When we build our house, we will find peace."

My name is Maham Arshad. For me, peace is not just a word; it is the most valuable thing, something I am always searching for. I try to imagine what it looks like, what it feels like. I have wanted it at every stage of my life, but I have never truly found it. Each day, I feel lost in this endless search.

My story begins when I was a little girl, just six years old. I was curious and loved exploring our home. One day, I found a small wooden box. When I opened it, I saw a stack of letters. They had beautiful drawings of hearts and flowers on them. I didn’t know what they were, but the pictures made me feel that they were about something deep and emotional. My mother saw me with the box and quickly took it away. She sounded upset and said, "Why do you always touch these things?"

That same day, something happened that I will never forget. My mother had worked for five hours in the kitchen to cook seven different dishes for guests. In one dish, she had accidentally put less salt. One guest asked my father for some salt. Instead of quietly handling it, my father started shouting at my mother in front of everyone. He said she didn’t know how to cook. I saw my mother’s face fill with pain. She went back to the kitchen, heartbroken. The guest who had asked for the salt even told my father, "She is your wife, you should respect her." But my father only defended himself.

Later, I asked my mother, "What is a wife?" She replied softly, "A wife is a superwoman. She always stands with her husband and helps him in bad times." I told her I wanted to be a wife when I grew up. Her response surprised me. She said, "No. First, you have to become yourself. You have to create your own identity. You don’t have to become like me." Even though I was very young, I understood her sadness. I knew she was right.

My father had a government job, but his income was never stable. Sometimes we had enough money, and sometimes we faced big losses. Our life felt broken most of the time. We often worried about school fees and other important expenses. My mother was our strength. She never bought anything for herself; she always put her five children first my four sisters and my one brother.

When I was nine, I was watching a drama on TV and saw the same kind of love letters I had found in the wooden box. I finally understood that they were symbols of love. I thought love was beautiful, but my mother told me it was dangerous for a girl. She said, "Love is one of the most foolish things. It is not real like in dramas; it is scary in real life. As a girl, you must not run after love. You must find peace." I asked her what peace meant. She explained, "Peace is when you do not depend on anyone. You have your own life, your own identity. You are not afraid of anyone, and everyone respects you. That is when you are powerful." From that day on, I promised myself I would spend my life searching for that kind of peace.

When I was in ninth grade, a teacher told us that wearing an abaya would protect us from bad influences and keep us safe from anyone who might try to distract us with love. I liked this idea and started wearing an abaya. It made me feel happy and proud.

Around that time, things at home got a little better. My mother had been saving money for years, and my father had some profit from work. My mother decided to build a house her biggest dream. I remember how she would stand for hours, watching the construction with hope in her eyes. For the first time, I saw her truly happy. The house was finished in 2014 and was one of the nicest in our area. But getting there was not easy.

Construction had started in 2010 but stopped for three years because my father lost money again. During that time, we lived with my father’s sister. She was a widow and lived alone, so my father brought her to live with us. But she was often unkind to my mother. When my father was around, she acted innocent, and he always believed her instead of my mother. One day, when my father was not home, my aunt’s daughter pushed my older sister. My mother got very angry and said, "We will not live here anymore." We moved back to our half built house, which had no doors and no running water. It was a scary, dark night. We were all crying on one bed. When my father came home, he saw our condition and decided to take a loan to finish the house. We lived in that unfinished home, room by room, until it was finally complete. My mother always said, "When we build our house, we will find peace."

But in 2019, that peace was shattered. My father became very sick and was in the hospital for three months. While he was away, his office did no work, and he faced a huge financial loss when he returned. He became depressed and took a large loan from a private person. That man was cruel and started coming to our house, demanding his money back and frightening us. My father felt he had no choice but to sell our house my mother’s dream to that same man. We had to leave our home.

While packing, I found the wooden box with the love letters again. Now I was over 18, so I asked my mother whose letters they were. She told me, "Your father gave them to me." I read them. They were full of promises: "I will always respect you," "I will never hurt you," "We will build a beautiful home together." But all those promises were broken. I asked my mother what she wanted now. She said, "I want peace in my daughters’ lives. I don’t want them to make the same mistake I did." She told me she had left her last exam to marry my father. "If I had taken that exam," she said, "I could have had a job, respect, and built my own life. I chose this life instead of peace." After that, I began to hate the idea of love and marriage.

We moved in with my uncle, and I focused on my studies. I finished high school, but university was too expensive. My brother had already dropped out of university because of the cost, and I did not want the same to happen to me. I joined a college for an associate degree instead. My mother encouraged my brother to study again, but he struggled and eventually dropped out a second time before starting a two year degree. I worked very hard and got excellent marks. My mother told me I was her last hope. The pressure was heavy, and I felt alone. I pushed everyone away and only focused on studying because I was so afraid of failing.

My brother and I both finished our degrees in 2025( I did 4 years degree and he 2 years. I thought things would get better. I found a job, but a new problem was waiting for me.

In 2018, I had started learning more about my religion and began wearing an abaya with pride. I worked hard I finished my degree, took more than 20 courses, and even did some research. I was excited when my college recommended me for a job interview at a big school in Pakistan. I believed that in an Islamic country, my abaya would be respected.

But when I went for the interview, they looked down on me. They made fun of my resume and offered me a job as a nursery teacher’s assistant, even though I had top grades. No one else in the school was wearing an abaya. They looked at me as if I were not good enough. The abaya was not allowed in that place. I was shocked and hurt. I did not take the job.

I found another school a girls school, but they also said I could not wear an abaya. I didn’t understandwhat does my clothing have to do with my ability to teach? We live in a Muslim country, but it seems like religious clothing is not accepted in workplaces. I did job for six months but finally left because I could not accept this unfairness.

Meanwhile, my brother, who had less education than me, easily found a job in a bank. He did not face the same problem because he is a boy. I realized that our struggles were different only because of our gender.

I decided not to stay silent. I started writing on LinkedIn, Medium, and World Pulse. I published a research paper and shared my thoughts online. I have now gained over a thousand followers on LinkedIn, and many people have read my work. I am using my voice to speak up for myself and other women.

In many workplaces, older women look down on younger girls who are skilled and knowledgeable. Instead of supporting us, they tease us and make us feel small. The hypocrisy is shocking. In school, we are taught for years that wearing an abaya is important and that women who don’t cover up are not good. But when we finish our studies, we see that wearing an abaya can keep us from getting good jobs. Women are forced to choose: give up their religious identity to follow their dreams, or give up their dreams to keep their faith. Both choices steal their peace.

This is the painful truth for many women in Pakistan. I have seen how dreams are destroyed because of what a woman wears. Your clothing should not be a barrier to your success. It should be your strength. No one should be allowed to tell a woman she cannot be a manager, a banker, or a teacher because of her abaya.

We must keep fighting. We must struggle until the day when no woman has to choose between her faith and her future. We must create a world where people look at our talent, not our clothing. I will continue to speak up, and I believe that one day, we will win this fight.