 I was recently chatting with a friend whose 16-year-old daughter was prescribed birth control pills for hirsutism, likely due to suspected PCOS. 
Birth control pills are frequently prescribed not just for contraception but also for managing conditions like irregular periods, PCOS, endometriosis, and hormonal acne—even to teenage girls. 

While the convenience and effectiveness of the pill are undeniable, the long-term health effects, especially on young bodies, require more attention and conversation as it might come with unexpected trade-offs.

A comprehensive look at hormonal interventions shows that while pills regulate periods and other imbalances, there is growing concern that long-term pill use, especially by girls who begin taking these pills, might be linked with health conditions later in life. Some evidence suggests that continued pill use can suppress early signs of conditions such as endometriosis and PCOS, causing delayed diagnoses and management as well as impacting fertility in ways that are not yet fully understood​ , including the early onset of menopause – though more studies are required in this area.

Studies have shown that hormonal pills may interfere with natural hormonal rhythms, including cortisol regulation. I recently read How the Pill Changes Everything: Your Brain on Birth Control by research psychologist and author Dr Sarah E. Hill, who speaks about how hormonal birth control impacts the minds, bodies and lives of women. The book especially highlights how the hormones in the pills influence not only the reproductive system but also mental health, causing young girls to experience heightened anxiety, depression, or changes in how they process stress. 

Unfortunately, many young women feel left out of the conversation about what's best for their bodies. With limited access to accurate information or holistic care approaches, they often don't know what questions to ask their doctors. 

It's time to shift the narrative from" one-size-fits-all" solutions to more personalized, informed healthcare choices. Natural approaches, lifestyle changes, and non-hormonal treatments should be discussed as viable alternatives for managing conditions like PCOS, especially for young women who may benefit from a more natural and holistic approach.

Informed decision-making starts with awareness, conversations, and more research into the benefits and risks of these medications. Every young woman deserves to have all the facts about her health—not just a prescription handed to her.

Beyond the Prescription: What Young Girls Aren't Told About Birth Control Pills

There is a unique power that comes from embracing our strength as women, not only for ourselves but also for the world we inhabit. In a world facing complex environmental challenges, strong women are driving change, pushing boundaries, and redefining what it means to live sustainably. Our choices—both in how we care for ourselves and how we care for the planet—are intertwined in ways that make a powerful impact.

A strong woman knows that her well-being matters. Every sustainable swap we make contributes to a healthier planet. Climate action does not require grand gestures. Just as a healthy body is a result of daily habits, a greener planet is the outcome of our small and consistent everyday choices.

Three Ways Strong Women Can Lead the Path to Sustainability

**1. Lead by Example**

Embrace sustainable practices, whether they involve reducing single-use plastics, prioritizing reusable options, or supporting ethical brands. Our choices inspire others to consider the impact of their habits.

**2. Prioritize Personal Health in Sustainable Ways**

Taking care of our health with sustainable products and mindful practices supports both our well-being and the planet. Opt for clean beauty, organic foods, and wellness products that focus on minimal environmental impact.

**3. Build Resilient Communities**

A sustainable future requires a network of strong, supportive communities. As women, we have the power to foster networks that educate and support each other. Read, share, and inspire others to adopt greener choices. A community of strong women sharing sustainable values can create lasting change in ways that individual actions alone cannot.

So as we watch world leaders gather next week at COP29 to discuss the future of our planet, let's remember that our strength—our resilience—our values and our choices will fuel change. Sustainability is more than a trend; it's a testament to the power of women who are willing to lead the way, inspiring and empowering those around them.


Greener Together

What no one really prepares you for is how much of menstrual health feels like a guessing game. You’re taught the basics—what a period is, how to manage it—but what happens when your period comes with more than just cramps?" What about the pain that feels unbearable or the symptoms that derail your life? For many of us, these experiences are brushed off, minimized, or worse, ignored entirely. And for those who live with conditions like PCOS, endometriosis, or severe PMS, it’s not just a “women’s issue”—it’s a daily fight for normalcy, for dignity, and for relief.

I’ve had my own struggles with menstrual health, but what really opened my eyes were the stories of the women around me. Friends, colleagues, even strangers—so many of them shared the same frustrations, the same resilience, and the same quiet perseverance in the face of conditions that most of the world still doesn’t understand. These stories deserve to be heard.

Ayesha is one of those friends whose strength leaves you in awe. She carries herself with grace, but beneath that calm exterior is a resilience forged through years of battling relentless pain. For years, her periods weren’t just an inconvenience—they were crippling. The kind that would make her cancel plans, miss work, and retreat from life. “I thought it was normal,” she told me one evening. “I thought all women felt this way.”

