Today we’d like to introduce you to Saima Siddiqui.
Hi saima, thanks for sharing your story with us. To start, maybe you can tell our readers some of your backstory.
You know, if you asked me what I do, I’d probably tell you I’m a mom, a teacher, and a woodworker. Oh, and a physician too — life keeps me busy!
During COVID, like so many others, I found myself working from home. Around that time, I moved into a new house, and pretty quickly realized I needed a shed. I started looking around, checking out different options, but man — sheds were expensive! So, I thought, why not just build one myself?
I found a shed plan online, bought it, and then tweaked it a bit to fit exactly what I needed. It took about two months of work (and a lot of learning along the way), but in the end, I built my own shed — and I absolutely loved the whole process.
I loved it so much, actually, that I decided to dive deeper into woodworking. I cleared out my garage and turned it into my very own wood shop. Now, I spend my free time picking out wood slabs from small, local sawmills. I love working with Texas native hardwoods and salvaged lumber — there’s just something special about giving new life to old wood.
We all face challenges, but looking back would you describe it as a relatively smooth road?
Honestly, not even close.
Woodworking has been one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done — but it’s also been one of the hardest to fit into my life. Being a full-time physician, a mom, and trying to run a household already felt like juggling knives most days. Adding woodworking into that mix meant stealing time late at night, early in the mornings, or on rare weekends when everything else could wait. Some weeks, I barely touched my tools because life just pulled me in a hundred other directions.
And then there’s the money. People don’t always realize how expensive woodworking can get — tools, quality wood, finishes, shop setup — it adds up fast. Even being careful, sourcing from small sawmills and using salvaged wood, there were still times when I questioned if it made sense to keep pouring money into a hobby that wasn’t bringing anything back financially.
Selling my work hasn’t been easy either. I thought if I built beautiful, functional pieces, people would naturally find and want them — but the reality is, creating is only half the battle. Getting your work seen, valued, and actually sold is a whole different challenge. And there’s a deep vulnerability that comes with putting your heart into something and then trying to sell it.
There have been moments I felt completely burned out — physically, mentally, emotionally. Moments I thought about walking away. But somehow, I kept coming back. Because even with the struggles, there’s something sacred about shaping wood with my hands. It grounds me. It teaches me patience. It reminds me that the best things in life aren’t easy — they’re built slowly, with love, perseverance, and a whole lot of stubbornness.
I’m still learning, still carving out time, still figuring it out — one project, one lesson at a time.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
I’m a self-taught woodworker who believes deeply in the soul of the materials I work with. I specialize in creating functional, artistic furniture pieces — items meant to be used and loved every day, but also to be admired for their natural beauty.
My favorite projects involve working with Texas native hardwoods and salvaged lumber — wood that carries a story of its own. I focus on preserving the natural character of each slab, highlighting knots, cracks, live edges — the features that tell the life history of the tree. I’m especially drawn to designs that feel both raw and refined, honoring the natural imperfections rather than hiding them.
I think what sets me apart is my approach: I don’t just build for the sake of building. I listen to the wood. I spend time with each piece, trying to understand what it wants to become. I believe — like George Nakashima — that every plank has one ideal form, and it’s my job to uncover it with patience and care.
I’m most proud of the fact that I started this journey from scratch, with no formal training, while balancing the demands of being a full-time physician and a mom. Every piece I complete feels like a small victory — a reminder that growth often happens in the margins, in the stolen hours, in the moments when you choose to keep going even when it’s hard.
At the heart of it all, my work isn’t just about wood. It’s about honoring nature, embracing imperfection, and creating pieces that will live new stories long after they leave my hands.
What would you say have been one of the most important lessons you’ve learned?
The most important lesson I’ve learned is the power of presence — the importance of being fully where you are, whether it’s with your family, your patients, your students, or a piece of wood in your hands.
In my life, I juggle a lot of roles: physician, teacher, mother, and woodworker. It’s easy to get caught up in the rush, to move from task to task without really being in any of them. But woodworking taught me something different — that you can’t rush the process. You can’t force wood to behave. You have to slow down, pay attention, and respect what’s in front of you.
That same lesson carried over into every part of my life. Whether I’m treating a patient from an underserved community, mentoring a medical student who’s doubting themselves, or sitting at the dinner table with my kids — I’ve learned that real connection, real creation, only happens when you’re fully present.
Mistakes happen when you’re distracted. Growth happens when you’re paying attention. And the moments that matter most — in woodworking, in medicine, in motherhood — are the ones where you choose to be fully, imperfectly, wholeheartedly there.
It’s a lesson I’m still practicing every day.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.mindfulcreationswoodworking.com/about-us-copy
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mindfulcreationswoodworking/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mindfulcreationswoodworking
