Ismat's Scholarship for Empowering Muslim Women

I was born in Michigan as a first generation Muslim American and raised by Pakistani immigrant parents whose sacrifices shaped every opportunity I have today. My father came to the United States with almost nothing except the hope of giving his children a better life. He left behind his home, his family, and everything he had ever known because he believed that one day his children would have opportunities he never did. Whenever I think about my future, I think about his journey. More than anything, I want to become the reason his sacrifices were worth making. My parents raised me with Islam at the center of our home. From a young age, they taught me that education is a blessing and that every opportunity should be met with gratitude and hard work. My faith has shaped the way I approach school, not because it tells me what career to choose, but because it reminds me to work with purpose and to serve others. Whenever I face challenges, I remember the values my parents instilled in me through the teachings of the Quran. Those lessons have given me the strength to keep moving forward, even when the path has been difficult. Growing up as a Pakistani Muslim girl, I rarely saw women who looked like me becoming physicians or working in STEM. I admired doctors, but I struggled to picture someone who shared my background wearing the white coat. Although there were heavy cultural expectations about what women should do, my father never wanted those expectations to define my future. He encouraged me to dream beyond what I saw around me. He believed that my education would open doors that had never been available to him, and because he believed in me, I learned to believe in myself. That belief pushed me to challenge myself academically. I attended a magnet program in middle school, where my curiosity for science continued to grow. This fall, I will begin the next chapter as a rising freshman at Northeastern University, majoring in Neuroscience. My goal is to become an physician on emergency medicine. I want to be there for people during the hardest moments of their lives, offering both medical care and compassion. Every step I take toward that goal feels like another step toward fulfilling the dream my father carried with him when he came to this country. As I move forward, I want to become the representation I never had. I want young Pakistani and Muslim girls to see someone who shares their background and realize there is a place for them in medicine. I want to show that that it isn't where you come from, but where you put yourself. I want them to know they do not have to choose between their identity and their ambitions. My father's sacrifices gave me opportunities he never had, and I hope to create those same opportunities for others. As a physician, I want to mentor students from immigrant and underrepresented communities, especially young Pakistani and Muslim girls who have never seen someone like themselves in medicine. I want them to know that their background does not limit their future, and that their identity is something to be proud of, not something to overcome. If I can inspire even one student to pursue a dream they once believed was out of reach, then I will have honored my parents' sacrifices while helping build a future where the next generation sees possibility instead of barriers.

I was fifteen when I was asked to stop. Not asked, exactly. In Narayanganj, Bangladesh, in a family where no one had ever attended a university, the plan for a girl was not presented as a question. Marriage, then a household, then the raising of children whose dreams would matter more than mine. My family loved me. They were not cruel. They were handing me the only map anyone had ever handed them, and on that map my education was the part that could be given up without anything important being lost. I said no. I have spent every year since paying the price of that sentence. When I finally enrolled at Daffodil International University, my parents permitted it only if I lived at home, so I commuted four to five hours every day. I came back to cook and to the household work still expected of a daughter. I was malnourished. I was living with a chronic breathing condition that eventually required chemotherapy, in a system where treatment came slowly. I graduated in 2020 with a 2.78 grade point average and a Bachelor of Science in Software Engineering, the first degree anyone in my family had ever held. I used to be ashamed of that number. I am not anymore. It is not a measure of my mind. It is a record of the conditions my mind was working under, and the achievement was not the average. The achievement was that I finished at all. I want to say something carefully here, about Ismat and about women like her. I know what she chose, because I was standing at the same door. Most of the women in my family walked through it. What separated me from them was not superior character or greater desire, and I refuse to pretend otherwise. It was timing, stubbornness, and luck. Ismat believed education was the key to progress and gave hers up for her children. That is not a failure of will. That is a woman paying, with the only currency she had, for people she loved. The tradition I was raised in has always prized knowledge. What stood in my way was custom, not faith, and I think Ismat understood that distinction better than most. Today I hold a 4.00 grade point average in my master's program in early childhood education at Arizona State University, which I complete on evenings and weekends while teaching preschool full time in San Jose. Same person as the one with the 2.78. Different conditions. Here is how I pay it forward, and I want to be concrete rather than aspirational. First, literally. I am the sole financial support for my family in Bangladesh. I carry my parents' housing, food, and medical care, and I pay for my younger sister's education. She will never be asked the question I was asked at fifteen, because there is now someone in our family who can make the answer obvious. Second, professionally. I teach children ages three to six, many of them from immigrant and low income families, and I am training to direct inclusive early childhood programs and to train other teachers. Girls are told what they are not suited for long before anyone asks their opinion. I work at the age where that has not happened yet. Ismat did not get to finish. I intend to, and then to spend the rest of my life making that outcome ordinary for girls who look like the one I was.