But deep down, Ayesha knew something wasn’t right. There were too many days when the pain dictated her life, robbing her of energy and joy. Still, every doctor she saw dismissed her concerns. “Bad cramps,” they said. “Take a painkiller, use a heating pad.” Each visit left her feeling more invisible, more unheard. It wasn’t until nearly a decade later, after countless consultations and mounting frustration, that she finally heard the word that explained it all: endometriosis.

The word gave her condition a name, but no relief. “It was a strange mix of emotions,” she told me, her voice steady but laced with frustration. “I was relieved to know I wasn’t imagining it, but angry that it took so long for someone to listen.”

Ayesha’s days now are a balancing act. She’s found solace in yoga, dietary adjustments, and moments of rest she unapologetically carves out for herself. “I’ve learned to listen to my body,” she said, her tone soft but firm, a quiet defiance against the years she spent ignoring its cries for help. “Some days, I push through. Other days, I let myself stop—and that’s okay.”

Hearing her story made me think about how often women are conditioned to endure pain, to downplay their discomfort, and to push through as if suffering is part of the deal. Ayesha’s words echoed in my mind “I thought all women felt this way. I thought it was normal”. They don’t. It’s not!


Then there’s Priya, who was diagnosed with PCOS in her late teens. For her, it started with irregular periods and unexplained weight gain. The solution? A quick prescription for birth control pills and a half-hearted “you’ll be fine” from her doctor. But Priya wasn’t fine. The pills came with side effects—mood swings, headaches, and a sense of imbalance she couldn’t shake. “PCOS,” she said with a wry laugh, stirring her cappuccino. “It’s like this annoying roommate I never invited, but now I have to live with.” “No one really explained what it was or how it would affect my life,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration. “I was just expected to deal with it.”

Determined to take control, she began researching alternative approaches—diet, exercise, mindfulness. “It’s not perfect,” she admitted, leaning back in her chair. “Some days are harder than others, but I’ve learned what works for me. It’s all about small victories.”

As she spoke, I couldn’t help but admire her resilience, her refusal to let PCOS define her. “I’ve learned to work with my body instead of fighting against it,” she said, her words resonating deeply with me. It was a reminder that health isn’t about perfection; it’s about partnership—with yourself, your body, and your needs.

Our bodies deserve more than being forced into compliance with quick fixes or one-size-fits-all solutions. Priya’s journey reminded me how vital it is to have real options—choices that are informed, compassionate, and tailored to individual needs. Women shouldn’t have to settle for treatments that mask symptoms without addressing the root cause. Is it still progress, if meaningful options for women’s health remain so limited? It’s not.

Mira’s story is one I think about often. We met in her sunlit living room, the hum of city life faintly audible outside. She sipped on chamomile tea as she spoke, her words measured, deliberate. “The week before my period, I don’t even recognize myself,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “The mood swings, the anxiety, the fatigue—it’s like my body is betraying me.” For Mira, severe PMS wasn’t just physical; it was emotional. It affected her relationships, her work, her sense of self. “I used to feel so much shame about it,”

For years, Mira tried to hide it. She didn’t want to be seen as “difficult” or “too sensitive.” But keeping it to herself only made things worse. It wasn’t until she opened up to those around her - her partner, her close friends that she began to feel less alone. Their support gave her the courage to seek help, and she began exploring therapies that could help manage her symptoms. Magnesium supplements, evening primrose oil, and cognitive behavioral therapy became part of her routine. “It’s not perfect,” she said, echoing Priya’s sentiment, “but I’m learning to be kinder to myself.”

Kindness. That’s a word that resonates deeply. How often do we offer compassion to others while withholding it from ourselves? 

Mira’s story stayed with me long after I left her home. It reminded me of how often women carry these burdens alone, feeling the weight of stigma and misunderstanding. Her willingness to share her journey felt like an act of quiet rebellion against the silence that surrounds menstrual health. Is it right that women are left to navigate these struggles alone? It’s not.


If there’s one thing I’ve learned from these women, it’s that perseverance isn’t about enduring pain in silence—it’s about fighting for yourself, advocating for what you need, and refusing to settle for less than you deserve. Ayesha, Priya, and Mira have shown me that there’s strength in vulnerability, power in sharing your story, and hope in demanding better.

So, let’s talk about menstrual health—not as a taboo, but as a crucial part of overall well-being. Let’s push for change, support one another, and ensure these conditions no longer remain in the shadows. Because when we break the silence, we pave the way for understanding, empathy, and real progress. Is it possible to build that future together? It is!

