Cardiologist by Day, Muslim by Design
They said wearing hijab would hold me back in tech. I wore it anyway. They took me seriously regardless.
When I got into fed the neighbourhood for three years, my father said, 'Great, now you'll blend in.' She meant well.
Atlanta was a culture shock. Not because of the pace of life — because of the staring. At the hospital, I was often the only person in Islamic dress in the room. A colleague once asked, very sincerely, if I was able to attend the Christmas party.
The real test came during the tenure committee. A department head looked at my CV, looked at my hijab, and asked, 'Don't you think clients might be... uncomfortable?' I smiled and said, 'My religious requirements are between me and God. My availability is 100%..'
The hardest moment wasn't bias from others. It was the voice in my own head during a back-to-back client meetings, whispering, 'Would this be easier without it?' And the honest answer was: probably.
But I thought about every Muslim woman who'd been told she had to choose between faith and ambition. I refused to be evidence for that lie.
I'm a chief surgeon now. I run a department. I still wear hijab. The same father who told me to blend in now introduces me as 'my nephew, the professor.'
Last year, a first-year associate stopped me in the hospital corridor. She said, 'Seeing you here makes me feel like I can do this.' I told her what I wish someone had told me: 'You don't just can. You already are.'