My parents immigrated from Iran to the U.S. shortly before the Iranian revolution in 1979, leaving behind the familiar in search of safety, opportunity, and a new beginning. While they were excited to come to this new land that they hoped would fulfill their ambitions, they were also motivated by political events in their homeland that put their lives and future at risk. Leaving their home, the culture, the language—everything they had ever known—was a difficult, if not traumatizing, experience. But their hopes and dreams encouraged the biggest trust fall of their lives, and they made their way to America.Â
I was born in the U.S. a short time after they arrived here, raised between two worlds—one rooted in tradition and memory, the other defined by the fast-moving rhythms of American life. Though I didn’t live their story through their eyes, it has shaped me in countless, quiet ways.Â
From an early age, I absorbed the values my parents carried with them across oceans and borders. Perseverance in the face of uncertainty. Resourcefulness in new environments. A deep respect for education, family, and community. These weren’t things we talked about often—but they were modeled daily. Their example laid a foundation for how I move through the world: with purpose, humility, and a sense of responsibility that stretches beyond myself.
Navigating two cultural identities—being Iranian at home and American outside—wasn’t a seamless experience. I often felt out of place in both spaces. I stood between worlds, my feet resting on the banks of a stream that carried the weight of two cultures—never quite anchored, yet always in motion. I recall the pressure I felt to honor the customs of my ancestors while also assimilating into the dominant culture of my community.Â
But over time, I came to see this duality not as a conflict, but as a strength. It taught me to listen more carefully, to hold multiple perspectives at once, and to find common ground in difference. In my professional life, these abilities have helped me build trust, adapt to complexity, and show up with empathy and curiosity.
As a second-generation immigrant, I’ve often felt a quiet motivation to succeed—not for the sake of achievement alone, but as a way to honor the sacrifices my family and my ancestors made. It’s a subtle pressure that many children of immigrants know well: to make it matter, to give back, to do something meaningful with the opportunities we’ve been given–the truest of collectivist expectations. That sense of purpose has shown up in me as advocacy, letting my voice be heard when so many are silenced, and standing tall in the face of bias and discrimination. While it doesn’t always show up in loud or dramatic ways, it’s still there—steady, motivating, and deeply personal.
My story isn’t unique, and that’s part of why I share it. So many colleagues, clients, and community members carry their own versions of this legacy—stories of resilience, adaptation, and quiet strength. I believe these lived experiences enrich our workplaces and our world in ways that often go unseen. In telling this story, I hope to honor not just where I come from, but also the shared human experiences that connect us all: the desire to belong, the effort to bridge difference, and the resilience it takes to build something new.