Periods, Pain, and Perseverance

Women's health concerns have often been shrouded in silence. In India, this silence is particularly pronounced. Conversations about periods, menopause, and other health concerns are usually suppressed, leaving many women misunderstood, misdiagnosed, and uninformed, preventing them from seeking the help and support they need. The unspoken rule to manage quietly and not discuss our health openly is a common thread in most women's lives, leaving us to endure in silence and believe it is our fate, a rite of passage – after all, isn’t it all part of “being a woman?

As I faced my own health challenges, from hormonal imbalances and ovarian cysts to anxiety and severe postpartum depression, the lack of open dialogue continued. I have undergone two laparoscopies, two laparotomies, and two C-sections. My symptoms were often classified as psychological or dismissed altogether. I have been prescribed birth control pills as a one-size-fits-all solution for various issues, from acne to menstrual pain and even migraines, without fully explaining the long-term effects. 

At 36, shortly after the birth of my second child, I unexpectedly found myself entering perimenopause, a condition I knew little about. The sudden onset brought with it a surge of panic, intense loneliness, and a deep sense of failure. The physical changes, hormonal fluctuations, and emotional strain were unbearable. I felt completely lost and unsupported. Attempts to discuss my situation often resulted in nervous laughter and indifference, with comments like, “Well, you're not trying to get pregnant, so why does it matter?” Many even attributed my symptoms to my diet and lifestyle, which only deepened my sense of isolation. Navigating this new phase of life felt incredibly daunting.

Now, having reached menopause, over a decade (two in some cases) earlier than most of my friends and peers. I face additional challenges I had not envisaged. New obstacles to overcome. New solutions and treatments to seek. The journey to find effective and gentle methods for symptom management has been fraught with difficulty, marked by trial and error, frustration, and moments of despair.

These experiences opened my eyes to the profound impact of silence and bias on women's health. Too often, our reports of pain and discomfort are hushed or dismissed as exaggerated or emotional. Conditions like endometriosis and fibromyalgia frequently go undiagnosed for years because their symptoms are not recognized or are mistaken for less serious conditions. 

The time for change is now. No woman should be left to suffer in silence, feeling invisible and burdened by her health. For far too long, our health issues have been sidelined or disregarded. For too long, we've wandered blindly, misled by a glaring absence of knowledge, conversation, and inclusive research skewed toward male physiology. Scientific progress is promising, but it’s only part of the solution. We must shatter this silence, share our stories, and ensure no one faces this journey alone. 

Maya Angelou once said, "You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them." This quote speaks to me. It reminds me of the importance of resilience and support. The need to speak and speak out. The need to share our stories. To advocate for more inclusive research, higher quality products, and greater transparency. Information is power; through camaraderie and conversation, we can break down barriers and make informed decisions, paving the way to a healthier and more informed society. 

This is what I envision Terrapy to be: a space where women can share their stories without fear or shame. A platform for information and options where we can learn, share, and support one another while we navigate our health journeys together. A community where every voice is heard, every experience is valued, and where we unite to break the silence and inspire each other toward a happier, healthier, and more vibrant life. 

I invite you to join me on this journey…..

Breaking the Silence

I remember the first time I turned to natural remedies. It was during a restless night, facing discomfort that I couldn’t quite explain and hadn’t been prepared for. Growing up, these types of experiences weren’t openly discussed, and the “solutions” I’d been offered felt more like quick fixes than genuine paths to healing. I wasn’t looking for a one-size-fits-all answer. I wanted a choice—one that understood my body and respected it.

As I explored my options, I felt pulled between two worlds: ancient practices, familiar and comforting, and science, with its promise to clarify and validate those remedies.

In today’s wellness landscape, there’s often a perceived divide between science and natural medicine. Some view science as the realm of synthetic drugs and complex chemicals, while natural medicine represents ancient practices, herbal remedies, and a “back-to-nature” philosophy. But here’s a thought: science and natural medicine are not just compatible; they’re essential partners. For natural medicine to be genuinely effective and widely accepted, it must be informed by science. Here’s why.


For centuries, healing traditions have relied on herbs, roots, and minerals, but the why behind their effectiveness often remained a mystery. Today, science has begun to unlock these secrets, showing us how compounds like turmeric reduce inflammation or how magnesium aids in better sleep. With this understanding of how natural ingredients interact with our bodies, we can isolate and combine them to optimize their benefits and use them with greater precision and safety.

Take turmeric, for example. Its active ingredient, curcumin, is known for its powerful anti-inflammatory properties. But curcumin alone isn’t a magic cure; its effectiveness depends on factors like absorption, dosage, and timing. With scientific insight, we can move beyond vague suggestions and folklore and turn natural remedies into precise therapies that deliver consistent, measurable results.


