“Healing the Scarcity Mindset That Tells Me I’m Not Enough Unless I’m Better”
Roumaisa’s POV
I was a girl born in a house that prayed for a boy.
My name? Roumaisa – it means a woman of excellence, graceful and beautiful in character. But I never felt like I was allowed to live up to it.
Growing up, my parents were trying for a son. When I came into the world, they called it a mistake. A failed prayer. I became the daughter dressed like a son—my brother Asghar’s old clothes stitched back and handed to me with a cold smile. No one ever asked what I liked. On Eid, while the other girls wore shimmery salwar kameez and glass bangles, I was given a sherwani and a tom-boy cut. My mom would introduce me to guests with pride: “Yeh hamara beta hai.” I wasn’t even allowed to feel like a girl.
By college, I wanted to try wearing what I liked. I wanted long, jet-black hair that matched my skin tone. I wanted to try eyeliner without shame. But I couldn’t. My parents still expected me to live as a shadow of Asghar—act like him, study like him, behave like him.
The irony? I was better academically. I was a topper. And he was barely scraping through.
But that didn’t matter. They still called him the “man of the house.” While I, somehow, was always too loud, too sharp, too much. People whispered about me, laughed at me, even labeled me a lesbian just because I didn’t dress up for the male gaze. The trauma ran deep.
One day, I almost packed my bags and left for good. I wanted to disappear, start over, never look back. But one person saw me.
Badi Maa’s POV
I never had a daughter. But from the day Roumaisa was born, I knew she was mine in ways no bloodline could explain.
She wasn’t broken—her parents were. Her brother had been fed validation with a silver spoon, while she was asked to keep earning hers.
I once told her mother, “If you don’t want her, give her to me. Let me show her what it means to be cherished.”
She was brilliant, kind, driven—but you dressed her in shame. You told her she was less than. For what? Being born with ovaries?
Roumaisa wasn’t your failed prayer. She was Allah’s mercy. You were just too blind to see it.
Asghar’s POV
I was the golden child.
Everything was handed to me—credit, freedom, even when I failed. I failed in school. I failed in my marriage. And yet, I was protected, like I deserved second and third chances. Roumaisa never got one.
But she was stronger than me.
When my marriage collapsed, my parents still held her up as the one who needed to “get married next.” Not once did they ask what she wanted.
Watching her almost leave shattered me. Because even I could see it—she deserved the world. I never thanked her for the times she helped me study, covered for my lies, or even smiled through tears just so our house didn’t collapse from its own pressure.
I was Asghar—“the youngest, the favored one.”
And I lived that name, maybe too well.
Parents’ POV
We don’t talk about the guilt that sits in our hearts like cement. We don’t talk about the bruises we gave without ever raising a hand.
We only wanted what was best for our children. But somewhere along the way, we forgot to see Roumaisa as a child who needed to be loved—not just shaped into someone who could fill a son’s shoes.
We see now what we didn’t see before: her tears, her strength, her silence. We regret dressing her in someone else’s identity.
But is sorry ever enough?
Roumaisa’s POV (Final Reflection)
Healing is messy. It’s not a straight line—it’s a spiral of moments, of wins and relapses.
I used to think I had to become him to be worthy. To be seen.
But the truth is, Asghar means “the youngest, the favored one.”
And he lived that name to the fullest—held up, forgiven, celebrated even in failure.
Roumaisa means a woman of excellence, graceful and beautiful in character.
But no one ever saw that in me.
Not when I wore old sherwanis.
Not when I was laughed at for being too boyish.
Not even when I topped my class.
I wasn’t living up to my name.
But now, I will.
Because my worth isn’t measured in how “boyish” I can be.
It’s in how much I can reclaim the softness, the strength, and the divine beauty I was born with.
I am Roumaisa.
And now, I’m choosing to live like her.