Directions
Here, you’ll begin with empathic thinking—slowing down to feel, understand, and explore the experiences of people at the center of a challenge. Click through the four different stories to read and listen to their story. Each voice offers a unique perspective on the same issue. As you move through them, pay attention to what matters most to each individual.
PATIENT
HEALTHCARE PROVIDER
SYSTEMS LEADER
COMMUNITYLEADER
COMMUNITY LEADER PERSPECTIVE
I’m a first-generation college graduate, a nurse, and a Muslim woman who grew up in this community. I move between two worlds: our neighborhood, our mosque, our family traditions, and the healthcare system I now work in. I understand both, and I see the gaps between them every day. My grandfather had diabetes for most of my childhood. I went with him to dialysis, holding his hand while the nurses worked. I didn’t understand the medical language then, but I understood his fear, his pride in fasting, and the weight of those decisions. Those visits shaped why I became a nurse...to stand in those gaps as an advocate.Every year as Ramadan approaches, I see families trying to honor their faith while managing diabetes safely. Some feel ashamed to ask questions. Some feel guilty if they don’t fast. Others want to fast but don’t know how to do it safely. These choices aren’t just clinical, they’re personal, emotional, and spiritual. From where I sit, there are real opportunities. Our mosque would welcome pre-Ramadan health education if we partnered with them. And we could adapt clinical guidelines, like risk tools or medication timing algorithms, into simple, culturally relevant resources families can use at home. When people feel seen, they feel safe. And when they feel safe, they can make decisions that honor both their health and their faith. I wonder what could happen if healthcare truly partnered with the community so that people didn’t have to choose between their health and their faith? I wonder...how can I influence change from my position?
SYSTEMS LEADER PERSPECTIVE
I’m a nurse administrator, and every year during Ramadan I see the same painful pattern...patients arriving profoundly hypoglycemic, scared, and sometimes in crisis. It troubles me when providers label patients as ‘noncompliant,’ while the community tells us they feel misunderstood or mistreated. From where I sit, this isn’t about one provider and one patient—it’s about whether our policies, staffing, and processes truly support culturally competent care. We know we serve a very large Muslim population. Why don’t we have workflows that prompt fasting-related risk assessments? What kinds of skills do my clinical teams need to be able to respond to the needs of this community with respect rather than reacting in frustration or judgement? As a leader, I carry the responsibility to see these gaps clearly and push for changes that reduce disparities and improve safety. But I also know our structures, the way we schedule, the way we document, the way we train, can unintentionally create the very barriers we’re trying to fix. So my question is this: How do I lead meaningful change in a system where the design itself may be part of the problem? And what would it take to build a system that anticipates cultural needs instead of reacting to crises?
HEALTHCARE PROVIDER PERSPECTIVE
I am a new nurse practitioner working in a busy primary care clinic that serves a culturally diverse neighborhood. In February, I noticed an increase in the number of Muslim patients who were referred to establish new primary care after being discharged from the E.D. with poorly managed blood sugar. I realized in talking to them that they are struggling to balance their desire to fast with their need to adjust their insulin. What I’ve realized is this: In school, I learned how to manage diabetes, and I know the medical risks of fasting. Hypoglycemia, dehydration, poor glycemic control. But what I didn’t learn was how to navigate care when there are nuances and patient preferences to consider. I’m also realizing there is so much about the Muslim faith and cultural tradition that I simply don’t understand. I feel conflicted. On one hand, I have a duty to protect my patients from harm. On the other, I want to respect their autonomy and honor their faith, because I see the deep commitment my patients have to religious practice. This tension leaves me asking: how do I approach care in a way that is safe, culturally sensitive, and respectful of my patients’ choices?
PATIENT PERSPECTIVE
I am a Muslim person living with diabetes, and for me, fasting during Ramadan is not just a choice...it is a sacred obligation woven into my faith, my family, and my identity. I notice that fasting is never easy. Over the past few years, I’ve had days of dizziness, weakness, even dangerously low blood sugar. Still, I lean into my faith because fasting connects me to God, to my family, and to my community. I also notice how hard it can be to explain my concerns to my provider, especially since English is not my first language and I don’t always have an interpreter. I feel deeply committed to my faith, even when fasting puts my health at risk. I also feel frustrated and misunderstood when my providers focus only on the medical risks, without seeing me as a whole person of faith and culture. I wonder: how can my providers and I work together so that I don’t have to choose between my health and my faith?
