Empathy & Friendships

In this conversation I sit down with Amna Pizada, one of my first friends from A levels and a doctor with a wise, grounded perspective on life. We talk about female friendships, empathy, and the quiet ways our upbringing shapes us. There is no advice column here, just two old friends untangling what it means to show up for each other and for ourselves, honestly.

The friend who just asks you over to study

We met in 2012 when I switched to LGS for A levels. I was the outsider, a little intimidated, until Amna invited me over to study. That small ask made all the difference. I remember thinking, this girl is warm, the kind of person who makes you feel at home right away. That was the start of a friendship that has carried through marriage, a medical career, and now a baby on the way.

Amna and I agree that A levels were not really about physics or contests; they were about friendships. We spent hours sitting outside, listening to music, singing, figuring out who we were. Those friendships shaped our confidence. As Amna puts it, “your girl should make you feel good.” If I was ever down, my friends would hold up a mirror and say, this is who you are, and this is why I appreciate you. And they were right.

Not every friendship is a safe space

Of course, not all girlhood friendships are uplifting. We both remember the possessiveness, the grouping, the casual bullying that can happen at that age. But learning to step back from dynamics that drain you is just as important as finding your people. Amna says it clearly: “you deserve better and you don’t have to put up with that.” Distancing yourself from negativity is not being a bad person; it is knowing your worth. I think we were very lucky to have landed in a circle that was more pool of positivity than competition, but the lesson is to actively choose that circle.

We need each other more as we grow

The need for a solid female support system only gets louder as life gets bigger. I am about to become a mother, and Amna is already a doctor who has navigated house jobs and all that comes with adulting. She tells me that motherhood can be isolating, even with support, because only someone who has experienced it truly gets it. Talking to friends who are already mothers has made me feel less alone. “It gets tougher as you go,” Amna says, and I feel that in my bones. Venting without judgment, just being heard, is sometimes all you need to go back and face the day again.

You cannot put a label on a person

Amna comes from a feudal political family, something many of our listeners might not encounter every day. But here is the thing: she never wore it like a badge, and her parents never made it a cage. Her father, despite his background, was the one who encouraged her to become the first girl in her family to earn a professional degree. Her mother, an educated woman from a very different school of thought, led by example: she traveled, she made decisions, and she was trusted.

“You can’t put a label on it,” Amna says. Her parents came from different religious sects, different political views, but the harmony was built on one thing: respect. I see that in how Amna and her sister were raised. No one tried to mold them into a single version of a daughter. This is not about being liberal or conservative; it is about allowing people the space to be themselves.

Empathy is not just for patients

As doctors, we hold a strange power. People let us into their most vulnerable moments, and Amna reminds me that we must honor that. But here is what I rarely hear said: doctors deserve empathy too. I share a recent story of my own pregnancy scare, when I went to the hospital on a Sunday night, heart racing, only to be met with a slightly cold emergency doctor. Instead of matching her tone, I chose to say thank you and acknowledged how hard her night must be. She paused, then smiled and said, “No worries, that’s what I’m here for.”

Those thirty seconds shifted the whole room. Amna and I talk about how easy it is to label someone’s opinion or mood and write them off, but what if we just met them with a little softness? Not because they deserve it, but because we can offer it. That tiny act is not toxic positivity; it is seeing the human behind the moment.

Privilege is a responsibility

Amna’s father worked for his political career, and his father once told him: you have a responsibility to these people, they have a right over you. That lesson stayed. Amna carries it as a doctor, too. She knows that the respect she receives because of her family name is not something she earned, but she can use her medical training to give back in real, tangible ways. “Whatever I have to offer is still better than a lot of quacks,” she says, plain and kind. It is not about guilt; it is about remembering that your life is not just your own.

One small shift at a time

This conversation with Amna felt like a long-overdue catch-up that happened to be recorded. I walk away reminded that female friendships are not just comforting, they are lifelines. Empathy is not a soft skill; it is a daily practice, whether you are a doctor, a mother, or just a friend listening. And the small things, like saying thank you to a rushed doctor or inviting the new girl over to study, really do ripple out further than we think.

I hope this one makes you reach out to a friend just to say, I see you.