One of the things I quickly learned on my wellness journey is that “natural” doesn’t always mean “safe.” Just because a remedy comes from nature doesn’t mean it’s automatically suited to everyone or every condition. Some natural compounds can interact with medications or even have side effects if not used correctly. Science helps us identify these interactions and refine our use of natural remedies to avoid potential risks. By studying these interactions, science helps ensure that people can benefit from natural medicine without compromising their safety—a crucial aspect that builds trust and confidence in these treatments.


One of the main challenges in natural medicine is bioavailability—the extent to which our bodies can absorb and use a substance. Many natural compounds are beneficial, but they’re not always easy for our bodies to absorb to benefit from these remedies. This is where scientific advancements come into play. Modern techniques like **micronization, solid lipid nanoparticles (SLNs), phytosome technology**, and **fermentation** have enhanced the efficacy of natural compounds by making them more bioavailable. And thereby enhancing their effectiveness.


Phytosome technology for instance,  binds plant compounds with phospholipids, which enhances their absorption by the body. Or Fermentation which not only breaks down plant materials, making them easier to absorb, but also enriches their bioactive profile, potentially creating new, beneficial compounds. Science, in this way, takes the gifts of nature and helps us make the most of them.


Natural medicine is beautifully personal, often tailored to fit the needs of the individual. But it’s also imprecise without scientific support.  Some people metabolize certain herbal compounds more slowly, while others might need higher doses to experience benefits By studying these individual variations, we can now analyze specific biomarkers, genetic predispositions, and lifestyle factors to develop  more effective, personalized natural medicine treatments that are in harmony with each person’s unique biology and lifestyle, achieving results that feel genuinely holistic.

Take magnesium, for example. It’s a common supplement for sleep and stress, but there are different types—magnesium citrate, glycinate, and oxide, each with unique benefits. By understanding which form best suits an individual’s needs, we can personalize care rather than prescribing a one-size-fits-all solution.


Traditional natural medicine is inherently preventive. It’s not just about treating symptoms; it’s about keeping the body in balance and promoting resilience. But it’s science that confirms these benefits and helps us fine-tune preventive care. Studies have shown that compounds like antioxidants and adaptogens strengthen the immune system, reduce stress responses, and even slow aging.

Knowing that these claims are backed by science doesn’t just validate natural medicine—it empowers us to take charge of our health in ways that are proactive and rooted in evidence.


Natural medicine has deep roots in cultural traditions, from Ayurveda and Traditional Chinese Medicine to Indigenous healing systems. These systems contain a wealth of knowledge, but science plays a crucial role in translating this knowledge into universally applicable treatments. I remember my grandmother’s turmeric milk for colds and her neem paste for rashes. These remedies carry cultural significance, but without validation, they’re often dismissed in the modern world. Science allows us to honor this wisdom by proving its value, making these remedies credible and accessible for future generations.

This bridging of tradition and science doesn’t mean abandoning one for the other—it means preserving and respecting both.


At the heart of it, science brings transparency to natural medicine. In a world where wellness trends can easily blur the line between real and hype, scientific research provides a foundation we can trust. I’ve seen women from all walks of life struggle with limited information, relying on advice that’s often more marketing than medicine. When we have research-backed evidence, we empower ourselves and others to make informed choices. This trust is essential for the natural medicine industry to grow sustainably and responsibly.

In building Terrapy, my goal was to create a space where women could explore these options confidently. A place where science and nature meet, giving us choices that are both informed and empowering


The truth is, we don’t have to choose between science and nature. They’re not conflicting ideologies; they’re two sides of the same coin.  . While nature offers a bounty of healing compounds, science allows us to refine, enhance, and understand them in ways that maximize their potential. Science in natural medicine isn’t about taking something pure and making it artificial; it’s about respecting ancient wisdom and working together, to create a more effective, and balanced approach to health.

Science doesn’t undermine natural medicine; it enriches and elevates it. With this blend of nature and modern innovation, we uncover a path to health that is sustainable, holistic, and truly transformative.

Here’s what I want you to know: you have every right to ask questions, to seek clarity, and to choose treatments that honor and respect your body. Science-backed natural medicine isn’t just an alternative—it’s a powerful movement toward wellness that’s both compassionate and effective. In this approach, you’ll find not only real solutions but also a renewed hope for healing.


Science in Natural Medicine: Friend or Foe?

Here’s the thing: no one tells you about this stuff! Growing up in India, we were always taught to keep our bodies, and especially “women’s issues,” in the shadows. It wasn’t just silence—it was secrecy. In a place where even our sanitary napkins were wrapped in newspaper-like contraband, it’s no wonder menopause was treated like a mythical, unspoken event. We knew it happened, but no one talked about it. The idea of “the change” was so hushed that by the time it hit me, it felt like I was walking into a storm with no umbrella—wholly unprepared and caught off guard by the intensity.

