There is a particular, sacred kind of quiet that arrives when a door closes and you find yourself standing inside five empty days. From the 27th of September until the 2nd of October, while Khushi and my brother were away on holiday in Morocco, I lived inside five days of pure, unbroken solitude. It was nothing short of bliss. There were no meals to coordinate, no energies to balance, no roles to perform; just the slow, delicious unfurling of time that belonged entirely to me.
Then, on the afternoon of the 2nd of October, the front door opened, the suitcases rolled in, and I stepped straight back into the rhythm of being a mother and a sister.
The last four days have been so full, so brimming with life, movement, and the gentle demands of family, that I am sitting here today feeling thoroughly exhausted. My batteries are flat. For the first time in ninety-six hours, I have managed to carve out a couple of hours to myself. I had originally thought about hopping on Substack to do a spontaneous LIVE, but my energy just isn’t there for the camera today. These written words, shared quietly over a cup of tea, will have to do.
Even in the middle of being Mum and sister over these past four days, I have intentionally reached for the small, sensory moments that anchor me back to my soul:
Sensory Warmth at Home: Stirring a creamy, golden bowl of morning oats topped with warm, caramelised bananas and plump blueberries. Later, filling the kitchen with the rich, autumnal aroma of seasonal cooking; a recipe inspired by Jamie Oliver, complete with a savoury stuffed squash, golden mash, and steamed greens.
Seasonal Rituals: Lighting my new ‘Pumpkin Embers’ scented candle on the bureau, letting its smoky, sweet warmth drift through the room as dusk settles outside.
Nature & Solitude: Stepping outside for solitary walks along sun-dappled dirt paths, watching the sky reflect off quiet, reed-lined waters.
Culture & Nourishment: Taking a day trip to Cambridge, walking through the grand, arching stone pathways, standing beneath the breathtaking, ornate domed ceilings and ancient sarcophagi at the Fitzwilliam Museum, and finishing with a few restorative hours sinking into the turquoise water of a quiet spa.
What this season of life keeps gently reminding me is this: I must put myself at the top of any list. I come first. SIMPLE.
This chapter has made me think deeply about what coming home to myself actually looks like right now. It isn’t grand or complicated; it is as simple as having my own rhythm again.
It looks like waking up without feeling the frantic, inherited need to rush straight out into the world. It looks like building from stillness. Creating with a long-term vision in mind, while feeling genuinely, quietly excited about everything that is still ahead. It looks like peace becoming less of a destination I’m constantly searching for, and more of the fundamental way I live. It is living a life that finally feels coherent, where the inside and the outside speak the exact same language.
Coming home to myself also looks like recognising where my energy has been leaking and boldly taking it back.
I am becoming so much more intentional about where my attention goes; I am simply less curious about what everyone else is doing, what is being said, or how I might be perceived by people who don’t hold my heart. I’ve come to realise that not every conversation requires my presence. Not every misunderstanding requires my explanation.
So I return my energy.
To my life.
To the people I love.
To the work sitting right in front of me.
To what I am quietly building.
Something profound changes when you become accustomed to that quality of quiet: your tolerance for unnecessary noise gets smaller. Chaos feels louder. Misalignment becomes glaringly easy to recognise. You become beautifully, fiercely discerning about what and who you allow into your sacred space. Not because life will always be pristine and quiet, but because you finally know the difference between what deserves your energy and what only disrupts it.
Tomorrow, my brother flies back to Norway for a few days. And so, over the next few days, coming home will feel like waking up inside a life that has my own rhythm again.
Having my brother visit frequently and stay for a week or two at a time has brought another clear realisation to the surface: we need a bigger home. Currently, we are three adults sharing a one-bedroom apartment. It simply isn’t working anymore. So, as we step into next year, we will be looking to move into a home that can breathe. Ideally, I want a space where I have my own studio apartment, Khushi has her own, and my brother has his own studio when he stays.
Despite the exhaustion of these past four days, my heart is so full because some truly wonderful milestones have quietly fallen into place:
Finishing My Book: ‘From “What Now?” to “Watch Me!”: Midlife by Design, Not by Default’ is officially finished (and you can pre-order your copy now!).
Menopause Awareness Month: To honour this month, I wrote 'Menopause by Design,’ bringing together 18 world-class clinical experts, doctors, psychologists, neuroscientists, and somatic coaches for one continuous, deeply practical conversation across the five core landscapes of midlife.
The Midlife by Design In-House Expert Panel: We officially launched our panel to support women navigating this exact threshold.
Award Recognition: The Sattva Collective CIC has been recognised as the South Asian Women’s Midlife & Menopause Platform of the Year 2026 - UK at the Women’s Health Awards 2026, hosted by Global Health & Pharma!
I have been trying my best to catch up with all your lovely comments over the past few days. If I haven’t replied to you directly yet, please forgive me; I have read every single word, I promise. It has just been a lot lately, and with my monthly cycle being a bit all over the place alongside fluctuating perimenopause hormones, my energy simply hasn’t had much to give.
Before I sign off, wrap myself in my cashmere cardigan, and let the rest of the evening be soft, I just want to say thank you. I appreciate you from the absolute bottom of my heart. Thank you for reading, for being here, and for walking this path with me.
Tea first. Then life.
Kiran x