She rises.
And this time, that she is me.
The full story — where I came from, what broke me open, and how I found my way through.
WHERE IS BEGINS
I didn't set out to become a coach. I set out to survive.
I grew up in a home that looked fine from the outside. We had everything we needed. But underneath, there was a current of pain that I learned very early to manage quietly because that's what you did. You held it together. You kept going. You didn't make it harder for everyone else.
That's the thing about growing up in a family carrying trauma.. you learn to read rooms before you can read books. You become so attuned to everyone else's emotional state that you forget you're allowed to have one of your own.
I carried that pattern for a long time. Decades, really. And it cost me in ways I'm still understanding.
GROWING UP WITH GRIEF
It's a particular kind of grief loving someone who is present but not quite there. Watching someone you love disappear slowly, in plain sight. Learning to love someone whose pain is bigger than their ability to show up.
I became very good at holding space for other people's pain. I didn't know then that one day that would become my life's work. I just knew I needed to understand it why people hurt the way they do, why we repeat patterns even when we can see them clearly, why the mind does what it does under pressure.
My father struggled with addiction and health from the time I was sixteen. That changes you in ways you don't fully grasp until much later.
I didn’t really understand it at the time but I now know. That's what sent me toward Neuroscience (when no one even knew what it was when I said I was doing a degree in it). An intellectual curiosity and one that made me think this will be super interesting and I was excited to learn how the mind, the brain.
Then my body started giving me messages I couldn't ignore.
Autoimmune disease (in my case psoriasis a skin condition) has a way of making the conversation very direct, to the point. When your body starts attacking itself, you can't keep pretending everything is fine. You can't push through it the way you've pushed through everything else.
The conventional approach was to manage it. Medicate it. Reduce symptoms. I did that for a while and then I started asking a different question. Not "how do I manage this" but "what is my body trying to tell me?" and what can I do to avoid taking strong steroid creams for the longer term.
That question changed everything. It sent me toward nervous system work (I didn’t quite call it that back then), toward understanding the connection between chronic stress, emotional suppression and physical illness. Honestly, as soon as I started doing Yoga, the traditional kind with breathwork and meaning behind it all, meditation (my yoga teacher showed me) and regular exercise and running I started to see my body heal itself. I healed it with some support from TCM (no-one really knew what this was back then but even then I was always looking into holistic therapies).
It was all gone, minus the smallest patch on my arm (which is also now gone). Zero scars which is a miracle as the skin patches were all over my body, pretty aggressive, just not on my face.
WHEN MY BODY SPOKE
That experience from my early 2os, is the reason nervous system regulation sits at the foundation of everything I do. I didn't learn it from a textbook. I lived it back to health.
Then came the fertility journey. And with it, a kind of grief I hadn't prepared for.
I went through multiple rounds of IVF over four years in a new country I had just re-located too with little friends, community and network. If you've been through it, you already know, there are no words that quite cover it. The hope that builds with each cycle. The personal devastation of each one that doesn't work. The way your body starts to feel like a project you're failing at miserably.
I also know what it's like to walk through the fertility journey as a woman of South Asian heritage with all the cultural weight that comes with it. The questions. The comments. The silence that speaks volumes in a crowded room. The pressure that just hits differently when your family and community have very specific ideas about what your life should look like by now. For full disclosure and context I got married in my late 30s, after living on my own in my flat in London for a long time so I was already raising eyebrows in my community at this point.
I sought support during this time coaches, therapists, communities, I did a 15 day Ayurvedic Detox in Kerala, India. And I found something important: most of it wasn't quite right for women like me. Too clinical. Too detached. Pretty much zero EQ. Not culturally fluent. Not reaching the parts that actually needed reaching.
THE FERTILITY JOURNEY
So I trained. I qualified. I became the coach I had needed first for myself, and then for the women who were finding their way to me.
MOTHERHOOD
At 42, I became a mother. And the woman who arrived on the other side of that was someone I didn't fully recognise.
Motherhood is its own kind of identity dissolution. Even when it's everything you wanted and dreamed about, worked damn hard for, even when you fought for it the way I did, it still asks you to become someone new. The woman you were doesn't quite fit anymore. And figuring out who you are now, in the context of this enormous love and this enormous responsibility, is its own long work.
I’d rebuilt my career from a different place, was building a new business that maybe Asia wasn’t quite ready for, with a different understanding of who I was and what I was actually here to do.
Each of these things, separately, would have been enough to navigate. Together, they required everything I had. And everything I had learned.
THE REBUILD
The deepest healing work of my life happened quietly, over the last few years.
Grief work. Akashic guidance. Reiki. Cacao. Mentorship. RTT. Body Talk. The kind of work that doesn't just shift you, it rebuilds you from the inside. It doesn't happen all at once. It happens in layers, over time, often in the most unexpected moments.
It was during this rebuild that I could finally see clearly what I had been doing and what I was actually capable of. I had been calling myself a Fertility Coach because that was where it started. But the work I do has never really been about fertility. It has always been about what happens to a woman when life asks more of her than she thinks she has. And when life keeps throwing stuff at her when she feels like she has enough to deal with already.
"I always told my clients: don't let infertility define you. And yet here I was, letting it completely define me."
The rebrand to Rise Beyond wasn't a business decision. It was a personal one. It was me finally doing for myself what I had been helping other women do for years — stepping into the fullest version of what I was always meant to be.