By the time I experienced my first sleepless, sweat-drenched night, Menopause wasn’t some whispered mystery; it was a reality—and I had to face it head-on, fumbling through symptoms I didn’t even have a name for. I wasn’t just losing sleep—I was losing my mind and sanity.
 I remember one afternoon, I was sitting in a meeting when suddenly I was hit with what I can only describe as a heatwave from the inside out. I tried to play it cool, but when you’re fanning yourself with a file folder and sweating through your blouse in a fully air-conditioned room, it’s hard to act casual. It felt both hilarious and terrifying to realize I was navigating a life stage I had never been taught to expect



Looking back, it shocks me how little we, as women, are taught about this natural stage of life. Menopause is treated as something that happens in secret—something women just endure. For me, this wasn’t an option. The more I read, the more I realized that I didn’t want to pump hormones into my body. Not because I’m against hormones—this is a deeply personal choice for every woman—but I knew it wasn’t right for me. However, finding natural remedies was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

I’ve tried everything—from yoga and meditation to obscure herbal teas with names I still can’t pronounce. I became my own guinea pig, testing every tip and trick that promised relief. Some worked, some didn’t, and some made me laugh at my desperation. But the key was awareness—knowing I had options and choices that suited my body.


I’ve always been the kind of girl who had more guy friends than girlfriends— "I am allergic to too much estrogen", I would joke. But here’s the funny twist about Menopause: it has this sneaky way of bringing you closer to other women. Once I started sharing my experiences, it became clear that we were all on the same wild ride.

A woman I met on an online support group told me she was in the middle of teaching a yoga class when a hot flash hit her like a furnace. She thought she might burst into flames and darted to the nearest window for relief, while her students thought she was just demonstrating some intense breathwork! We laughed, we shared, and we connected over something so universal yet so rarely discussed.

That’s the thing about Menopause—it can be isolating if we let it, but it doesn’t have to be. When we connect with other women, we find solidarity. Whether it’s through online sessions, support groups, WhatsApp groups, or simply swapping stories over a coffee, it’s in these shared moments that we realize we’re not alone and that sometimes, the only way through is to laugh about it.


There’s a certain freedom in taking action. Menopause doesn’t have to just “happen” to us. I learned to embrace it as a time to reclaim my body, focus on my health, and make informed decisions. From adapting my diet (cutting back on my beloved late-night haldiram bhujiya) to practising mindfulness and finding ways to stay active, I’ve learned that Menopause is - a wake-up call to prioritize ourselves.

And let’s face it—Indian women have been conditioned to prioritize everyone else’s well-being over our own. But Menopause - It’s that undeniable signal from your body saying, “Hey, it’s time to take care of me now.”


Menopause doesn’t have to be the silent, shadowy phase we tiptoe around. It’s time to reshape our attitude and face it head-on. We need awareness, engagement, and action. We need to talk about it, laugh about it, and, most importantly, take control of our health.

Let’s start by making Menopause a word we’re not afraid to say. Menopause isn’t the end—it’s the beginning of a new chapter—one filled with self-discovery, resilience, and, yes, a lot of humour. So, let’s embrace it and show the world that women are unstoppable forces at every stage of life.


Sweat, Laughter, and Strength: My Menopause Journey

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on what it means to grow older. There’s an undeniable allure to a woman who’s freed herself from the myths surrounding youth and aging. I’ve had countless conversations with friends, family members, and even strangers about this topic, and the stories that emerge are rich and deeply personal. When we peel back the layers of what we’ve been told about aging, we uncover something powerful: age is more than a number; it’s a testament to resilience, wisdom, and self-discovery.


Turning forty felt like an exhale I didn’t know I’d been holding in. My twenties and thirties were a whirlwind of striving to meet expectations—career goals, body goals, relationship milestones, the endless balancing act. I got married. I had children. I started jobs and left jobs. I made new friends who fit into my life, while some old friendships quietly drifted away. Life was full, and I was always on the go, doing everything I thought I was supposed to do. But with each milestone, there was always something more, some invisible standard I was racing to meet, though I’d never consciously chosen these expectations for myself.

Somewhere in my late thirties, I started to feel tired of it all. I’d become so busy fulfilling the roles laid out in front of me that I rarely paused to ask if they truly fit, if they made me happy, or if they reflected who I really was. It was a cycle of endless striving, where “success” felt like a moving target just beyond reach. 

