There’s a place I visit sometimes…
not quite guilt,
not yet forgiveness.
A small room
furnished with almosts and maybes,
lit by the things I never said.
Through the window
I can see the life I’m living
and the one I left behind,
overlapping,
neither asking to be chosen.
Time pauses here.
Apologies form
but don’t rush out.
And I stand at the threshold,
not ready to leave,
not ready to knock,
learning that this in-between
isn’t a mistake…
Misogyny doesn’t always arrive as hostility.
More often, it appears as dismissal.
It shows up in who gets interrupted.
Whose ideas are questioned twice.
Whose experience needs validation from someone else in the room.
In leadership spaces, this subtle imbalance is easy to overlook…
Until you’re the one navigating it.
For women climbing the ranks, the challenge isn’t just the work itself.
It’s the constant need to protect credibility.
When authority can’t be challenged on competence, it often gets redirected elsewhere.
Toward tone. Toward intent. Toward personality.
Personal attacks slip quietly into professional spaces, reshaping perception and eroding trust without ever questioning capability.
This is one of the most damaging forms of misogyny.
Not confrontation, but narrative.
Not disagreement, but character erosion.
And this is where the conversation gets uncomfortable.
Misogyny isn’t always imposed.
Sometimes, it’s inherited.
Women, too, can participate in these patterns.
Questioning another woman more harshly.
Withholding support.
Repeating narratives they themselves have been harmed by.
Not out of malice, but survival.
When a system rewards scarcity, women learn to protect their place rather than expand the space.
Over time, those behaviours become normalised. Internalised. Passed along quietly.
Men, meanwhile, often rise within ecosystems of assumed trust.
School networks. Community circles. Professional bonds that open doors before questions are asked.
Opportunity flows through familiarity, not scrutiny.
Women rarely benefit from the same starting point.
Most build reputations deliberately, aware of how fragile perception can be.
And when one woman rises, the real test of leadership isn’t visibility or title…
It’s whether she chooses to recognise value in others or reinforce the very structures she once fought to overcome.
This is where mutual respect matters most.
Respect for experience over ego.
Respect for contribution over conformity.
Respect for leadership that doesn’t need to look familiar to be legitimate.
Leadership isn’t about guarding position.
It’s about guarding integrity.
True power shows up when we refuse to engage in narratives that diminish others to elevate ourselves.
When we challenge personal attacks disguised as feedback.
When we choose to see value without attaching it to gender, proximity, or fear.
The future of leadership won’t be shaped by louder voices or sharper elbows.
It will be shaped by those willing to hold the line on respect…
Even when it’s easier to stay silent.
And perhaps the most radical leadership act of all
Is choosing not to inherit the bias that once tried to limit you.
2025 was intense.
It arrived with loss,
with worry I could not fix,
with nights that felt longer
than they needed to be.
People I love carried their own storms.
I watched, held space,
learned that love sometimes
means standing beside,
not stepping in.
The country trembled too.
Water rose, memories returned.
Nature reminded us
how fragile things are
and how deeply we belong to each other.
Somewhere between the breaking
and the rebuilding,
I chose to release.
Old expectations.
Old versions of strength
that asked me to harden.
Peace didn’t arrive all at once.
It came in pauses.
In honesty.
In choosing presence
over perfection.
I end this year lighter.
Ground cleared.
Heart open.
Not because it was easy,
but because I am ready
to walk forward.
It was my favourite place
That feeling of home
Where forever felt
Almost safe
Where silence didn’t scare me
And belonging felt natural
Not earned
Just… there
And now, as time flows
I know
Expectations break you
Life is meant to be lived
Not meant to crave
The unattainable
Letting go felt like
Betrayal
Like turning my back
On something that once held me
Until it wasn’t…
Until I realised
Some endings are acts of kindness
And peace settled
Quietly
Into each moment
And finally
I knew
I was ok
Not healed
Not fixed
Just whole enough
And life began
Again
The howling winds
and gushing waters
of Ditwah’s wrath
ripped through
old familiar haunts
A childhood
almost swept away
by unforgiving rains
places, people
sliding
without remorse
Tea bushes
once disciplined in rows
hugging misty hills
came undone
roots loosened
like us
Hundreds displaced
thousands dead
it almost felt like
closure
Badulla, Ramboda,
Nuwara Eliya, Kandy
names that raised me
rolling in like warnings
suddenly unfamiliar
Nature reminding us
nothing is permanent
not land
not life
not people
Even the tea
that shaped the hills
could not hold them together
