feel fear — it means we keep walking anyway.

    💭 If this chapter resonated with you, pour/make yourself a glass/cup of something comforting, light a candle, and remember: you’re not behind — you’re just in becoming.

  • My Becoming

    What have you been working on?

    Lately, when people ask me what I’ve been working on, the answer is simple — myself. Not in the neatly packaged way that sounds like a self-help headline, but in the messy, honest, heart-heavy way that real transformation demands.

    I’ve been learning to release anger I held onto for too long, and fear that disguised itself as control. I’ve been letting go of ideologies that were never really mine — beliefs about what success should look like, how life should unfold, who I should be by now. It’s uncomfortable, humbling work to unlearn.

    There’s been pain — the kind that comes with loss, both expected and unfair. I’ve sat in the thick of uncertainty, staring at plans that didn’t pan out and paths I had to abandon. I’ve faced the quiet shame of mistakes that echoed louder than they should, and learned to stop replaying them like a punishment.

    But I’m still here. And I’m trusting — slowly — that what’s meant for me is already finding its way. I’m speaking more gently to myself, reminding myself that self-doubt may visit, but it doesn’t get to stay. That healing doesn’t have to be loud or visible. And that sometimes, the best work you’ll ever do is the quiet, unseen kind — the kind that rebuilds you from within.

    Bloom

  • A reflection on faith, light, and the quiet evolution of tradition.

    Light Finds Us — A Modern Woman’s Divali

    I was raised as the daughter of a Hindu pundit — in a home where divinity had a rhythm. Thursdays meant temple, Sundays meant satsangh, and the year was punctuated by yagnas, pujas, and festival after festival. Faith wasn’t something you sought; it was something that lived in the walls, the incense, the rituals.

    And yet, somewhere along the way, my connection to God grew quieter — more personal. I may not attend every service now, but I speak to God every day. Sometimes in gratitude, sometimes in exhaustion. My worship isn’t always wrapped in sandalwood and flowers; it’s often silent, in between emails, or on a walk with my dogs. But it is constant. It grounds me.

    When I lived in the UK, Divali looked different. The grand processions and temple bells were replaced by the hum of a London flat. The weeks of fasting, prayer, and community took a softer, more solitary shape. I didn’t observe every festival, but Divali — Divali was non-negotiable.

    It became my anchor. The one day I cleaned the house like my mother did. The one day the prayer felt most sincere. I made my own prasad, lit tea lights in quiet corners, and prayed alone — but never felt lonely. The glow of the deyas reminded me that light doesn’t need a crowd to matter.

    Over the years, my celebrations have evolved. From filling deyas with oil to switching to wax and tea lights. From smudging my ceiling with smoke after an over-zealous havan (note to self: never again near the kitchen island) to learning how to keep the fire and faith alive — safely. From celebrating with a large family to sharing the rituals with my husband, who now fasts and joins me for our 6 p.m. havan, and to dressing up our dogs in their festive bandanas because joy deserves to be shared.

    Each Divali feels different — but somehow, always the same. The same warmth, the same gratitude, the same chance to begin again. Some promises I’ve kept, some I’ve missed. But every year, I find myself whispering the same prayer: that I never lose sight of the light, even in my quietest seasons.

    Divali, to me, isn’t just about religion — it’s about renewal. It’s about making space for meaning in the middle of modern life. In corporate boardrooms and client calls, in leadership and in love — Divali reminds me that faith looks different for everyone, and that’s okay. Just as we bring our individual strengths to work, we bring our own ways of connecting to the divine. What matters is the sincerity, not the form.

    So this year, I’ll light my wax deyas and LEDs, offer my prayer, and give thanks — for work that fulfills me differently, for a home that feels like peace, and for the lessons learned in both reverence and laughter.

    And when the night settles in, I’ll eat my ladoo, enjoy my roti, and smile at the soft glow of my tea lights. Because even after all these years, Divali still reminds me of this truth:
    No matter how life changes — the light always finds us.

    “I no longer chase perfection in my prayers — I just light my lamps, whisper my gratitude, and trust the light to find me where I am.”

  • I carry shame like a badge of honour

    Daily writing prompt
    What’s something most people don’t know about you?
    View all responses

    I carry shame like a badge of honour — with more power over me than it should have. For years, I thought holding onto it made me accountable, even disciplined. I told myself it was how I stayed grounded, how I avoided repeating mistakes.

    But the truth is, shame doesn’t keep you humble; it keeps you small. It makes you apologise for simply being human. I’m learning to unlearn that — to trade shame for self-awareness, accountability for compassion, and guilt for growth.

    It’s still a work in progress. Some days I wear it more lightly; other days, it clings. But I’m learning that healing isn’t about erasing the past — it’s about refusing to let it define your worth.

  • The truth behind flight or fight and Burnout

    Do lazy days make you feel rested or unproductive?

    For a long time my body and mind did not know how to process a day without work, a deadline, a project or task or even some high intensity exercise …a ‘lazy’ day.

    My body was caught in burn out and survival mode which in itself meant I had to keep going, to be able to keep going.

    It took many months to re-condition myself to see ‘rest’ days as a routine part of life – not a reward or some strange alien concept and to re learn how to just sit with myself, read, watch a movie or do whatever (or nothing) I deemed self care that day.

    I’m not quite at feeling rested yet but I see the benefit of days softly spent now- ‘rot days’ in my body, mind and on my family. You can 100% be productive in a rest day as long as it is something that brings you overall joy and nourishes you instead of depleting you.

    It’s sad that we have to work towards understanding ‘rest’ today but I now believe that no one will re-charge you, hold you, re-fuel you and give you grace, like yourself.

    Lazy days are productive whatever it looks like for you. For me, it may be Pilates, an everything shower, a glass of wine and a book or moving from my bed to the sofa with a day of movies and tea and doggy snuggles.

  • Success is Growing even when it’s not Linear

    When you think of the word “successful,” who’s the first person that comes to mind and why?

    I think of me- not because of ego but I wake up each day, now, learning the lessons that need to be learnt, living with purpose rather than being in a constant race for another goal, validating my feelings on successes and failures and I keep moving ahead.

    For a long time I was living to achieve the next goal as determined by society as normal and appropriate- I am learning to pivot and re-imagine what my future could look like; one where I thrive.

    Success isn’t measured for me in money in the bank or titles but the peace I have within myself.

  • Welcome — and a Note from Me

    I launched this blog as a love letter to new beginnings — to the beauty of becoming, even when it means breaking first.

    Here, you’ll find reflections from the in-between spaces of life: career pivots and quiet resets, laughter and loss, canines and cabernet. It’s about the courage to rewrite your story when the old version no longer fits, and to honour every chapter — even the ones that hurt.

    My first post, “Resetting at 40: Rejection, Redirection, and the Gift of Beginning Again,” is where this next season begins. It’s raw and real — a reminder that rejection can be redirection, grief can become growth, and that sometimes the bravest thing we can do is start over.

    So, pour a glass or make a cuppa, pull up a chair, and settle in.
    Here’s to life in chapters — imperfect, heartfelt, and deeply human.