By forty, something inside me shifted, and I felt a freedom I hadn’t known before. I began to care less about what others thought. Saying “no” got easier, and I stopped apologizing so much. With each decision, I felt a lightness that hadn’t been there in my youth—a quiet, unshakable confidence that only comes with experience. It’s a freedom that feels earned, and it’s rooted in understanding myself more deeply. Forty isn’t a finish line; it’s a new beginning where I get to define what matters, on my own terms.


Then there’s my friend , who turned fifty last year. Her life had been defined by a focus on others—raising kids, managing family, keeping the household running. She’s been through the whole spectrum of life’s curveballs and came out the other side with a different perspective. When I asked her what turning fifty felt like, she laughed. “You know what? I don’t worry as much. I’ve lived through enough to know that most things are survivable, and what isn’t, I can’t control anyway.”

She described a newfound confidence in her body and mind, not in spite of her age but because of it. Her confidence wasn’t about looking a certain way; it was about _feeling_ a certain way—rooted in her strengths, skills, and wisdom. “I’m more comfortable in my skin now than I ever was at twenty ,thirty or forty,” she said, and it was clear she meant it.

t’s hard not to reflect on her words as I approach my own next decade. I find myself inspired, hoping to embrace that same sense of self-assurance, knowing that each year brings us closer to becoming who we’re meant to be.


Finally, there’s a woman I met at my Pilates class, somewhere in her early sixties, who radiates a quiet strength and elegance. She’s not trying to impress anyone; she just has this unpretentious ease about her that makes you want to hear her story. During one of our post-class chats, someone asked her what advice she’d give her younger self. She thought for a moment, then smiled and said, “Stop waiting for permission to live the life you want.”

Her sixties had given her a crystal-clear view of what truly mattered and, perhaps more importantly, what didn’t. She had no patience for societal pressures to be a certain weight, have a certain lifestyle, or keep up a youthful appearance. She’d shed the need for validation, and in doing so, had embraced herself more fully. Her wisdom was something she wore proudly—her years, a badge of honor rather than something to hide.

 Listening to her, I couldn’t help but feel inspired by her sense of self, and it made me think about the kind of confidence and clarity I hope to find in my own journey.


These women aren’t anomalies; they’re part of a collective shift that’s happening as we begin to question society’s narrow narrative around aging. The obsession with “youthfulness” misses out on the richness that each decade brings. Why are we told that only our younger years are valuable or that a wrinkle-free face is the ultimate marker of beauty?

The truth is, each age brings its own gifts. Youth has its energy and vibrancy, yes, but age has its depth and clarity. If we embrace this, we move toward a new kind of beauty standard—one that honors each stage of life as unique and worthy. It’s time we celebrate the strength, self-assurance, and wisdom that only come with the passage of time.


What if we shifted the conversation around aging to one that celebrates growth and wisdom? What if we viewed each year as another layer of richness, rather than a step away from an idealized youth? Let’s build a new narrative together, one that acknowledges the beauty, worth, and power of every decade. Because in a world that idolizes youth, choosing to embrace and celebrate our age is a radical act of self-love and liberation.

Rethinking Aging: Women, Wisdom, and the Myth of ‘Youthfulness’ 

Growing up, my sister and I lived in a home where equality wasn’t just an ideal—it was the norm. Our parents, both progressive and loving, never made us feel less than anyone, least of all men. We had every opportunity we could ask for, every encouragement to pursue our dreams, and the unwavering belief that we could achieve whatever we set our minds to and never question our worth or place in the world. It wasn’t until much later, as an adult, that I began to see the subtle ways misogyny operates—even in the most well-meaning spaces.

It was my father, of all people, who unknowingly sparked this realization. He’s always been my biggest cheerleader, someone who saw my successes and celebrated them loudly and proudly. But one day, during a conversation with his friends, he referred to me as “his son.” At first, I didn’t react. I thought it was an affectionate remark, an old phrase that carried no harm. But the more I thought about it, the more it unsettled me. Why would being called a son be the highest compliment? Why would my achievements and strengths make me worthy of being compared to a man? My father wasn’t intending to be sexist—he never has been—but this moment revealed to me how deeply woven these ideas are into the fabric of our society.

If something as innocuous as a compliment can carry these gendered implications, imagine the impact in fields like healthcare, where the stakes are infinitely higher. Misogyny in healthcare often isn’t loud or obvious—it’s quiet, systemic, and deeply entrenched. It shows up in ways that make women feel dismissed, ignored, or undervalued, from being told their pain isn’t “that bad” to having their symptoms written off as stress or anxiety. It’s in the research gaps that leave women’s health underfunded and understudied. It’s in the medical textbooks that prioritize male anatomy as the default. It’s in the way women are conditioned to tolerate pain in silence or apologize for advocating for their health. The truth is, that the same world that celebrates us as daughters are also subtly reinforcing the idea that our worth has to be measured against something else, something male. In this world, women are seen as  “lesser” by default—less rational, less deserving, less important.

