My Story

I’m a Chartered Accountant and a Company Secretary by qualification. After my CA and CS, I worked with Wipro for three years, got married, and joined my family business. On paper, it looked like a life that was working. Underneath it, something wasn’t. There was a version of myself I hadn’t met yet, and going through the motions of a career I’d trained for wasn’t going to introduce me to her.

Then came 2021, and with it, COVID.

My husband had been on antacids for three to four years. A family doctor told us that if he continued much longer, it could damage his kidneys and liver. That single sentence changed something in me. I started reading everything I could about acid reflux and fatty liver, about the food and habits that were quietly wearing his body down. I began implementing home remedies, and within two months, his fatty liver went from grade one down to almost minimal. That was the moment I stopped reading out of worry and started reading out of purpose. My journey into nutrition began that March.

But even as I built a practice and took on clients, I wasn’t fully in it. I was still doing what I’d always done, managing everything alone, my body, my stress, this new path, without ever really asking for help. I didn’t know it yet, but that pattern was about to catch up with me.

I conceived in February 2022. My son was born that November. Fifteen days later, the back pain started.

We told ourselves it was normal postpartum soreness. It wasn’t. It spread to my glutes, my hips, then both knees, then my shoulders, until my entire body was in pain and I couldn’t turn over in bed on my own.

I was breastfeeding a newborn while my body fell apart, and postpartum hormones and anxiety were already rewriting my sense of who I was. Doctors put me on steroids and painkillers. They brought temporary relief and nothing more, and some days the medication itself left me too dizzy to open my eyes. Two and a half months in, I was told that increasing the dose would mean stopping breastfeeding. I refused.

I went from doctors to doctors. I was told I might be paralyzed. I was told this couldn’t be fixed. I was told to expect two to three years on medication before seeing any change. I remember questioning my own existence, and I remember the guilt of questioning my son’s, in the same breath. That guilt has taken years to make peace with, and I’m still making peace with it today.

A family friend led me to a naturopath who made one condition clear from the start, he would treat me only if I kept breastfeeding. I knew he was the right person the moment he said it. I ran his treatment alongside my allopathic medicine, unable to stop the second cold turkey, and at one point I was taking thirty different home remedies a day. Every single day carried the same question underneath it, why me, why now, why my son.

What almost no one saw was the isolation. I pulled away from my friends and social circle, even as I kept my closest family near. I wanted to be left alone, and in the same breath I wanted someone, anyone, to stay with me. Underneath both feelings was something quieter and harder to name, a kind of shame. Not shame exactly, but a sense that this shouldn’t be happening to me. People said it themselves, how can someone so healthy end up like this. Their words stayed with me longer than the pain did.

By May 2023, I could finally get up. It took nearly a year of physiotherapy, chiropractic care, and every healing approach I could find before I was walking properly again.

For a while, I believed I was done. But the pain hadn’t finished with me. Any time I pushed my body, a new sport, an intense workout, carrying my son for too long, that same sacroiliitis pain would return. Every flare-up sent me chasing the same question, was this simply my life now. And every time, I chased quick relief instead of asking what my body actually needed.

Three years and countless rounds of the same cycle later, I finally understood why. When you’re in pain, relief feels like the finish line, so you stop the moment it arrives. I had spent three years getting relief and never once rebuilding the strength underneath it, my back, my core, my pelvic floor, all left exactly as they were the day I gave birth.

So I went back to a chiropractor and a physiotherapist and asked them to treat me as if I had just delivered, because in every way that mattered, I had never actually recovered. This time, I rebuilt properly, somatic work, chiropractic care, physiotherapy, Ayurveda, and the deeper work of the mind that I had skipped every time before.

This journey took years longer than it needed to, because I kept treating the surface and skipping the source. It taught me that stress, unprocessed emotion, and the food we eat are never separate stories, they’re one story. The body isn’t only shaped by what we eat. It carries what we feel, sometimes from as far back as childhood, sometimes from before we can even remember, and it holds onto that until we’re willing to release it instead of push it further down.

I’m deeply grateful for my son today, and I still carry a quiet guilt for the moment I questioned his existence in my darkest week. I know I’ll continue making peace with that. In more ways than one, his birth gave me a rebirth of my own.

I know what it feels like to have every answer available online and still have no one to help you actually follow through. I know what it’s like to feel your body sending signals for years while life refuses to pause and listen. And I know, better than most, that real healing was never going to come from a meal plan alone.

Today, I work across nutrition, lifestyle, stress, and sleep, because none of these live in isolation from each other, they all feed into and shape one another. What I offer is honest, personalized guidance, someone who takes the time to truly understand your body and your life, and who stays with you while you rebuild both, one step at a time.

That is the work I do now, and it’s the most meaningful work I’ve ever done. If there’s one thing I want you to take from my story, let it be this, healing is possible, no matter how long you’ve been carrying it, no matter how many times you’ve tried and stopped. Your body isn’t broken, it’s simply been waiting for someone to truly listen to it, the way I eventually learned to listen to mine. Being healthy is your birthright, and every day is a fresh chance to choose it. I’d love to walk that path with you.