Tasreen Khamisa shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Tasreen , really appreciate you sharing your stories and insights with us. The world would have so much more understanding and empathy if we all were a bit more open about our stories and how they have helped shaped our journey and worldview. Let’s jump in with a fun one: What makes you lose track of time—and find yourself again?
For me, it’s swimming. Being in water has always been deeply healing — it’s where my mind quiets, my breath steadies, and I feel most like myself. When I swim, I’m transported back to childhood moments that were filled with love, joy, and safety. My aunts taught me how to swim, and those memories are still some of the most nurturing and grounding I have.
As an adult, especially in a leadership role that carries both responsibility and emotional weight, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed or stay in my head. Swimming brings me back into my body, back into presence, and back into clarity. The water helps me release what I’m holding, recalibrate, and return to my work and life grounded, balanced, and whole.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Tasreen Khamisa, and I serve as the CEO of the Tariq Khamisa Foundation (TKF), an organization born out of personal tragedy and transformed into a global message of healing, compassion, and restorative justice. TKF was founded in honor of my brother, Tariq, who was tragically killed at the age of 20 by a 14-year-old boy. Rather than responding with hate, our family chose the path of forgiveness — and that courageous choice became the foundation of a lifelong movement for peace.
My work with TKF is deeply personal. Even before losing Tariq, I always knew I wanted to work with young people. I studied Sociology at the University of Washington, concentrating in what was then called Juvenile Delinquency Studies — a term that has thankfully evolved as we’ve shifted toward understanding youth through the lens of trauma, equity, and healing rather than labels or blame. During my time at UW, I became passionate about exploring the idea that “hurt people hurt people” — and today, my work is grounded in the belief and evidence that “healed people heal people.”
For nearly three decades, TKF has provided hope-centered programming to schools, families, and communities — and today we are evolving into a national Training Institute dedicated to teaching restorative principles, social-emotional healing, and forgiveness-based practices to educators, youth-serving organizations, and community leaders. Through curriculum, workshops, storytelling, and lived experience, our mission is to help people transform pain into purpose and conflict into connection.
This work is not just what I do — it’s who I am, and it’s the legacy I am honored to continue at tkf.org.
Appreciate your sharing that. Let’s talk about your life, growing up and some of topics and learnings around that. What did you believe about yourself as a child that you no longer believe?
As a child, I was extremely shy, introverted, and insecure. I didn’t believe I had value or anything important to offer, and I didn’t yet know how to love myself. I kept a lot inside and often felt unseen and unsure of my place in the world. There are still moments when I can feel that little girl inside me, but today I meet her with compassion instead of judgment.
Over the years, I’ve done a tremendous amount of inner work — healing, therapy, reflection, and deep forgiveness, including forgiving those who hurt me. That process has been transformational. It has allowed me to release old beliefs, reclaim parts of myself that were wounded, and step into my worth. I now know that I am whole, I am valuable, and I am deserving of love — especially my own. Because of that healing, I am able to stand in my truth, my purpose, and my power.
What did suffering teach you that success never could?
Suffering taught me truths that success never had the capacity to reveal. When I was 18, my father gave me The Prophet by Khalil Gibran, and the passage on Joy and Sorrow became a lifeline. Gibran writes that “the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain,” and that understanding shifted the way I saw pain — not as a punishment, but as an invitation to deepen, to awaken, and to grow.
My greatest lessons didn’t come from achievements or recognition; they came from heartbreak, loss, and moments so dark I had no choice but to turn inward and connect with my higher self. Suffering taught me resilience, compassion, humility, and a reverence for joy — not as a fleeting feeling, but as something sacred because it exists in contrast to sorrow.
Success can celebrate who we are on the outside.
Suffering reveals who we truly are on the inside — and who we’re capable of becoming.
Next, maybe we can discuss some of your foundational philosophies and views? What would your closest friends say really matters to you?
I believe my closest friends would say that what matters most to me is being a mother — it is the role that grounds me, humbles me, and fills me with unconditional love. They would also say that my family is my heart, my compass, and the place where I draw my greatest strength.
They know that love, loyalty, and deep connection are sacred to me, and that I pour myself into relationships that are honest, meaningful, and aligned with growth.
I think they would also say that I am driven by a profound calling to serve — not from obligation, but from purpose. Helping others heal, feel seen, feel valued, and find hope matters deeply to me. Whether through my work, my friendships, or my motherhood, I care about making people feel less alone and more connected to their worth and possibility.
To me, what matters is legacy — not in accomplishment, but in impact, love, and how we make people feel.
Okay, so let’s keep going with one more question that means a lot to us: When do you feel most at peace?
I feel most at peace in quiet, solitary moments — in meditation, lost in a book, walking along the beach, or simply being near or in water. Those are the spaces where I can soften, breathe, and connect with my inner being rather than the noise of the world around me.
I also feel profound peace when I am in prayer at the mosque, where my heart feels grounded, guided, and protected. And there is a special kind of calm that arrives when I’m lost in memories of my grandmothers — their love, wisdom, and presence still hold me in ways that words don’t fully capture.
I especially feel at peace when I sense my brother’s spirit close to me — in those sacred moments where love, memory, and presence feel intertwined. It’s in that stillness that I remember who I am, where I come from, and what truly matters.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://tkf.org
- Instagram: @tasreenkhamisa
- Linkedin: https://linkedin.com/in/tasreen-khamisa
- Facebook: @TasreenKhamisa
Image Credits
Tariq Khamisa Foundation, Soul of Photography, Yuen Lui
