My conviction and confidence as a young Sikh woman has been rooted in my Sikhi from day one. Growing up in a large family where I was a young girl with a brother and many male cousins, I never noticed a difference in how I was raised. If anything, I was pushed harder to pursue a career, to be independent, to never have to rely on a man for my success or stability. This gender equality was always rooted in our history and our faith. I was taught the legacy of Sikh warriors that I came from—other Kaurs who had given their lives on the battlefield, in service, and in devotion. I was shown lines from Sri Guru Granth Sahib that told us that all were equal because we were all from One Creator and of one creation.

Perhaps this is why it was so jarring when, as I grew older and interacted with more individuals in the community, I realized not all young Sikh girls had grown up in a similar mindset. I realized that older men in the community only saw me as a young girl who should stay in the background, never rising to the leadership position that I had been raised to pursue. Instead, the further I moved into puberty and adolescence, the more the community told me to become a suitable partner for a strong man who would change the world while I sat idle and watched.

In February, I spent two weekends back-to-back at Sikh-focused events. The first was a leadership retreat for Sikh women who had focused their work on advocacy and attention-raising for critical issues within and outside the community. The second was an academic conference focused on discussing issues pertinent to Sikhs—past, present, and future. While I attended and participated in both, I noticed a similar issue—both the lack of Sikh women in visible (leadership) roles and the exhaustion of women who were in those positions. While the retreat I attended was attempting to cultivate the women who were pursuing that work, specifically by giving them space to encourage and take care of one another, there was still a sense of the work that needed to be done, of the dissonance between our worlds (based on race, religious practice, age, career, and more), and how alone we all felt in our work. At the conference, I realized how—even in my own community—I felt that same intense isolation that I often felt in non-Sikh circles, as the only young Sikh woman presenting her work that day.

In the stories of Sikh women I had been raised with, I had never heard about this—the disgust, backlash, and disapproval for simply being vocal, opinionated, and independent. The daily reminder that (even at 24-years-old) I’m not getting any younger and the time to find a husband is decreasing rapidly. The encouragement to let go of career aspirations and pursue life as a mom and housewife. When hearing the names of Sikh women leaders, I had never realized how much they must have felt alone. Striving to pursue the ideals of gender equality that our Creator has instilled in us, they had distinguished themselves from the society and culture that they were within. How isolating this must have felt.

But I’ve also realized that these women were likely even further grounded by a trust and love that I have yet to build in the same unquestioning way they did—their Sikhi. By placing full conviction in their Divinity and their rightful place as leaders, creators, thinkers, and doers, these women could not be shaken by any distrust or disdain for their work. They truly followed the sentiment of this shabad (hymn):

ਮਨ ਤੰੂ ਜੋਤਿ ਸਰੂਪੁ ਹੈ ਆਪਣਾ ਮੂਲੁ ਪਛਾਣੁ ॥

O my mind, you are the embodiment of the Divine Light – recognize your own origin.

Although this is a shabad I’ve heard (and loved) from a young age, what needs work is my praxis. What does recognizing my Divine origin look like? How would I move through the world if I really understood and believed that about myself and about those with whom I interact? How would the legacy of Sikh women look today if those in and outside of the Sikh community saw us as equal leaders of the community? How would we acknowledge people’s stories if we recognized our collective, Divine origin? As I continue to move through my activism work, I hope to build a more solid practice of reflecting on the Divinity of those whom I engage with (and those I choose not to) in order to build a stronger legacy of Sikh women.