YELLLOO!!

My Journey

The truth is, my story started long before I understood anything. I lost my mom when I was just 16 days old. I didn’t even get to know her, and still — I missed her. It’s a strange kind of pain, missing someone you’ve never met. It’s like something was always missing inside me, and I didn’t know what or why.

I grew up in a big joint family. There were always people around, a lot of love, and even more pampering. But I never really felt safe. You know that kind of safety where you can break down, cry, fall apart in someone’s arms? I didn’t have that. So very early on, I learned to hold it all in. By the time I was five, people were already calling me “strong.” Telling me I didn’t need anyone. And slowly, I started believing it. At home, no one talked openly about what really happened. I was told things about my mother and family that weren’t true. I carried those stories like they were mine, until I got old enough to realize — a lot of it was lies. But by then, the damage was done. I didn’t have the courage to question anything. I didn’t want to shake things up. So I stayed quiet. And that silence turned into anger, frustration, distance. I avoided talking about it because… what was the point?

Academically, my cousins were brilliant. And I was just… trying. But no matter how much I pushed myself, it never felt good enough. Eventually, I gave up trying the “right” way. I started cheating in school just to get by. Not because I didn’t care — but because I cared too much and didn’t know how to deal with feeling like a disappointment. It was easier to fake it than to feel the constant shame of failing.

Food became my comfort. My escape. It was the one thing I could control. Or maybe the one thing I let control me. I gained weight, struggled with obesity, and dealt with endless comments from people who had no idea how much pain I was already in. My body became something I felt disconnected from — a source of shame, not home.

There were other things too. Feelings about my body, about myself, that felt too personal to talk about. Early desires, curiosities I didn’t know what to do with. I felt ashamed. So I just… acted on things instead of understanding them. I’d tell myself, “kya hi hoga?” — what’s the worst that can happen? It was easier than sitting with all the confusion. That phrase became my way of avoiding. But it didn’t help. It just pushed everything deeper. Even with friends, I had walls up. I was loud, funny, dramatic — but inside, I was shut down. I craved connection, but I kept mistaking attention for closeness. I didn’t know how to let people in. Or maybe I just didn’t trust that anyone would stay.

I held so much inside — sadness, confusion, anger. But I couldn’t show it. I didn’t know how. I didn’t even cry properly for years. I got so used to being “fine” that I forgot what it felt like to actually feel. Then one day, a friend looked at me and gently said, “Why don’t you try therapy?” I shrugged it off at first.

But eventually, I went. And in that room, for the first time in my life, I was allowed to just be. I could talk about things I never told anyone. About the lies, the guilt, the secrets, the rage, the body shame, the numbness. There were no quick fixes. My therapist just sat there, listening, really listening — like my pain made sense. Like I made sense. It changed something in me.

Not overnight. Healing never works like that. I slipped. I numbed out again. I pushed people away. I still found it hard to accept love — not because I didn’t want it, but because I didn’t know how to let it in. I’d built my whole life around being strong and self-sufficient. Letting someone care felt terrifying.

But little by little, I started coming back to myself. I faced truths I’d buried. I confronted the stories I was raised with. I stopped pretending. I allowed myself to feel — all of it. The anger, the shame, the fear, the longing. And somehow, through all that, I found a deeper connection to who I really am.

That’s why I created WithKashish. Not because I have all the answers. Not because I’ve “figured it out.” But because I know what it feels like to live with unspoken pain. I know what it’s like to feel alone in a room full of people. To not know where you belong. To crave connection but be terrified of it at the same time.

WithKashish is a space where you don’t have to perform. Where you don’t have to hide your sadness, your shame, or your silence. Where you’re allowed to just be. Exactly as you are.