In a few words, how would you describe where you are in your midlife journey right now?
I think I’m finally at a stage where I’m not trying to become who I was before everything happened. I’m actually enjoying discovering who I am now.
I’m a mum, I have a career I worked incredibly hard for, I’ve rebuilt a home and life for my children and myself, and I’ve started Glimmer in the Dark, which feels like turning some of the hardest experiences of my life into something that might help another woman.
I still don’t have everything figured out, and strangely, I’m quite comfortable with that now. This part of my life feels less about having a perfect plan and more about trusting myself enough to take the next step.
Where are you based?
I’m based in Hertfordshire in the UK, where I live with my two children. I was born and raised in Kashmir, India, so both places are very much part of who I am.
Tell us your Sattva Story.
I was born and raised in Kashmir, India, in a Muslim family where family, marriage, loyalty, and commitment were deeply important.
My childhood was also shaped by growing up in Kashmir during a period of conflict. Curfews, school closures, and searches were part of life around us. But alongside that was family, community, and a very strong sense of where you belonged.
I grew up with three sisters and with quite clear cultural expectations, particularly around what it meant to be a good daughter and, eventually, a good wife and mother.
I want to be careful when I talk about culture because I don’t reject mine. There is so much about where I come from that I love, and that has shaped who I am. Family, loyalty, commitment, and community still matter enormously to me.
But one of the things I’ve had to learn in midlife is the difference between the values that are genuinely mine and the expectations I carried simply because they were handed to me.
I left Kashmir for university and eventually made my life in the UK. I built a career in technology and fintech, got married, and became a mother to two children.
The truth is, I think I knew from very early in my marriage that something wasn’t right. But knowing something and being ready to act on what you know are two very different things.
So I tried. I tried to make my marriage work. I adjusted, compromised, forgave, explained things away, and kept believing that perhaps if I tried differently, tried harder, or gave it more time, things would change.
Marriage mattered to me. Family mattered to me. My culture mattered to me. And once I became a mother, keeping my family together felt even more important.
From the outside, I probably looked like someone who had everything under control. I was progressing professionally and eventually moved into senior leadership. I was raising my children, running a home, and managing all the things that come with family life.
And I was still laughing. I’ve always been the person who fills a room with laughter. Humour is a huge part of who I am, and I think sometimes people assume that if you’re laughing, functioning, and succeeding, you must be okay.
A woman can be incredibly capable and still be struggling.
My marriage became very difficult and involved coercive control. Over time, I became incredibly good at adjusting. You compromise here. You keep the peace there. You explain something away. You try again.
It doesn’t always feel like you’re losing yourself while it’s happening. Sometimes you only realise much later how far away from yourself you’ve travelled.
But through all of that, there was one boundary inside me that I always knew I had. One thing I knew, deep down, was that if it was ever crossed, something would have to change.
Eventually, that boundary was crossed.
I remember looking at my daughter and thinking: This ends with me.
For years, I had believed that by absorbing the difficult things, holding everything together, and continuing to try, I was somehow taking the bullet for my children. So many of my decisions had been justified by the same words: For the children.
But suddenly I saw those words differently. I looked at my daughter and thought about the woman I wanted her to become. I thought about both of my children and what I wanted them to understand about love, boundaries, self-respect, and knowing when something isn’t right.
And I realised that I couldn’t teach them those things only with words. I had to show them.
I remember thinking: A new legacy starts with me.
‘For the children’ no longer meant only asking myself whether I should keep the family together. It also meant asking: What do I want my children to learn from the life they see me living?
That didn’t suddenly make me fearless. I didn’t have a wonderful five-year plan. I didn’t know what my family would look like. I didn’t know how I would manage everything or who I would become.
I was still frightened. But I could be uncertain about my future while being certain about my boundary. And once I knew that, I couldn’t unknow it. I just had to take the next step.
What followed was divorce and family court while continuing to raise my children and maintain a demanding career. It was one of the hardest periods of my life.
But leaving isn’t the end of the story. In many ways, that’s where another story begins. Because after all the surviving, decisions, and practical battles comes a much quieter question: Who am I now?
For years I’d been somebody’s wife, a mother, a professional, and the person holding everything together. Rebuilding meant discovering who Taz was underneath all of those roles.
And it wasn’t some dramatic transformation. It happened in tiny ways. Making decisions for myself. Creating a peaceful home for my children and me. Continuing to grow professionally. Learning to ask for help. Getting things wrong. Getting some things right. Laughing again. Learning to trust my own judgment.
Every time I handled something I once thought I couldn’t handle, I gave myself another little piece of evidence: Maybe I can trust myself.
And that’s probably where I am in midlife now. I’m not trying to go backwards and become the woman I was before my marriage or divorce. I don’t want her back. I’m discovering the woman who came out the other side.
Somewhere in that rebuilding, I realised that the experiences I had once wished I could erase might
actually allow me to sit beside another woman differently.
I trained and became a certified Breakup and Divorce Coach, and eventually I created Glimmer in the Dark.
The name is very deliberate. When your life feels dark, I don’t think you necessarily need somebody standing outside it telling you exactly what to do. Sometimes you need to feel heard. You need somewhere to untangle everybody else’s voice from your own. And sometimes you just need enough clarity to see the next step.
I never knew what my life would look like today. I didn’t know I would rebuild a home for my children and myself. I didn’t know that I would continue building my career. I didn’t know I would create Glimmer. And I certainly didn’t know that some of the hardest parts of my life would eventually become part of my purpose.
I didn’t have the whole road mapped out. I just took one step. Then another. Then another. And eventually, those steps became a life that feels like mine.
Is there one thing you wish someone had told you earlier about midlife?
I wish someone had told me that midlife can actually be one of the greatest opportunities to press the reset button, but this time you’re not starting as the same person. You’re starting again with wisdom. :)
When you're younger, you start building your life while you're still learning who you are. Midlife feels different to me. It comes with maturity, perspective, and the opportunity to reflect on what you've lived, what you've learned, and what you want the next part of your life to look like.
