Before I joined EPH, my life felt like a journey with many highs, many blessings, and also many silent battles that no one could see.

I grew up as a happy-go-lucky girl filled with hope. My parents loved me endlessly. They gave me everything they could within their limits. My childhood and schooling were full of beautiful memories, and my bond with my younger brother was, and still is, one of the strongest pillars of my life.

When I stepped into marriage, a new chapter began. I believed I was ready, but inside, I was emotionally fragile. A past relationship had left me wounded. I had been constantly questioned, doubted, and never acknowledged, and although I was grateful to God for pulling me out of that painful phase, the wounds stayed. I built an emotional fence around myself. I refused to give anyone the power to hurt me again.

Mentally, I stayed strong, because my mother had raised me to believe that everything happens for a reason. She was the only woman in her government office, constantly surrounded by men who tried to pull her down. But she remained deeply spiritual and unshakeable in her faith. She taught us strength not through words but through action. She lived with honesty, fearlessness, ethics, surrender, and complete trust in God. My mental and spiritual foundation came from her.

Financially, we struggled as a family. My parents often requested the school principal to allow them to pay fees later. Sometimes we were asked to stand outside the school gate for late payments. But never once did their courage let us feel embarrassed. They taught us gratitude even during hardship. They dreamt of building a home, took loans, faced judgment from people, and yet handled everything with dignity. Their only support system was faith in God.

Growing up with such parents made me mentally strong. I learned that nothing is permanent, that every challenge carries a purpose, and that God always walks with us.

When I got married, I was blessed with a wonderful husband, a loving man with all the qualities I could dream of. But because of my emotional fragility, I took everything personally. Everything he said felt like a trigger. Every small issue became a matter of ego. I knew I needed help, but every time a fight settled, I pushed the truth aside.

Then I became a mother. I quit my job and wanted to be the perfect mom. I still remember the day it began. I had prayed at Udupi Krishna Temple wearing a blue sari, tears rolling down in gratitude. Standing before Krishna, I whispered a prayer to become a mother. I visualized a little boy with Krishna’s innocence and joy. On Guru Poornima, I found out I was pregnant. My husband and I cried in gratitude. We promised to raise a happy child together.

Pregnancy was sacred to me. I ate fruits even though I disliked them. I walked every day. In the seventh month, I had to take bed rest. My husband stayed home, arranged support, and cared for me with love. In the eighth month, complications arose and after two days in the hospital, my son was born, wrapped in a blue towel. I cried with joy, surrounded by my family’s tears of happiness.

Then came the shock. He might have had an infection because he was early. He was taken to the NICU. I was discharged. That moment broke me. For eight days, I visited him, sat with my husband on hospital benches, fed him, prayed for him, and returned home with a heavy heart.

After he came home, joy mixed with fear. I did not understand postpartum depression. I laughed outside and collapsed inside. I wanted to be perfect. Instead, I became overwhelmed. My husband and I argued constantly. I became mechanically functional. On top of that came the fear of my son’s speech delay, the possibility of ADHD, the guilt, the self-blame. Even when therapists reassured us later that he was normal, I carried invisible guilt. I felt responsible for everything. Every observation from my husband felt like blame, even though it never was.

Financial dependency added another layer of pain. Even though my husband always reassured me, I hesitated to ask. I placed myself low and placed him on a pedestal. I felt suffocated. I monitored my son constantly, exhausted myself mentally, and refused to acknowledge that I needed help. I feared judgment. I feared vulnerability.

On December twenty fourth, two thousand twenty one, a small argument turned into a terrible fight. I shouted in front of my little boy. Later that night, he placed his tiny hands on my face and said that my fight with his father disturbed him in his head. That moment broke me completely. I cried uncontrollably and told my husband I never wanted to be this kind of mother or wife. But even then, I could not say the word sorry.

I tried to change on my own. I read a little. I tried to control myself. I failed again and again. Slowly, my relationship began fading. I kept telling myself that I was trying but deep down, I was taking no action.

I am forever grateful to my husband for standing by me. Anyone else might have left me, but he stayed. He believed that I was the right mother for our child.

In November of two thousand twenty four, my breakthrough came from watching my son play. He kept saying sorry to please his friend for no fault of his. It was like watching my own emotional struggles reflected in him. I knew something needed to change.

I had followed Riddhi Deorah for a long time. In January two thousand twenty five, when I heard her speak about Mom Energy, something inside me awakened. During her webinar, I realized that my real work was not with my child. It was with my energy. That day felt like divine timing. If Riddhi Deorah could protect her energy and become a happy mother, then I could too.

After joining EPH, I felt as if someone had handed me a torch in darkness. I realized I had created a bubble of perfect mom syndrome and lost myself. I did not know who I was beyond being a mother, wife, or daughter. I learned that my child did not need perfection. He needed calmness. My energy was shaping his.

I learned that when a mother works on herself, she works automatically on her child. I became a better listener. I validated his feelings. Slowly, my son transformed. The little boy who once tried to please everyone became joyful and confident. Challenges still appeared, but my responses changed. I no longer panicked. I no longer feared asking for help.

I also understood that a mother is born with her child. Motherhood is a rebirth, a journey of learning, unlearning, and softening. I began to truly live what I had only read in books.

EPH taught me that my role as a wife mattered equally. I became aware that I was the emotional root of my family. If I was not filled with love, gratitude, and respect, the family could not thrive.

Every mother needs a community like EPH because motherhood can feel isolating. EPH turns that isolation into connection, love, and understanding. Here, mothers feel seen, heard, and healed. EPH teaches how to stay calm, what to say, what not to say. It gives tools, not lectures. It reminds mothers that they are more than just their roles. It gives emotional safety, a place where you can fall apart and still be held.

Without EPH, I cannot imagine my life. I cannot imagine my life without Riddhi Deorah. She did not just change my parenting. She changed me from within. I had everything a girl could wish for. A loving family. A loving husband. But inside, something was missing. I was smiling outside and breaking inside.

Today, I am no longer that woman.

Today, I am becoming the mother I always dreamed of.
Today, I am becoming the woman God intended me to be.