🟢 Green Sprint Perspectives
DLI
Created on September 11, 2025
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Transcript
Directions
Here, you’ll begin with empathic thinking—slowing down to feel, understand, and explore the experiences of people at the center of a challenge. Click through the four different stories to read and listen to their story. Each voice offers a unique perspective on the same issue. As you move through them, pay attention to what matters most to each individual.
PATIENT
HEALTHCARE PROVIDER
SYSTEMS LEADER
COMMUNITYLEADER
COMMUNITY LEADER PERSPECTIVE
I’m a first-generation college graduate, a nurse, and a Muslim woman who grew up in this community. I move between two worlds: our neighborhood, our mosque, our family traditions, and the healthcare system I now work in. I understand both, and I see the gaps between them every day. My grandfather had diabetes for most of my childhood. I went with him to dialysis, holding his hand while the nurses worked. I didn’t understand the medical language then, but I understood his fear, his pride in fasting, and the weight of those decisions. Those visits shaped why I became a nurse...to stand in those gaps as an advocate.Every year as Ramadan approaches, I see families trying to honor their faith while managing diabetes safely. Some feel ashamed to ask questions. Some feel guilty if they don’t fast. Others want to fast but don’t know how to do it safely. These choices aren’t just clinical, they’re personal, emotional, and spiritual. From where I sit, there are real opportunities. Our mosque would welcome pre-Ramadan health education if we partnered with them. And we could adapt clinical guidelines, like risk tools or medication timing algorithms, into simple, culturally relevant resources families can use at home. When people feel seen, they feel safe. And when they feel safe, they can make decisions that honor both their health and their faith. I wonder what could happen if healthcare truly partnered with the community so that people didn’t have to choose between their health and their faith? I wonder...how can I influence change from my position?
SYSTEMS LEADER PERSPECTIVE
I’m a nurse administrator, and every year during Ramadan I see the same painful pattern...patients arriving profoundly hypoglycemic, scared, and sometimes in crisis. It troubles me when providers label patients as ‘noncompliant,’ while the community tells us they feel misunderstood or mistreated. From where I sit, this isn’t about one provider and one patient—it’s about whether our policies, staffing, and processes truly support culturally competent care. We know we serve a very large Muslim population. Why don’t we have workflows that prompt fasting-related risk assessments? What kinds of skills do my clinical teams need to be able to respond to the needs of this community with respect rather than reacting in frustration or judgement? As a leader, I carry the responsibility to see these gaps clearly and push for changes that reduce disparities and improve safety. But I also know our structures, the way we schedule, the way we document, the way we train, can unintentionally create the very barriers we’re trying to fix. So my question is this: How do I lead meaningful change in a system where the design itself may be part of the problem? And what would it take to build a system that anticipates cultural needs instead of reacting to crises?
HEALTHCARE PROVIDER PERSPECTIVE
I am a new nurse practitioner working in a busy primary care clinic that serves a culturally diverse neighborhood. In February, I noticed an increase in the number of Muslim patients who were referred to establish new primary care after being discharged from the E.D. with poorly managed blood sugar. I realized in talking to them that they are struggling to balance their desire to fast with their need to adjust their insulin. What I’ve realized is this: In school, I learned how to manage diabetes, and I know the medical risks of fasting. Hypoglycemia, dehydration, poor glycemic control. But what I didn’t learn was how to navigate care when there are nuances and patient preferences to consider. I’m also realizing there is so much about the Muslim faith and cultural tradition that I simply don’t understand. I feel conflicted. On one hand, I have a duty to protect my patients from harm. On the other, I want to respect their autonomy and honor their faith, because I see the deep commitment my patients have to religious practice. This tension leaves me asking: how do I approach care in a way that is safe, culturally sensitive, and respectful of my patients’ choices?
PATIENT PERSPECTIVE
I am a Muslim person living with diabetes, and for me, fasting during Ramadan is not just a choice...it is a sacred obligation woven into my faith, my family, and my identity. I notice that fasting is never easy. Over the past few years, I’ve had days of dizziness, weakness, even dangerously low blood sugar. Still, I lean into my faith because fasting connects me to God, to my family, and to my community. I also notice how hard it can be to explain my concerns to my provider, especially since English is not my first language and I don’t always have an interpreter. I feel deeply committed to my faith, even when fasting puts my health at risk. I also feel frustrated and misunderstood when my providers focus only on the medical risks, without seeing me as a whole person of faith and culture. I wonder: how can my providers and I work together so that I don’t have to choose between my health and my faith?