"An educated woman shapes an educated generation." A fact often neglected in society, but a fuel that drives my educational journey. When I was a little kid, I remember sitting in my mother's lap and wiping her tears. I did not understand her cause of pain, nor did I have any solutions- but there was something I learned that day, "Power of presence," and since that moment on, I knew my true calling: healing wounds that cannot be seen. I was raised in the Middle East, in a Pakistani Muslim family where women are often encouraged to dream small. My mother wanted to work in a lab as a biochemist, but after marriage, she had to give up her professional ambitions to devote herself to her family. Prioritizing family over dreams, I have utmost respect for homemakers, who are the quiet pillars of strength behind many generations. Our faith, however, tells a fascinating story of Hazrat Khadija (R.A), a successful businesswoman who stood side by side with our Prophet Muhammad (P.B.U.H) as his greatest supporter and balanced family, ambition, and faith with grace. She is my guiding light. After completing my college in Pre-Medical sciences, I pursued a Bachelor of Science in Psychology, studying counselling, developmental, clinical, abnormal, cognitive, and forensic psychology, etc. My undergraduate thesis, "The Impact of Bullying on Self-Esteem in Adolescents", is currently under review for publication. I have volunteered at the Orange County Islamic Foundation, working with special children, and led community outreach projects to examine the psychological effects of cyberbullying among adolescents. These further increased my interest in learning about how chronic emotional distress, early trauma, and identity erosion can lead adolescents towards maladaptive coping mechanisms. Hence, mental health advocacy and giving preventive measures against bullying became my primary goal. I had my first clinical experience at the International Medical Center in Jeddah, as I worked under a clinical psychologist at the Bariatric Surgery department, conducting pre- and post-psychological assessments, helping clients navigate their way through anxiety, body image distress, depression, trauma, and the challenges of compulsive eating. I remember during a session, I helped a patient through a severe panic attack using grounding and breathwork techniques- an experience that taught me how healing begins when people feel acknowledged, supported, and safe. Currently, I am attending Pepperdine University for a Master of Arts in Psychology, where I completed my first semester with a 4.0 GPA. As a newly married woman who recently moved to LA, continuing my education has required resilience, especially when I, too, was raised in a stigmatized culture of neglecting mental health and prioritizing marriage over higher studies. Fortunately, my husband recognizes my drive and supports my education, standing by me against any obstacle. However, financial challenges still pose a threat, as immigration delays due to government shutdowns prevent me from working, and my husband has to cover my medical bills from emergency surgery, living expenses, and tuition out of pocket. It has been tedious, but I remain passionate, unwavering. Ismat Tariq is a reflection of my mother's story and the countless lives of other Muslim women. This scholarship has given me the opportunity to honor their sacrifices and ensure the next generation does not have to choose between faith, family, and dreams. My goal is to earn licensure by pursuing Psy.D., and to open a culturally sensitive and trauma-informed care serving under-deserved and stigmatized communities, to support and pay forward the debts of Muslim women and others who only keep giving and endure hardships silently. Upholding my mom's belief of: "Be a superhero, one visit at a time."

