“I did not always win… but I always learned.”
What shapes a person in life is not what they gain, but what they lose. Success may add an achievement to our record, but it rarely adds wisdom to our awareness. It is the moments of failure—those small or great defeats we pass through in silence or bitterness—that open within us the great questions: Who are we? And what path were we truly meant to follow?
When we are at the heart of a painful experience, we feel as though the world has narrowed, and that a door leading to our future has been closed forever. But as time passes, it reveals that life is wiser than our plans, and that the path that closed was not the end of the journey, but often a hidden turn leading us to another road—one we might never have discovered had things gone as we wished.
With the passing of years, a person realizes a simple yet profound truth:
that some of what once felt like injustice was, in essence, a lesson, and that some of what we thought was defeat was actually the beginning of our true formation.
A person is not shaped only by what they achieve, but by what they learn from stumbling, and by what they discover about themselves when forced to rise after a fall they did not choose.
These words are not a story of success as much as they are a reflection on those moments that once seemed like loss, but later proved to be the hidden building blocks that shaped who I am.
Life, as I have learned over the years, cannot be understood from its first lines, nor judged from a single moment of pain or loss. Often, days conceal a wisdom we only see later—when we realize that what we thought was a fall was actually the beginning of another path… one we had not planned, but one far broader than we imagined.
I write these words to every young man and woman going through doubt or discouragement, to anyone who believes that losing a battle means the end of a dream. The truth is that life is not measured by a single moment of victory or defeat, but by the experience that accumulates within us, shaping a more mature and understanding self.
When I look back on my early years in medical school, I remember that my dream was clear and simple: to become a surgeon. I studied with passion and achieved excellence in all subjects. But during the oral exam in surgery, a professor deliberately failed me.
It was no secret. The intention was to lower my grade in order to make room for someone else.
It was a harsh moment for a young man who saw his future taking shape. I felt that a door had suddenly closed, and that a great dream had been taken away by a decision unrelated to effort or merit.
But life was writing another chapter I could not yet see.
After graduation, driven by disappointment—and perhaps the desire to start fresh—I decided to move to the United States. I passed the required exams and secured a residency position in surgery at Northwestern University in Chicago. The position was to begin after six months, and I did not want to waste that time, so I applied for a temporary residency in obstetrics and gynecology at Kasr Al-Ainy Hospital.
And there, the same scenario repeated itself.
I was excluded from the position.
At that moment, it was not just about a job—it was about dignity. I was not even particularly interested in the specialty, but I decided to defend my academic right. The issue escalated to the media and eventually reached the dean, who initially reprimanded me for what he saw as defiance. But when he reviewed the grades, he found my case justified. A decision was made to increase the number of positions, and I was accepted as a resident in obstetrics and gynecology.
I thought I would stay in that department for only a few months—until my travel date to the United States.
But life had another surprise.
During those months, I began to discover the depth of this human-centered field. I witnessed the moments of birth and the responsibility of a physician at the most delicate stages of human existence. Gradually, I found myself drawn to it, until I made a decision I had never planned: to stay.
From that decision began an entirely new journey.
The specialty I had entered by coincidence became the field to which I devoted my life. I earned the highest academic degrees, later traveled to the United States for a doctorate and worked at universities in Detroit and Chicago, then returned to Egypt to continue my professional and academic career.
When I look back at that moment in the surgery exam, I realize that the injustice I felt was not the end of the road—it was the turning point that led me to who I became.
This was not the only such experience in my life. I faced similar situations in politics as well, and in every case, I emerged stronger and more capable.
Life has taught me a lesson that repeats itself in many forms:
Not everything that appears to be bad is truly bad.
And not every closed door means the end of the road.
Sometimes what we consider a loss is the very path that leads us to our true selves. And sometimes the injustice we face is the spark that awakens a strength we never knew we had.
So I say to every young man and woman:
Do not drown in a moment of defeat. Do not let losing a single battle mean losing life itself.
Reflect on the experience, learn from it, and allow time to reveal what you could not see in the moment.
For life does not shape us through moments of success alone, but through moments of resilience after breaking.
And if each of us looks honestly at our life, we will discover that much of what we once thought was bad… was in fact the beginning of a good we never expected.
