The Art of Becoming

There is a particular kind of childhood that leaves its mark not through single defining moments, but through atmosphere — the smell of oil paint drying, the hum of a piano, the sight of dental anatomy books lining the shelves of a family home in Tabriz. For Dr. Sayna Behkar, growing up meant navigating two distinct worlds simultaneously, and somewhere in that navigation, her sense of self was quietly being formed.

Her mother, a painter. Her father and sister, dentists. The household was one where love and conscience were held above all else. Social status, appearances, the opinions of others — these were what she calls "just accessories in life." What mattered was sincerity. What mattered was following your heart.

"Things like social status or the opinions of others were seen as just accessories. What truly mattered was following your heart and doing what you love with sincerity."

Her mother introduced her early to charity work, taking her to organisations across the city so that she could see different realities, different lives. Her father showed her, through the quiet example of his own practice, that a profession could be a form of generosity — that money need not be the measure of a life's work. These were not lessons taught in classrooms. They were absorbed.

The Dentist's Daughter Who Almost Chose Art

Ask most people when they knew they wanted to be a dentist, and they will give you a clean answer. Dr. Sayna Behkar's answer is more honest. For a long time, she didn't know. She started piano at nine. She painted seriously enough, during COVID-19 lockdowns, to sell her work. The creative life was not a hobby — it was a real possibility.

"Before dentistry, I always had two possible paths in my mind," she says. "One side of me wanted to continue in art. The other wanted to pursue medicine and help people in a meaningful way."

What resolved the tension was not ambition but curiosity. She began visiting her father's clinic more often, watching, absorbing. And gradually, a realisation formed: dentistry was not separate from art. It combined them. The precision of the hand. The eye for proportion. The work that exists at the threshold of science and aesthetics.

"I realised that dentistry combines both art and medicine. That discovery confirmed my decision — and since then I have pursued my work with great passion."

The Weight of Loss, The Shape of Purpose

At twenty-two, her father passed away. It is a fact she mentions with the particular quietness of someone who has learned to carry grief without being defined by it. His influence, she says, remains very strong — not as absence, but as presence. A way of being that she continues to carry into every patient interaction.

He was, by all accounts, a man who treated his patients regardless of what they could afford. Who placed helping people above financial consideration. Who left behind, in the words of patients her sister and she still encounter, a memory built entirely on kindness, integrity, and dedication.

"I hope to carry forward this same spirit," she says. "Beyond striving for personal growth, I hope to be remembered for a gentle, empathetic heart. I aspire to be someone who can inspire and support others during their challenges — demonstrating that success is meaningful only when paired with compassion and humanity."

From Tabriz to Turkey: Standing on Her Own Feet

At nineteen, she moved to Turkey to study dentistry — alone, in a new country, building a life from scratch. The transition sharpened something in her. Independence. Self-trust. The understanding that she was capable of more than she had tested. She threw herself into university life with characteristic energy: student organisations, academic conferences, communication with professors and rectors from institutions across the region. During COVID-19 lockdowns, when the world contracted, she expanded — painting prolifically, selling work, finding in creativity a way to keep moving forward.

The Periodontist: Where Biology Meets Artistry

It was during her clinical training that periodontology revealed itself as her calling. Not simply as a specialty, but as a philosophy of care that aligned perfectly with everything she had come to value: precision, biology, regeneration, the possibility of restoring what had been lost.

"I find it fascinating how the field combines clinical precision with a deep understanding of tissue biology and healing processes," she explains. "The possibility of restoring lost periodontal structures motivates me greatly." Through her PhD training, she has become particularly absorbed in regenerative approaches — the translation of new research into more predictable, patient-centred treatments.

"The goal is not simply to finish a task or achieve a result, but to leave work that is meaningful, resilient, and beneficial — something that endures and makes a real impact."

The Patient in the Chair

Whatever the academic rigour of her training, Dr. Sayna Behkar speaks about her patients with a warmth that suggests the clinical and the human are, for her, inseparable. She recalls early in her career the patients who stayed in touch after treatment — sending messages of gratitude that, she says, often meant more to her than the procedure itself.

"Working with patients exposes you to many different people, stories, and life experiences," she reflects. "Listening to them and focusing on their needs brings a sense of calm and reminds me why I chose this profession." She speaks of treating every patient as though a member of her own family were sitting in the chair. Not as a platitude, but as a genuine operating principle. It is the standard her father modelled. It is the standard she holds herself to.

On Modern Dentistry: What the Profession Still Needs

When asked what modern dentistry needs more of, her answer is characteristically considered. Technology, she acknowledges, is advancing rapidly — moving the field toward minimally invasive interventions. But technology alone is not enough. "What is truly needed is the ability to determine which techniques are most suitable for each individual patient," she says. "Beyond preventing disease, I believe modern dentistry should increasingly focus on regenerating diseased tissues and restoring function in a way that is both effective and minimally invasive."

A Letter to Her Younger Self

If she could speak to the nineteen-year-old who packed her bags for Turkey, what would she say? "I would hug her tightly and tell her to enjoy every moment while working toward her goals. Every moment with the people around her can be special — because some voices, conversations, and memories cannot be repeated." She pauses, then adds: "Work hard today to become the best version of yourself tomorrow — but don't lose yourself by stressing too much about what's ahead."

It is advice shaped by loss. By the father she lost at twenty-two. By the understanding, earned rather than given, that the future is not guaranteed — but that the present, attended to with care, is always enough.