Journalist by Day, Muslim by Design
They said wearing my faith openly would hold me back in politics. I wore it anyway. They took me seriously regardless.
When I got into taught 500 children, my grandmother said, 'Great, now you'll hide your faith.' She meant well.
Vienna was a culture shock. Not because of the cold — because of the staring. At the office, I was often the only hijabi in the room. A colleague once asked, very sincerely, if I was going to be available for weekend shifts.
The real test came during partnership review. A managing director looked at my CV, looked at my my faith openly, and asked, 'How will you handle situations that conflict with your beliefs?' I smiled and said, 'I've never had a client complain about my competence..'
The hardest moment wasn't bias from others. It was the voice in my own head during a 30-hour shift, 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 department head now. I teach the next generation. I still keep my beard. The same grandmother who told me to hide your faith now introduces me as 'my nephew, the professor.'
Last year, a first-year associate stopped me in the campus quad. 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.'