As daughters in a household that championed “equality”, my sister and I didn’t see it growing up. We didn’t see how subtle biases our dad never intended to pass on would seep into the way we would see ourselves or would be treated by the world outside.  How they would become barriers that stood in the way of equality, not just in the home, but in every space we would occupy including impact the healthcare we would receive.. My father’s comment, though meant as a heartfelt compliment, reflected a larger narrative: that strength, resilience, and capability are traits traditionally associated with men. And it’s that reality we need to change.

Looking back, I know my father didn’t mean any disrespect. Quite the contrary. In his mind, calling me his “son” was his way of saying he was proud of me and  acknowledging my strength and capability. But that’s the point—it shouldn’t take a comparison to a son to recognize a daughter’s worth. As women, we deserve to be valued for who we are, not for how closely we measure up to traditional ideas of masculinity. And just like in every other part of life, in healthcare, we deserve a system that listens, values, and prioritizes us, not one that dismisses or minimizes our experiences.

The work to unlearn these biases starts with each of us in every space where these ideas persist. It begins with asking uncomfortable questions, challenging the status quo, and imagining a world where a woman’s strength isn’t surprising and her pain isn’t ignored. It is in finding power in the stories we tell and the conversations we have and calling out these moments, no matter how small they seem. It’s not about pointing fingers but about breaking down the systems and narratives that perpetuate these biases and push for a world where daughters are celebrated for being who they are - because a daughter—just as she is—is more than enough!


Praise, Gender and the Hidden Bias 

Let me tell you a love story—not the rom-com kind with grand gestures and meet-cutes, but the slow-burn kind, full of awkward moments, lots of misunderstandings, and ultimately, a surprising amount of acceptance. 

It’s the story of me and my FUPA. For the uninitiated, FUPA stands for "Fat Upper Pubic Area," and while it may not sound glamorous, it’s a part of my body that’s taught me more about love, acceptance, and resilience than I ever expected.

I wasn’t one of those “naturally thin” girls growing up. I wasn’t the girl who could eat an entire pizza without it showing the next day. Instead, I grew up with a body that the world loved to point out wasn’t quite “right.” Fashion magazines, beauty campaigns, even the clothing sizes in stores—they all seemed to have a conspiracy against girls like me. 

The message was loud and clear: smaller is better, thinner is prettier, and if you’re not both, you’re failing. So, I did what so many of us do. I worked out religiously, counted every calorie, and lived with a constant mental tally of what I “should” be doing to get closer to that elusive ideal. And for the most part, it worked—I was fit, healthy, and proud of it.  And then it crept in, this small pouch of fat just below my tummy, stubborn and unmoved by every plank and every diet tweak I threw at it. My FUPA. 

At first, its presence felt like betrayal, a physical manifestation of what I thought was failure -a kind of quiet defiance against years of crunches, kale salads, and the relentless pursuit of my perfect body. It was during a casual glance in the mirror, when I noticed it for the first time. I had been diligent as ever—tracking meals, following workout plans, doing everything I thought I was supposed to do. And yet, there it was. A little bulge that hadn’t been there before. 

At first, I told myself it was temporary. A result of bloating, maybe, or some hormonal fluctuation that would sort itself out. But it didn’t. Days turned into weeks, and the bulge stayed, defying my efforts and mocking my discipline. I started obsessing over it. Tight dresses were pushed to the back of my closet. I found myself adjusting my waistband constantly, trying to conceal it, even though I knew no one else was looking. But I was looking. And I couldn’t stop.

The emotions were intense—frustration, shame, and, most surprisingly, grief. Grief for the body I used to have, the one I’d worked so hard to maintain. I felt as though this tiny, stubborn pouch was undoing everything, making me feel less confident, less capable, and somehow…less me.

I remember one evening standing in front of the mirror, the soft glow of the bathroom light casting every perceived imperfection into sharp focus. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, tugging at my shirt, pinching my skin, and letting the self-criticism flow unchecked. Why couldn’t I make it go away? Why couldn’t I just fix it?

But the thing about being at a constant war with your own body, is that you never really win.

Acceptance didn’t happen overnight. It wasn’t easy.  It took years of unlearning the rules I’d internalized about what my body should be. It meant questioning the messages I’d absorbed from media, fashion, and even well-meaning people in my life. It meant letting go of the idea that my worth was tied to how closely my body matched an impossible ideal.

