Journalist by Day, Muslim by Design
They said wearing hijab would hold me back in media. I wore it anyway. They took me seriously regardless.
When I got into housed 200 families, my father said, 'Great, now you'll shave the beard.' He meant well.
Madinah was a culture shock. Not because of the pace of life — because of the staring. At the hospital, I was often the only visibly Muslim person in the room. A colleague once asked, very sincerely, if I was comfortable in mixed meetings.
The real test came during residency interviews. A programme director looked at my CV, looked at my hijab, and asked, 'Will your... religious requirements... affect your availability?' I smiled and said, 'The same way I handle everything — with excellence..'
The hardest moment wasn't bias from others. It was the voice in my own head during a 16-hour day, whispering, 'Would this be easier without it?' And the honest answer was: probably.
But I thought about every Muslim man who'd been told he had to choose between faith and ambition. I refused to be evidence for that lie.
I'm a professor now. I published in three journals. I still pray in my office at Dhuhr. The same father who told me to shave the beard now introduces me as 'my niece, the doctor.'
Last year, a first-year associate stopped me in the office kitchen. He said, 'Seeing you here makes me feel like I can do this.' I told him what I wish someone had told me: 'You don't just can. You already are.'