Ashwini Wellness Space

06/06/2026

02/06/2026

I made two decisions the day my father died. I've kept both for 23 years.
It was 2002. The thirteenth-day ritual. The house was full of people — commenting on the food, whispering about my mother, speculating about my father's heart attack. The man had quietly carried everything — a family, a disabled child at home, every burden without complaint — and he was gone. And people were worried about the pandit's schedule and what was for lunch.
Something in me broke. And then — something became crystal clear.
1. I would volunteer on his death anniversary every year. And then it grew — his birthday, my mother's birthday, my children's birthdays, my anniversary — every milestone now has a volunteer day in it. One day a month, every month, for 23 years. No fanfare. Just showing up.
2. When I go, I go completely. Every organ, every tissue that can help someone — take it. No funeral, no elaborate rituals needed. If anyone wants to honour me, go volunteer somewhere. Or don't. When I'm gone, I'm gone.
But at least when I leave, I leave something behind for someone who's desperately waiting.
My mother and brother have pledged too. Our whole body and every part of it.
There are people on waitlists right now — for a heart, a liver, a lung, a cornea.
We can be their miracle.
Register at www.notto.abdm.gov.in
— it takes 5 minutes.
Give life — even after life.

Dr. Ashwini Kamath
Ashwini Dental and Wellness Space

02/06/2026

Some decisions come from grief. Some come from clarity. Mine came from both.
We had just lost my grandfather. I was in class 7. The thirteenth-day ritual was underway — the house was full of people. And I remember standing there, watching. Not watching the prayers. Watching 'people'. People commenting on the food. Most of the people around me were more interested in the pandit's schedule and what was being served for lunch than in grieving a human being who had lived and loved and left.
Then in 2002 I lost my Dad. I suddenly felt like someone had just pulled the rug under my feet. And with his "body" lying wrapped in a white sheet in front of me all I was noticing was people again! I was too numb to get emotional. And then I heard whispering about whether my mother had taken good enough care of him. Speculating about why he had a sudden heart attack at that young age — as if they knew anything about what it meant to carry a demanding job and a family, to have a child with a disability at home, to quietly absorb every burden without complaint, every single day.
My father had just died. And...Something cracked open in me that day. I went along and cremated him with my own hands. It was 2002 and people weren't used to having women enter the cremation grounds back then. I insisted. He was my dad. It was only right that I see him off since my brother couldnt. But I refused to do the standardized rituals for him... no 12th and 13 day functions. I only scattered his ashes in the Sangam and got back home.
That day, I made two decisions. Quiet, certain, irreversible ones.
(I am not against rituals. They can be beautiful, meaningful, anchoring. But rituals without "feeling" — without even a moment of genuine grief for the person who is gone — what are they really for?)
1. Every year on my father's death anniversary, I will go volunteer somewhere — show up for a cause, give my time, make the day mean something beyond just mourning.
And then.... it grew. Because why should only "his" day be sacred in that way?
Now — his death anniversary, his birthday, my mother's birthday, my brother's birthday, my children's birthdays, my marriage anniversary — every milestone, every celebration, every remembrance has a volunteer day woven into it. That's at least one day every single month, for over two decades now, where I show up somewhere and give back.
No fanfare. No asking for applause. Just — showing up.
Because "that" is how I grieve. That is how I celebrate. That is how I honour the people I love, living and gone.
2. The second decision -When I go — I want to go completely. Every part of me that can be of use to someone else, will be.
No need to burn my body. No need for elaborate ceremonies on my behalf. If anyone who loves me — my family, my friends, whoever — wants to honour my memory, they can go volunteer somewhere. Give their time to something that matters. Or honestly? They don't even have to do that. When I'm gone, I'm gone. I dont care!
But while I'm here, and even "after" — I want to matter to someone who needs it most!
There are people waiting — right now, today — for a liver. A heart. A lung. A cornea. People who are running out of time. People whose families are praying for a miracle.
That miracle can be us!
That's why I pledged. That's why my mother pledged. That's why my brother pledged. Every single organ and the entire body too...
And that's why I'm sharing this today.
Not to preach. Not to perform. But because 2002 taught me that this body is temporary — and the most radical, generous, "alive" thing I can possibly do with it is decide what happens to it when I no longer need it.
Please consider registering as an organ donor.
In India, you can pledge at: www.notto.abdm.gov.in
It takes five minutes. Just needs your personal details and identification documents. It could give someone years.
Let's talk about this. Let's normalize this. Let's not wait until grief forces the conversation.
"Give life — even after life."