It began with small shifts—a decision to stop avoiding certain clothes, to take pictures without worrying about angles, to let go of the idea that I had to “hide” my imperfections. I began to focus less on how my body appeared and more on how it felt. Understanding that “healthy” doesn’t mean striving for perfection but eating food that nourishes me, moving my body in ways that feel good, and finding peace in the skin I’m in—even when the world tries to tell me otherwise. 
I began learning more about my body, realizing that it wasn’t a failure or a flaw but the natural process of aging. It was then that I started to see my FUPA differently—not as a problem to be solved but as a symbol of resilience. It stood for the strength that had carried me through challenges, the gentleness I owed myself after years of self-criticism, and the constant reminder that my body’s story is far from over and that my worth isn’t measured by how flat my stomach is or how toned my abs are.

Today,  the FUPA is still there. It hasn’t disappeared, and I don’t expect it to. There are days when I wish it wasn’t there. But it no longer carries the weight of shame or frustration. Instead, it carries the memories of a life well-lived— the love it had shared, the joy and sorrow it had weathered, and the countless experiences that had defined my journey.

So, here’s to the FUPA and to every part of our bodies that tells a story. Because at the end of the day, our bodies are more than what they look like—they are the homes we live in, the vessels that carry us, and the proof of the lives we’ve led. And that’s something worth celebrating.

My FUPA: A Love Story

I decided to kick off the new year with a bold challenge: 75 Hard. If you’re unfamiliar with it, 75 Hard is a rigorous mental toughness program with strict rules for 75 days: two 45-minute workouts a day (one outdoors), a gallon of water, a daily progress photo, 10 pages of reading, and sticking to a diet of choice—no cheats, no alcohol.
I started 75 Hard with all the energy and determination I could muster. It was January, the start of a fresh year, and like many people, I was driven by the excitement of setting ambitious goals. For the first few weeks, I was unstoppable, checking off each item on the list like clockwork. I was feeling strong, focused, and confident—two workouts a day? No problem. A gallon of water? Bring it on. I was convinced I could tackle anything.

But as the days went on, something interesting started happening. My body, initially thrilled by the challenge, began to feel worn down. Some mornings, I’d wake up sore and tired, but I pushed myself through the workouts anyway because the program’s mantra was about resilience and grit. “This is mental toughness,” I kept telling myself. I tried to ignore the nagging feeling that my body was asking for a break.
It was around day 30 when I hit my first real roadblock. I remember waking up with an ache in my knee, not unbearable, but persistent. I could’ve taken it easy on myself that day, but the program rules were strict—no skipping. So I went outside, gritted my teeth, and walked in the cold January air. Every step felt like a battle between my determination to finish the challenge and my body’s quiet plea for rest.
As the days passed, the challenge felt less like self-improvement and more like punishment. I began to realize something that, deep down, I’d known all along but hadn’t wanted to admit: my body didn’t need more challenges—it needed respect and care. Instead of listening to its needs, I’d been ignoring them in favor of a rigid set of rules. I was pushing through discomfort, not to build resilience, but because I felt I had to finish what I’d started.

One day, after yet another exhausting double workout, I finally decided to listen. I still wanted to complete the challenge, but I had to make it sustainable. So, I started adjusting the intensity of my workouts, focusing on low-impact exercises some days and resting sore muscles when I needed to. I still did my two workouts, but one might be a gentle walk or a stretching session, something that respected my body’s limits. I also started paying attention to how I felt after drinking so much water; if I was feeling too full or uncomfortable, I allowed myself to adjust slightly rather than rigidly sticking to a gallon every day.
In those small adjustments, I felt a shift—a sense of peace with myself that I hadn’t felt since day one. Listening to my body didn’t mean I was failing the program; it meant I was honoring it in a way that felt authentic and sustainable. I was learning that wellness wasn’t about rigid rules or pushing through every ounce of discomfort. Real resilience, I realized, is knowing when to push and when to pause. It’s trusting that my body has wisdom of its own, something no program or set of rules can replace.

By the time I finished 75 Hard, I had completed each day, but I’d done it on my own terms. I learned to balance challenge with self-respect, resilience with self-care. The structure had pushed me, yes, but my body had guided me through, showing me when I needed to listen, adapt, and let go of perfection.

Looking back, the real accomplishment wasn’t just finishing the program; it was finding a way to tune into myself and honor my needs. I’d started January thinking I could power through anything, but I ended up learning that true strength is about more than willpower. It’s about working with my body, not against it. And that’s a lesson that will carry me forward, long after any challenge ends.

It’s My Body, and I Will Rest if I Want To: Lessons from 75 Hard

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