I never planned on being an entrepreneur. I wanted to be a doctor. That was the picture in my head when I was growing up — hospital corridors, long nights on call, a life built around patients and medicine. But somewhere along the way, life pushed me in a completely different direction. It wasn’t a grand decision. There was no moment where I stood there and said, “Alright, business it is.” It just... happened. One choice led to another, one door opened while another closed, and before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of industries I’d never imagined being a part of.

And here’s the funny part — I didn’t fit in. Not at first. I was a young woman walking into rooms where everyone was older, male, and already knew each other. Agriculture, commodities, oil and gas, real estate, fintech... places where I was the only one in heels, the only one who didn’t speak the unspoken language of “old boys’ club.” I remember sitting at those tables feeling like I’d somehow snuck in and was about to get caught.

But I stayed. That was the one thing I did right in the beginning — I stayed. Even when I didn’t know the answers. Even when the air in the room felt heavy with doubt. Over time, I learned to own my place. And slowly, I stopped worrying about whether I belonged and started asking myself a different question: Who else can I bring in here?

Because the truth is, getting your seat at the table is only part of it. What matters more is making sure other women get there too. That’s what the Saba Family Foundation is about for me. It’s in honour of my father, yes, but it’s also for every woman who has the ambition and the ability but just needs the door to open a little wider. We work in education, healthcare, livelihoods — but what we’re really doing is building pathways so the next woman doesn’t have to fight every inch of the way like I did. Business taught me resilience, but philanthropy gave me purpose. The wins in business are exciting — a big deal closed, a market opened — but the moments that stay with me are the ones where someone’s life changed because we showed up. Funding heart research for South Asians. Helping rebuild after the tsunami. Seeing a child go to school for the first time. That’s the stuff that keeps me going when everything else feels too heavy.

And yes, there have been hard seasons. I’ve built companies from scratch. I’ve lost companies I thought would last forever. I’ve had weeks where I worked around the clock and still felt like I was falling behind. I’ve faced people who doubted me, underestimated me, or flat-out dismissed me. And every time, I’ve had to decide whether to walk away or keep going. I kept going. Not because it was easy — it never was — but because I knew what I was building mattered.

Outside of all this, I am just me. A mother. Someone who cooks to relax, who loves her five dogs and four cats like family, who lifts weights to clear her head. I write. I travel. I try to stay curious about the world. Those parts of my life keep me balanced. Without them, I think the pressure of business would have crushed me years ago.

If there’s anything my journey has taught me, it’s this: nobody hands you a seat at the table. You drag your own chair in. Sometimes you have to build the chair yourself. And when you finally sit down, you don’t guard your spot — you make room for others. That’s how we change the room. If you read this and you’re a woman wondering whether you can do it, you can. You belong there, even if it takes a while for everyone else to see it.