— Dr. Ashwini Kamath
Ashwini Dental & Wellness Space

29/05/2026

Some people walk into your life and quietly become your lifeline. This is about one such soul.
16 years ago. I was pregnant with my second child, Oni — living in Mhow, with my two-year-old Addy running circles around me, and my husband posted in a field area. Just us.
The morning sickness was relentless. It didn't care that it was called *morning* sickness — it stayed all day, every day. The smell of the kitchen alone was enough to undo me. I was running on empty, showing up to the military hospital in the mornings and the government hospital in the evenings, doing work I loved but barely holding myself together by the time I got home.
And then there was Shyama Didi.
The wife of the hospital compounder. My neighbour. An absolute gem of a human being.
Every single noon by 1 pm, without fail, she would knock on my door the moment I returned from the hospital. No fanfare. No fuss. She would just... pick up Addy, tuck him under her arm, and take him home. He would eat there. Play with her son. Fall asleep in the warmth of their home. Her son, by the way, is now an established and respected dentist — told me I was his inspiration.
And then Didi would come back.With a covered thali. A proper, full, five-course meal. Hot. Made with love.
I won't lie — at first I didn't know how to accept it. I wasn't used to being taken care of like that. It felt like too much. I fumbled with gratitude and awkwardness in equal measure.
But she was adamant. Gentle, but completely unmovable.
She did this. Every. Single. Day. For months — right until I packed up and moved to Dehradun just 10 days before I delivered Oni.
She didn't have to. There was no obligation, no reason, no expectation of anything in return. She just saw a young woman struggling, and she showed up — quietly, consistently, completely.
Even today, when I think of her, my eyes fill up. Just like that. Every time.
Shyama Didi, if you ever read this— I want you to know that you carried me through one of the most vulnerable seasons of my life. You aren't connected to me by blood, but you are woven into my heart and soul in ways that you will never know. I love you. Deeply. From the very bottom of my heart.
There are peo

29/05/2026

We keep teaching the next generation how to score marks, build careers, earn more money and become “successful”…
But who is teaching them how to build healthy relationships?
Who is teaching them emotional regulation, consent, boundaries, accountability, communication, respect, and equality in gender roles?
Most of us grew up watching unhealthy dynamics normalized:
• Silence instead of communication
• Control instead of care
• Adjustment instead of respect
• Anger instead of emotional regulation
• Sacrifice without reciprocity
• Gender roles that suffocated individuality
• “Log kya kahenge” over mental health
And then we wonder why so many people feel lonely, anxious, resentful, disconnected, emotionally unsafe, or trapped in relationships.
The truth is — many of our generations and the ones before us were never taught what healthy love actually looks like.There were very few models. Very few conversations. Very little awareness.
But awareness is responsibility.
If we know better today, we must do better today.
This is exactly why I have made it my passion and purpose to create awareness around emotional health, relationships, trauma, boundaries, self-worth, and conscious living. Because prevention begins with education. And healing begins with conversations we were never allowed to have.
We need more parents talking about emotional intelligence.
More schools teaching consent and emotional regulation.
More men unlearning harmful conditioning.
More women reclaiming their voice and identity.
More professionals creating safe spaces.
More humans willing to take responsibility instead of repeating cycles.
Healthy relationships do not happen by accident.They are built through awareness, emotional maturity, empathy, accountability, and respect.
And the next generation deserves better examples than what many of us inherited.
Let us not play passing the parcel for our inner wounds please....

