The following blog is part of a larger series our interns are producing on topics related to refugees. Each story is taken from their own personal perspective.

My father was a medical doctor in Afghanistan for over 25 years. He treated patients in remote provinces and busy hospitals in Kabul. He saved lives. People knew him by name, not because he advertised his work but because his care and compassion left an imprint on their families. His knowledge was hard-earned, tested by the decades-long civil war, nationwide resource shortages, and long hours. Eventually, after years of working in a respected position back home, my parents suddenly found themselves starting over in a new country, navigating not just the geography but the assumptions that come with being a refugee.

Although, he carried that same knowledge across oceans when we immigrated to Canada, believing it would guide him to new opportunities, it was a humbling and often invisible journey; one filled with contradictions: bringing a lifetime of experience and yet being told over and over again that you must start anew.

When my father arrived, the system did not see the doctor. It only saw a refugee without “Canadian experience.”

His resume, once a symbol of his years-long service and skill, had become a reminder of everything that now seemed to count for nothing.

And my father’s story is not unique. It is the story of engineers who now drive taxis, teachers who clean offices at night, and business leaders who now stack shelves. It is the story of so many immigrants and refugees who carried their knowledge with them across borders, only to find that it became irrelevant the moment they arrived.

Why does crossing a border erase decades of lived experience? Why does it take away our credentials, our professional identities, our ability to contribute? The truth is, it does not. It only conceals them in the eyes of systems and employers that are too focused on where we come from rather than what we bring.

And what we bring is a lot. And it matters.

We bring resilience, the kind that gets built when you start over with nothing. We bring adaptability because navigating war zones, migration, and resettlement demands it. We bring cross-cultural competence because we know what it means to understand differences and still be willing to build bridges. We bring technical skills and real-world knowledge gained in classrooms, clinics, and communities around the world.

However, we are often told that we need to “Canadianize” our experience. That we must start small or obtain local credentials before being trusted again. We are asked to prove ourselves over and over while the depth of our past is ignored.

This does not just impact careers. It impacts dignity. It wears people down. It makes them question their worth, their identity, their future.

But we keep going

We go back to school in our 40s and 50s. We take survival jobs while volunteering in our fields. We attend networking events where no one remembers our names. We rewrite our resumes a hundred times to fit job descriptions that ask for everything except who we are.

And in the process, we do something remarkable; we rebuild ourselves stronger than ever before. Not because we were lacking but because we were denied the chance to continue.

Every application we send is a quiet act of hope. Every interview we land is a testament to persistence. Every small opportunity we seize becomes a steppingstone toward reclaiming the roles we were born to play.

To employers

Do not underestimate the power of international experience. Do not overlook the wisdom gained in different systems, cultures, and contexts. Credentials may vary, but talent, compassion, and commitment don’t have borders. If you give refugees a chance, you’ll gain not just an employee but someone who has already proven they can rise against the odds.

To immigrants and refugees

Your story matters. Your skills matter. You matter. You may feel unseen now, but you are not alone. There are more of us than you think, quietly rebuilding, courageously starting again.

And to the systems that set the bar for inclusion: the time has come to rethink what “qualified” really means.

No one should have to leave behind their identity to belong because we bring more than our hopes; we bring our history. And that history deserves a place at the table.