Finding Your Strength After Loss Ft. Pashmeena Siddiq

In this conversation I sit down with my friend and business partner Pashmeena Siddiq. We talk about loss, therapy, and the quiet strength it takes to rebuild. This one is not about silver linings or quick fixes. It is about what happens when life shatters your world and you have to find your footing again, one small step at a time.

Growing up between two worlds

Pashmeena was born in Glasgow, but her roots are in a village called Sakha Court. Her father was the first properly educated man from his side of the family. Her grandfather was a farmer, and life there was humble. When she was around three or four, the family moved back to Islamabad, and she has been here ever since. But that village identity never fully left her. She tells me, “my father is from this village called sakha court… I say I’m also from there.” Yet going back always felt like a culture shock, because she never lived that life, only visited. Her father taught them to adapt: when in Rome, do as the Romans. Still, the gap between her world and that world was real. Her mother had to manage it all, playing superwoman between in-laws, her own family, and her husband’s social circles. Pashmeena saw that and learned early what it takes for a woman to hold everything together.

The weight of being told you are not enough

School was not kind to her. She describes it as the most toxic environment, with teachers who were discouraging and made her believe she was not good enough. She says, “they were toxic teachers… Very discouraging. Failure you’re not good enough for this you’re not going to do this.” She got a B in a subject and was made to feel like a failure. That kind of messaging sinks deep. It took changing schools in her A-levels to start undoing that damage. At her new school, she helped organize the first proper welcome party, with vendors and everything. That small win showed her she could do something else, something she actually wanted. But the pressure at 17 or 18 to have it all figured out is unfair. She watched her brother finish his LLB only to realize he did not like it, and now he is taking a year off to figure things out. Her family supports that. She believes gap years should be normalized, and kids should have space to explore. That belief came from her own confusion and the courage to step away from what was not working.

Moving away to find yourself

At 18, she went to England for her studies. She fought hard for that independence, but when her parents left her at the airport, she cried. Her father got emotional too, but he told her she could do it. That moment changed her. Living alone taught her money management, how to build a life from scratch, and how to sit with herself. She says, “I grew closer to my mother I grew closer to my sister… Sometimes distance actually makes you closer.” She discovered who she was outside the bubble of Islamabad. Friends became family, and she learned that some friendships survive distance and silence, while others fade. That self-discovery is something she wishes for every young person: step out of the shell, see that there is more to life than the loop you are stuck in.

The loss that changes everything

Then came the part of her story that still sits heavy. Last year, she had a full-term pregnancy and lost her baby at 39 weeks. Her due date was November 30th. She went into the hospital expecting to hold her child and came out without one. She says, “39 weeks pregnant and you lose your baby, it literally shatters your world.” Her father is a well-known doctor, she had the best medical care, and still it happened. For months, she replayed every moment, wondering what she could have done differently. But she also knows there was nothing she could have done. That is a hard truth to sit with.

People around her wanted to help, but not everyone knew how. Some forced her to talk when she was not ready, and that did more harm than good. She started therapy and found a therapist who let her set the pace. She did not discuss the incident until seven weeks in. She says, “I’m still going to therapy and I’m so proud of that… It’s an investment you make on your mental health.” That step took courage, especially in a culture where therapy is still whispered about. She did not want this loss to define the rest of her life, so she chose to grieve with support, not alone.

The silent grief of a partner

We rarely talk about what the husband goes through in a pregnancy loss. Pashmeena’s husband had to be strong for her. He had to hold it together while she was breaking. She says, “they’re not supposed to cry, they’re supposed to have it together and be there for you.” He did that job well, but she wonders how he was dealing with it on his own. His faith is strong, and that helped him, but the burden on men in these moments is real. Society expects them to become the man of the house instantly, to make decisions, to protect everyone else’s feelings. She wants that to change. Let men feel. Let them fall apart too. You cannot carry someone else’s entire emotional load, and they should not have to carry yours alone either. Support means sharing, not just one person holding it all.

Building something of our own

Pashmeena and I are also business partners. We run Omash, a handmade homeware brand focused on crafts. Our friendship goes back to A-levels, but we were not in constant touch. Still, whenever we met, it was the same. When I was looking for someone skilled in a certain craft, she reached out, and we realized we were on the same page. We decided to do it together because I knew how professional she is, and we have kept our friendship and work separate. It has been over two years now, and we are still learning that balance.

Starting a business as a woman in Pakistan is its own maze. She says, “the way women do business is very different… We don’t have just a calm right.” You have in-laws, your own family, social commitments, maybe another job, and then you try to find time for work. When we were about to launch, she had her baby, and everything paused. Then later, after her loss, she came back to work within two and a half months. Not because she had to, but because she needed something to occupy her mind. We have been understanding of each other’s situations, giving space when needed. That is rare.

Support from family made it possible. Her mother-in-law was proud and encouraging. Her husband drops everything to make sure she has the space to work, even with his own demanding job. Her mother helped with products. But she knows many women do not have that. Even when in-laws “allow” a woman to work, they often still pile on all the household responsibilities. That is not real support. She says, “support doesn’t start where you let them… Make it convenient, don’t bring problems in the way.” Women have to fight for the right to work, and then fight again for the support to actually do it without burning out.

The small things that hold us together

This conversation was heavy, but we kept it light. We laughed, we paused, we did not want it to sit too heavily on anyone’s heart. But these are important things. Loss, therapy, entrepreneurship, the invisible labor of women. Pashmeena’s story is not just about one big tragedy. It is about all the small choices she made after: to go to therapy, to lean on the right friends, to let go of the ones who were not there, to build something with her own hands. That is where strength lives. Not in pretending everything is fine, but in showing up honestly, day after day.

If you are holding something heavy right now, I hope this conversation reminds you that you do not have to carry it alone. And if you know someone who is grieving, maybe just sit with them. You do not need the perfect words. Just be there.