GenderRoles EmotionalIntelligence TraumaAwareness ConsciousRelationships SelfWorth BoundariesMatter RelationshipHealing MentalHealthMatters BreakTheCycle TherapyAwarenes

28/05/2026

“Apne ghar wapas chali jao.”
She said those words so quietly in my counseling room today morning… but the pain behind them was deafening.
Her husband and in-laws had told her,
“If you have so many problems staying here, go back to your own house.”
And I kept thinking…
What happens to a woman when the place she spent 15–20 years building suddenly reminds her she was never fully accepted there?
From childhood, she is taught:
“Your husband’s house is your real home.”
So she adjusts.
She leaves behind her old life, changes herself to fit into a new family, gives unpaid labour, emotional care, sleepless nights, her body, dreams, youth, and identity into building a home for everyone else.
And then one sentence breaks something inside her.
Because those five words don’t just hurt.
They disorient.
Her childhood home is no longer fully hers.
And now this home tells her she doesn’t belong here either.
So where does she go?
Some words do not just hit the ears.
They hit dignity. Belonging. Self-worth.
You can recover from arguments.
But the feeling of being unwanted in the place you called home… stays for a very long time.
Think before you speak in anger.

WomenEmpowerment HealingJourney CounselingStories SelfWorth EmotionalSafety AshwiniDentalAndWellnessSpace

28/05/2026

Some wounds don’t arrive loudly.
They arrive quietly… through abandonment, betrayal, loneliness, heartbreak, rejection, emotional neglect, or years of pretending to be “fine.”
And somewhere in that pain, a person changes.
I still remember a time when I was telling myself
“I don’t even know who I am anymore. I spent years surviving… but never really living.”
I wasn’t looking for spirituality.
I wasn’t trying to become “self-aware.”
I was simply trying to stop hurting.
But pain has a strange way of opening doors we never planned to walk through.
First, we search outside ourselves.
We ask people to explain our pain.
We seek validation, answers, distractions, relationships, achievements.
Then one day, exhaustion sets in.
And slowly… we begin turning inward.
That is where healing begins.
Not in pretending the wound never happened,
but in finally listening to what it was trying to teach us.
Many of the deepest healers, counselors, empaths, psychologists, spiritual seekers, and emotionally aware people are not “lucky enlightened souls.”
They are people who suffered deeply…
and decided they would no longer stay emotionally asleep.
Pain can harden a person.
Or it can awaken them.
And sometimes, the breaking point becomes the beginning of becoming whole again.

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27/05/2026

“Adjust Karna Padta Hai…”
— the sentence that has silenced pain, normalised suffering, and kept countless people emotionally trapped.
Sometimes what society calls adjustment is actually:
emotional neglect,
silent resentment,
loss of self-worth,
and fear of judgment.
The first question should never be
“Why can’t you adjust?”
The first question should be:
Are we protecting marriages… or protecting society’s image of marriage?
A healthy relationship may require compromise.
But constant one-sided adjustment slowly destroys a person from within.
Adjustment is not a virtue when:
respect is missing,
communication is absent,
emotional safety is gone,
and suffering is being glorified.
Low divorce rates do not always mean happy marriages.
Sometimes they simply mean people were taught to tolerate pain quietly.
We need to stop worshipping endurance and start valuing emotional well-being, dignity, honesty, and mental health.
Healing Counselling BreakTheTaboo SelfRespect AshwiniDentalAndWellnessSpace

27/05/2026

Yesterday a woman came in for counseling.
Soft-spoken. Exhausted. Carrying years of hurt in her eyes. She said, “Every time I bring up something that hurt me, my husband says I’m too sensitive… that I never forget anything… that I keep living in the past.”And then she asked me something heartbreaking:“Am I really the problem because I remember the pain?How do I let it go?"
A wounded heart remembers what it had to survive.
Many women are called “overly emotional” simply because they are reacting to repeated hurt that was never acknowledged, repaired, or healed.
When someone says: “Forget it.” “Move on.” “You’re too sensitive.”...
sometimes it is not healing they want.
It is freedom from accountability.
A woman is not “unforgiving” because she remembers betrayal, humiliation, neglect, disrespect, or emotional pain.
Memory is often the mind’s way of protecting the heart from being hurt again.
Healing does not happen when pain is dismissed.
Healing begins when pain is acknowledged.
Not with: “You’re overreacting.”
But with: “I understand why that hurt you.” “I take responsibility.” “I want to rebuild trust.”
People do not heal through pressure.
They heal through safety, validation, consistency, and genuine change.
If this resonates with you, know this: You are not weak for remembering. You are asking for emotional safety, not perfection.

– Ashwini Dental & Wellness Space

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