As an Iranian woman leading in both science and philanthropy, how has your identity shaped the way you show up in your work and in the world?
My identity did not arrive fully formed—it evolved through responsibility, displacement, and self-discovery. It began with something simple: a
creative maternal instinct. A desire to serve care—not philosophically, but instinctively and practically. Leaving my homeland at a young age, I felt forced to choose one path, when in truth I felt expansive and capable of many. I began in molecular biology, briefly pursued dentistry, and realized quickly I could not tolerate blood. That honesty led me to clinical pharmacy and neuropharmacotherapy. I worked two jobs to support my life, while my parents supported my education—even through the Iran–Iraq war. But education alone did not resolve what I was feeling. My identity, as a woman of the 80s growing abroad, felt constantly tested. I was watching my homeland
shift—watching
women lose
freedoms,
watching an
ancient Persian
identity become
something else. So
I began preserving
what I could. As a
student at Rutgers
University, I
founded a Persian
cultural group that
still exists today.
That was my first
act of protecting
identity—not
politically, but
humanly.
Years later, at what
looked like the
peak of success,
life paused me.
Around 45, I experienced a deep internal shift—physical, emotional, hormonal. I could no longer live fast or perform identity. That was my turning point. Everything I had been carrying—roles, expectations, preservation—needed integration. Not survival. Integration. My training in pharmacy helped me see this clearly. I began redesigning my life—not just professionally, but as a human system. Through caregiving, motherhood, and years of trial and error, I eventually delivered what I had been carrying all along: a way of living, a system of care. What I now express through Art’a of PersianNess. I believe we all carry a kind of “happy DNA”—an inner yellow light—but it requires attention and integration to be revealed. Today, I no longer separate my identity from my responsibilities. I carry contradictions with intention—grief with beauty, intellect with emotion, precision with poetry. Science gives me structure. Culture gives me depth. And together, they shape how I show up—whole.
Your work carries both personal and cultural responsibility. How do you balance honoring where you come from while building something for future generations?
It’s not a balance—it’s a constant, silenced yearning to be and to live, like a craving to continue with creativity—even creating health. It comes from minimizing the intensities that come from not having something in its entirety. I watched my parents live with that absence; they carried it and continued it in me. Persians continue with creativity and understand that life is about joy, not suffering. Sometimes it feels like that is why we are marginalized—as if there is resistance to letting us tell the story as it truly was. A cultural DNA never lies. I studied molecular biology and genetics, and now I understand this differently: when something expresses, it cannot be undone, and pausing too long creates mutation. But mutation is not always negative—we can evolve into better human beings. We must continue with hope and with action.