On most nights after dinner, the kitchen table becomes my study desk. The soft hum of my parents chatting in the living room is a comforting soundtrack as I sift through course lists, registration forms, and scholarship websites. Sometimes, the weight of my family’s hopes—a future built on the sacrifices of those who came before me—feels both humbling and overwhelming. The path to becoming a dentist and, one day, a pediatric orthodontist is a dream I carry for all of us, not just myself. I still remember the panic setting in when I realized I needed a specific humanities course at NOVA and couldn’t find clear guidance on what counted. My dad, who has worked tirelessly since we arrived in the United States, wanted so badly to help, but couldn’t. Instead, he cheered me on as I sent emails to advisers, and pieced together every bit of advice I could find. My resourcefulness was born of necessity but became a part of who I am—someone who asks questions, finds new routes, and never accepts confusion as a final answer. There have been evenings when, after back-to-back work and volunteering shifts, exhaustion would wash over me. But I’d remind myself why I was doing this: watching my little brother struggle at the dentist as a child, seeing the way language barriers made routine care stressful for my family, and wanting to become the kind of healthcare professional who makes a difference for immigrant families like mine. Volunteering in local health clinics brought this mission to life, teaching me how to listen, to advocate, and to support people with both compassion and knowledge. Balancing class schedules, work hours, and volunteering sometimes meant sacrificing sleep, social events, or letting friends down. But each tough choice, each moment of accountability, taught me what responsibility really means. It’s apologizing and making amends when I overcommitted. It’s showing up for my community, tutoring younger students on weekends, and helping translate for neighbors navigating medical systems. Every act—however small—makes me a more attentive student and a more driven future professional. Growing up as an immigrant daughter in STEM, my journey has not always followed a straight line. There have been setbacks and doubts—nights when loneliness and frustration made me question if I really belonged. But each challenge has become a lesson in resilience. I’ve discovered that leadership starts with helping myself and then reaching out to support others. Looking ahead, I see my resourcefulness and sense of responsibility as cornerstones of my professional identity. Whether I’m conducting research, assisting patients through complex treatments, or mentoring future immigrants in STEM, I carry these lessons with me. They remind me that my story isn’t just about obstacles, but about persistence, hope, and the desire to lift others up along the way.

Growing up in a Muslim household with a disabled veteran father and a full-time caregiver mother, I learned the power of community, faith, and sacrifice. My family’s endless support and love shaped me, but I also saw the gaps in healthcare for families like mine—where our cultural and religious needs were often misunderstood. This disparity ignited my passion for medicine, driving me to bridge these gaps and ensure my community feels seen, valued, and cared for. My journey to medical school has not been an easy one. I often faced challenges that required resilience and faith. Yet, my family’s unwavering support and duaa, paired with the strength I drew from my Islamic values, pushed me to strive for excellence despite the odds. During my time as a medical assistant at a family medicine clinic, I encountered patients whose stories resonated deeply with me. One of the most impactful moments during my time as a medical assistant was meeting a 65-year-old Syrian woman who faced a language barrier at check-in, relying on her granddaughter for help. While triaging her, I overheard their conversation and it felt familiar to my times translating for my own grandmother at her doctors appointments. I realized I could speak with her in Arabic, and because I spoke her language, she eventually opened up to me about using home remedies that worsened a wound on her hand. That is something she otherwise would not have shared. This interaction embodied my dream of becoming a doctor who not only provides care but also creates a safe space for patients, especially those from underserved or marginalized communities. InshaAllah, I aspire to have many more moments like this in my career as a physician. As a medical student, I have dedicated myself to both learning and giving back. I have organized health fairs to educate families about chronic diseases and offer free health screenings, and worked to bridge gaps in health literacy within my local community. Islam has always been at the heart of my mission. My faith inspires me to pursue knowledge not only for personal growth but also to benefit others. As the Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said, “Whoever relieves a believer’s distress, Allah will relieve their distress on the Day of Resurrection.” This teaching drives my commitment to alleviating the burdens of those around me, both through my future career as a physician and my efforts to uplift the next generation. Receiving this scholarship would not only alleviate the financial strain on myself and my family but also enable me to continue pursuing my education without distraction. In the spirit of Ismat Tariq’s legacy, I aspire to honor her dedication to family and community by paying it forward. My goal is to create mentorship programs for Muslim women in medicine, empowering them to pursue their dreams while remaining steadfast in their faith. I currently mentor pre-med Muslimahs and it is so rewarding. I also envision establishing health initiatives tailored to underserved Muslim communities, addressing disparities and providing culturally sensitive care. I want to continue the volunteer work I am doing now, but as a physician. By doing so, I hope to honor both my heritage and my responsibility as a Muslim woman to contribute positively to the world. I hope to honor my family and serve families in my community. This scholarship would be a step toward fulfilling these dreams, allowing me to follow Ismat Tariq’s example of selflessness and dedication to making the world a better place. Through faith, education, and service, I hope to continue her legacy and inspire others to do the same.