From Silence to Strength: A Refugee Story of Growth Conversation With Fahima Muse

Fahima’s story begins long before she found her place as an occupational therapist. It begins in the quiet, often unseen spaces of growing up between worlds—where identity is not clearly defined, and belonging is something you learn to navigate on your own.

She arrived in New Zealand as a young child from Somalia, growing up in a large family shaped by both love and sacrifice. At home, there was warmth, understanding, and a strong sense of who she was. But outside, particularly at school, that sense of belonging was not always reflected in her. She remembers being present, but not fully seen. Being part of the classroom, yet feeling slightly out of place. At that age, there were no words to describe what she was experiencing. It simply felt normal because there was nothing else to compare it to.

Like many young people from refugee or migrant backgrounds, she learned to navigate these differences quietly. There was no guidebook on how to move between cultures, no clear way to reconcile the values of home with the expectations of the outside world. She describes it simply: one foot in her home culture, and one foot in New Zealand. The balance between the two was not taught—it was lived.

As she grew older, that same quiet navigation continued into university. There was determination, but also uncertainty. After realising her first degree was not the right fit, she carried a deeper fear into her second attempt—what if she got it wrong again? That question weighed more than it needed to. Not because anyone placed it on her, but because she carried it within herself.

Coming from a refugee background, she was deeply aware of what her parents had gone through to build a life in a new country. Success was never just about personal achievement. It was tied to something larger—to sacrifice, to opportunity, to the desire to honour the journey that brought her there. As the eldest daughter, I felt that responsibility even more strongly.

She pushed herself through long nights, running on very little sleep, driven by a need to make it work. Looking back, she recognises that much of that pressure came from within. Even though her parents reassured her that she would be okay, she was already holding herself to a standard she had never questioned.

When she finally completed her degree, the feeling was not just relief—it was release. She describes it as coming up for air after being underwater for a long time. It was the first moment she realised she could breathe again.

Her journey into occupational therapy was not planned in a traditional sense. It came through observation, curiosity, and a moment of asking the right question at the right time. What drew her in was not just the role itself, but the way it saw people—not as problems to fix, but as individuals with lives, routines, and meaning. That perspective aligned with how she already understood the world.

But Fahima’s story does not stop at her own journey. It extends into how she sees others, particularly young people navigating similar paths. She speaks openly about the gaps that still exist—young people leaving school without clear guidance, without understanding what options are available, and often being placed into narrow pathways without being fully seen.

She reflects on her experience of being advised into a role she did not understand, without the space to explore what was truly possible. At the time, she did not recognise it for what it was. It was only later that she realised she had been guided through assumption rather than possibility.

This awareness has shaped how she shows up in her community now. She has taken on roles that support youth, speak in schools, and create spaces where young people can ask questions, explore options, and feel heard. For her, it is not about being the answer—it is about making sure there is no longer a gap where there once was.

She understands that many young people today are still navigating challenges that are not always visible. They may not have the language to express what they are going through. They may not feel safe enough to speak. And often, what is seen as behaviour is actually something deeper that has not been understood.

Her work reflects a simple but important shift—moving from assumption to listening, from reaction to understanding.

One of the most defining moments in her story clearly reveals this. On her first day of work, she was hit by a car. In the shock of the moment, her first instinct was not fear, but concern about being late. It reflects something deeper about her experience—the understanding that opportunities are not always easily replaced and that you hold on to them when you have them.

Later, when she met the driver who had fled the scene, she asked one question: why didn’t you stop? But as she listened, her initial anger shifted into something else. She saw the person in front of her—not just the action, but the humanity behind it. She chose not to press charges. She chose to let the moment pass without adding further weight to it.

This response did not come from a single moment. It came from everything that had shaped her before it. From her upbringing, her faith, her experiences, and the way she has learned to see people beyond what is immediately visible.

Looking back, she does not define her experiences as purely difficult or negative. Instead, she sees them as having shaped her understanding of others and of herself. There is a quiet acceptance in how she reflects—an understanding that what she has gone through has become part of how she moves through the world today.

If she could speak to her younger self, she would keep it simple. She would say that everything will be okay and that it is okay to feel what you are feeling. That the pain is not permanent.

Fahima’s story is not about a single moment of transformation. It is about a series of lived experiences that gradually shaped her view of the world. It reflects what it means to grow up without clear answers, to carry responsibility quietly, and to eventually find a way to turn that experience into something that supports others.

It is a reminder that many journeys are not linear or clearly defined. Some are built through navigating uncertainty, holding multiple identities at once, and learning along the way.

And sometimes, the most important thing someone can do is not to have all the answers—but to make sure the next person does not have to walk the same path alone.

Full Podcast: From Silence to Strength: A Refugee Story of Growth Conversation With Fahima Muse