“It’s never too late to be what you might have been.” — George Eliot

Life seldom moves in a straight, well-paved line. It twists, turns, breaks, bends, and sometimes halts without warning. Some journeys gallop forward, some crawl, and some fall asleep midway. My own life has been nothing short of an action-packed thriller — complete with drama, suspense, detours, cliff-hangers, and a rather satisfying sprint in the end.

The story begins eons ago, when I was a lanky teenager struggling with raging hormones, anger outbursts, and endless tears. The world expected certainty, but I was a whirlpool of confusion. Career choices hovered over my head like nimbus clouds. Wanting to follow my friends, I chose science — the supposedly “safe” and “smart” stream. Somewhere in my heart, I dreamt of becoming a doctor, but the moment I saw a cadaver in the laboratory, every cell in my body revolted. I realised with a shudder that medicine was not my cup of tea.

But now I was — saddled with science, unable to break free. So, I redirected my ambitions. If not medicine, then research. I wanted to shatter glass ceilings and soar at the speed of a bullet train. And for a while, it seemed the universe was in agreement. I landed a tenure-bound research associateship and lived on cloud nine. For a year, I worked with single-minded intensity, immersing myself in experiments and data. 

But life, as always, has other plans.

By the second year, the bombshell dropped. “Time to get married,” the elders declared. The biological clock, they said, was ticking. I was nowhere near ready. There were eye rolls, protests, tears — but tradition marched forward without pausing to hear my heartbeat. I got married, and thus began a new chapter. My spouse’s job required constant travel, and soon I found myself dragging suitcases, hopes, and half-formed ambitions across the country.

Motherhood followed, beautiful yet consuming. With babies came a pause — a long, indefinite pause. Life was no longer about research papers but lullabies; no longer about dissertations but diapers. My days revolved around feeding schedules, scraped knees, school projects, and bedtime stories. It was a full, joyful, exhausting time. And before I realised it, two decades had flown by in a blink.

When my children flew the nest, I found myself in a quiet house that echoed differently. The silence was deafening. The emptiness nudged me, questioned me, and finally awakened me. Somewhere inside, a slumbering Rip Van Winkle stirred. That spark pushed me to restart.

“Every moment is a fresh beginning.” — T.S. Eliot

Entering the workforce after a long hiatus felt like trying to merge onto a highway where everyone else was speeding at 120 km/hr. While I paused, others sprinted ahead. My peers had climbed the ladder, changed industries, and mastered technologies I had never even heard of. The gap on my CV looked like a canyon.

I applied for job after job — and faced rejection after rejection.

But somewhere inside, a quiet voice whispered, A woman’s journey is never linear — and that’s her strength.

I realised that if I wanted to rise again, I needed to evolve. So, I threw myself into upskilling. I learned the latest software, digital tools, writing techniques, and even refreshed my rusty grammar. Slowly, painfully, consistently, I began rebuilding.

With time, it became clear: research was no longer my calling. Creativity tugged at me like a persistent child. Words fascinated me. Stories comforted me. And so, with a deep breath, I changed gears.

“My gap has given me clarity, courage, and renewed drive.”

Armed with new skills, I decided to start small. I applied for a remote proofreading job I chanced upon online. When I was accepted, it felt like the universe was whispering, “Welcome back.”

That first job was the tiny spark that ignited a fire within me.

As I proofread, I fell in love with the world of writing. Words were my form of catharsis, and they helped me rise. I began writing short pieces in my free time. When my first story got accepted into the Chicken Soup series, I felt ebullient. That moment was ephemeral.  It could be called my eureka moment without a shadow of doubt- that writing was my true calling.

“I wasn’t off track; I was upgrading my perspective.”

With renewed confidence, I dove deeper. I wrote articles, blogs, and poems. I submitted to platforms fearlessly. Rejections came, but acceptances came too. Seeing my name in print felt euphoric — a validation of the woman I was becoming.

Two years passed in this exhilarating whirlwind. Yet, I wanted more. So, I ventured into content writing — an entirely new universe. Without mentors or guidance, I turned to virtual teachers. YouTube became my classroom; blogs became my textbooks. I learned SEO, keyword research, storytelling structures, content strategies — everything that could help me grow.

By 2015, I gathered courage and applied for internships. After six months of silence, a breakthrough came. I landed a virtual internship, and my first assignment was on the Padmavat controversy. The article was widely read. One internship became two, then five, then twenty. My portfolio expanded like a blooming garden. I wrote on health, education, fashion, culture — each topic taught me something new.

Consistency became my superpower. Deadlines became my fuel. I was soon known as a star performer and even a “woman restarter ambassador.” The recognition felt surreal.

By 2018, two companies approached me to work as their content strategist and edu-advisor. Simultaneously, I got an opportunity to teach Spoken English online. Suddenly, my days were overflowing — writing in the morning, mentoring in the afternoon, strategising at night. And I loved every minute of it.

I started my own blog, writing regularly. Its readership grew, and soon my work found its way into national magazines like Women’s Era, Reader’s Digest, and LitGleam. My articles also appeared in national newspapers.

Yet, ambition has its own rhythm. I wanted to test my voice globally. I submitted a piece to a UK-based magazine. When the acceptance email arrived, the editor praised my clarity and storytelling. That single line of praise gave me wings.

Then came 2020 — the year the world hit pause. But in my life, it became a year of introspection and creativity. I read, wrote, experimented, and even painted. Mandala art became therapy, a quiet meditation in colour and symmetry. This period introduced me to anthologies. I submitted my stories and poems and was published in seven anthologies and a coffee table book by Literoma.

Gradually, another unexpected door opened — the world of oratory. I participated in open mics, video contests, and quote competitions. To my surprise, I won several. The camera, which once intimidated me, slowly became my friend.

Interviews followed — platforms sharing my journey as an inspiration for women restarters. A global magazine featured my story. Another invited me to anchor their chat shows, where I interacted with dynamic, trailblazing women across the world. A friend once tagged me in a poetry contest. I entered it casually, without expectations. But soon, poetry began flowing through me naturally. I realised writing had gifted me multiple voices — prose, poetry, storytelling, strategy.

One of my most cherished chapters began when I joined a volunteer platform supporting parents of children with autism. Today, I proudly serve as a core ambassador for their awareness program. This cause grounds me, humbles me, and keeps my heart open.

Looking back, the journey gives me elation from researcher → homemaker → proofreader → writer → content strategist → speaker → volunteer. Each role added a new petal to my bloom.

And the journey isn’t over. Not even close.

“You can’t go back and change the beginning,
but you can start where you are and change the ending.” — C.S. Lewis

To every woman who believes a career break is the end — please know: it is not a full stop. It is merely a comma. A pause. A chance to breathe, evolve, and return stronger. Upskilling, stepping out, exploring — these are the bridges that lead from stagnation to sprint.

From being a “nobody,” forgotten in the folds of domesticity, I metamorphosed into “somebody” — an award-winning author, a speaker, a mentor, a volunteer, a woman who rebuilt her life one word at a time.

My life today feels like a dream sequence, playing in slow motion — surreal, colourful, ascending.

And I know, with every fibre of my being, the best is yet to come.

“There is no limit to what we, as women, can accomplish.”

. . .