I don’t know if I’ve ever shared the full story behind how RushMeHome came to be. It’s a story that goes way beyond a blog launch—it’s rooted in transformation, vulnerability, and the raw, beautiful chaos of motherhood.
Let’s rewind.
Almost exactly 10 years ago, my son was born. I was overjoyed—being maternal was second nature to me. I’d helped raise my nieces, played with every baby I met, and always felt like I was meant to be a mom. It was supposed to come easily… right?
Actually, very wrong.
My son’s birth came after a scary, last-minute C-section. I still remember saying, “We can’t hear a heartbeat.” In what felt like seconds, I was whisked away to the operating room—my husband wasn’t even allowed in. I didn’t understand what was happening. It was terrifying. And that was just the beginning.
I struggled to breastfeed. It felt like the deepest heartbreak. Isn’t that what moms are supposed to do? But here’s the truth: Motherhood is so much more than breastfeeding, and if you’re reading this and struggling, please don’t beat yourself up. You’re not alone.
My baby was fussy, I was exclusively pumping, and I began slipping into postpartum depression (PPD)—something we still don’t talk about enough. I didn’t even tell my doctor. I was ashamed. What would people think?
But I knew what it was. A cousin, who had been through it herself, became my quiet source of comfort (you know who you are—thank you). I felt like I was losing myself—not just physically, with the weight gain and the pain—but emotionally, spiritually. I was disconnected, anxious, and alone in a way I’d never been before.
Two people pulled me through that darkness: my husband and my mom. She came to help for three months and stayed for a year, because her baby was struggling with her own. That’s when it hit me: our moms are superheroes. You never forget the ones who helped you through postpartum. You’re cracked open in those moments, vulnerable in ways you can’t explain. And the people who show up? You carry them with you forever.
Seven months later, just as I felt like I could breathe again… I found out I was pregnant. Again.
All the fear rushed back. What if the depression returns? My body and mind were still healing. But this time, I knew I had a support system. I told myself, I’ve got this.
After my second was born, I returned to work, but something had shifted. It was fine, but not fulfilling. Around the time my youngest turned one, we started looking for a new home. That process lit something in me. I thought: What if I start a blog? What if I share our decorating journey?
Design had been my dream since I was 17, but life (and my dad) had other plans back then. This time, my husband said, “It makes sense. You should do it.”
We moved into our new home in September 2008. Oh, and I forgot to mention—I was also finishing my MBA at the time. With two kids under two. I still don’t know how I pulled it off, but I did. Something in me kept going—because even though they were little, I knew my babies were watching.
I graduated in December, and by January, I was brainstorming blog names, writing drafts… and then sitting on them. For weeks. Was I being silly? Would anyone read it? I let fear take the wheel—until one day, on February 13, 2019, I finally hit publish.
That moment changed everything.
RushMeHome became more than a blog. It became my way of getting my “pink” back—the color, the joy, the me that felt lost in the trenches of motherhood. It was something that belonged to me, not tied to a title, a role, or anyone else.
And looking back, I know: if I hadn’t become a mom, if I hadn’t gone through what I did, I may never have had the courage to start this journey.
I think often of the women who came before me, especially my mom, who was married at 17, whose dreams were deferred under the weight of tradition and expectations. Today, I have the privilege of sharing my truth, of creating safe spaces, of showing up—not just for me, but for every woman who’s reached out saying something I shared made her feel seen.
I don’t take that lightly.
When I look at my kids, I hope they grow up believing in themselves enough to chase what they love—even when the world tells them not to, even when they’re scared.
To my mom, who reposts every reel, comments on every post, and was the rock in my darkest postpartum days—you have always shown up for your kids, and now your grandkids. I hope I become even half the cheerleader you are.
And to every mom reading this, waiting for a sign—this is it.
If you’re waiting to get your pink back, if you’re wondering if your story matters, if you’re sitting on your dream, know that you are already more than enough. And your babies are so lucky to have you.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Here’s to creating happy spaces and moments.
Rashmi