The Power Of Sisterhood Ft. Kanwal Ahmed

I sit down with Kanwal Ahmed, the woman behind Soul Sisters Pakistan, and we talk about what it really takes to build a community that changes lives. This conversation is not just about the group that now has thousands of women. It is about the bullying she faced, the panic attacks, the moments she wanted to quit, and the small things that kept her going. It is about sisterhood in its rawest, most honest form.

From a beauty group to a space where women could finally talk

Kanwal did not set out to create a movement. In 2013, she was running a Facebook group called Karachi Salons Explorer, a place for women to review salons and share makeup tips. She got so into it that she became a makeup artist herself, doing bridal makeup and classes. But something kept happening while brides sat in her chair. They would open up about their lives, their marriages, their fears. And Kanwal noticed that even when women had friends and family, the advice they got was always biased. There was no space where a woman could speak and be heard without judgment.

So she started Soul Sisters Pakistan. She posted her own thoughts about partnership in marriage, and suddenly thousands of women were talking about everything under the sun. Taboo topics, marriage struggles, things people said you should not discuss. The group grew fast because women were hungry for a place where they could be real. Kanwal tells me, “I wanted a space where I as a woman could go to whenever I have something that I want to share.” She knew that not everyone has the privilege of understanding families or friends. For many, this group became that lifeline.

The small moments that showed her what community really means

When I ask Kanwal about the moment she realized the impact, she shares stories that still give her goosebumps. A woman posted that her maid’s sister was being beaten in a village. Within the group, someone knew a contact at a nearby police station, and they sent help overnight. Another time, a young girl with autism went missing. A member living abroad recognized her from a photo, and through the group, that girl was found and brought back to her parents. Kanwal says, “It was close to a miracle.”

Then there are the quieter stories. During the pandemic, a woman posted that her husband was stuck at a hotel, flooded and without food. Within the community, people sent over meals. Kanwal reflects, “It’s something small maybe, but it wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for this community.” These are the small things that matter. Not grand gestures, but women showing up for each other in ways that change a day, or a life.

At a meetup in Karachi, five women met for the first time. Months later, they messaged Kanwal to say they had started a business together, making customized food. They became close friends and financially empowered each other. Kanwal says, “You didn’t just become friends but you also financially empowered each other.” For her, these stories are everything. They prove that when women come together, they do not just talk. They build.

The cost of being the first

But building something this big came at a price. Kanwal was in her mid-twenties, managing a group that quickly became controversial. She tells me, “Soul sisters became me and I became soul sister.” Every comment, every decision, was scrutinized. She was relentlessly bullied. Screenshots of her comments were shared in other groups, with people saying cruel things. She started getting panic attacks. “I used to think that this is happening because I deserve it or because I’ve done something wrong,” she admits.

Her husband Anas would remind her, “When people say things that aren’t true, it’s not about you, it’s about them.” But it was hard to believe that when the attacks were so personal. Someone even made a fake Tinder account in her name, chatting with boys all night before her first ever Soul Sisters meetup. The next day, at the venue, men started showing up, and Kanwal broke down. She was terrified they would kidnap her. The women who owned the restaurant, and a lawyer friend, calmed her down. But the trauma stayed. She says, “I was so scarred at that moment. What did I do to deserve this?”

She had never spoken about this in so much detail before. And I am grateful she trusted me with it. Because so many women online face this kind of harassment, and they feel alone. Kanwal’s story is a reminder that the people building the spaces we love are often carrying wounds we cannot see.

A love story and a family that showed up

Amid all this, Kanwal had a steady anchor. She met her husband Anas in university. He proposed within six months of friendship, and her parents, surprisingly, were open to it. She laughs remembering how her mom met him at the food court, and how Anas borrowed his friend’s car so her mom would not notice his old one. They got engaged that same summer, and married two years later. It was smooth, she says, alhamdulillah.

When Soul Sisters started, her family did not fully understand what she was doing. There were conflicting opinions, especially with her parents, because she was vocal about things that went against cultural norms. But they still supported her. Her mom played a huge role in taking care of her daughter Minha during events. Her father-in-law proudly tells visitors, “She has a world famous group.” Kanwal says, “They don’t have to agree with everything I say. We’re two separate adults.” That acceptance, even with disagreement, is something many Desi women crave.

When Facebook saw what she was building

In 2018, Facebook announced a program for community leaders using their platform for good. A friend tagged Kanwal, and she applied. She almost missed the acceptance email because it went to spam. When she found it, she woke up her whole family. She was going to the US as one of 105 community leaders from across the world.

At the first dinner, a woman spoke about harassment online and said something that hit Kanwal deeply: “When someone is pointing a finger at you, the rest of the hand is a fist, and a fist is stronger than one finger.” Kanwal cried. She says, “It was the first time someone understood how I felt. I felt like I was in a room where I belonged.” That validation, after years of being torn down, was healing. She learned about empathy, about leading with kindness, and she even consulted with Facebook’s engineers to make the platform better for communities.

Conversations that matter, funded by the women who believe in her

With a grant from Facebook, Kanwal produced her dream show, Conversations with Kanwal. She wanted to humanize social issues through storytelling. The first episode got over a million views without any PR. The third episode hit two million views in 24 hours. She did not have a makeup artist or a hair person. She would just wash her hair and focus on the stories. “It wasn’t about me,” she says. “It was about the conversations we were having.”

When it came time for season three, corporate sponsors wanted control. Kanwal refused to censor her content. So she turned to her community. A woman from the group messaged her and said, “Do you really think your value is zero?” She put in the first ten thousand dollars for a crowdfunding campaign. Within six days, the community had fully funded the season. Small businesses, startups, women who believed in the impact, became the proud partners. Kanwal says, “They were investing in that change.” That is the power of sisterhood. Not just words, but action.

Why this conversation stays with me

I have known Kanwal for a while through DMs and Instagram, but sitting with her, I saw the weight she carries and the grace with which she carries it. This episode is for every woman who has ever felt alone in her struggles, who has been bullied for speaking up, who has built something beautiful while people tried to tear it down. Kanwal’s story is proof that the small things, a message, a meal, a meetup, can ripple out into something life-changing. And if you are building your own community, know that it is okay to want to quit. It is okay to be scared. Just do not lose hope, because something really great might be waiting right around the corner.