Mahnoor Khan reflects on how curiosity, cultural awareness and lived experience helped shape her first year working in emotional health impact and research.
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Studying sociology at university taught me how systems shape people’s lives. It didn’t prepare me for how abstract everything still felt when I started working at The Centre for Emotional Health, a charity supporting emotionally healthy lives.

Part of that disconnect came from growing up in a context where struggles were understood through endurance and patience rather than emotional expression. As a result, I moved through life not knowing that I didn’t have to suppress my feelings.

So, the idea of joining an organisation focused on helping people nurture their emotional health felt daunting. I wondered – could I do the role at all? Did I even understand what emotional health was? These questions were compounded by a steady undercurrent of impostor syndrome.

In my first week, I asked my colleagues for one piece of advice. Everyone said: always ask questions, even when you aren’t entirely sure what you are asking.

I’ve since realised that asking questions underpins all our work. Emotional health is not the absence of difficulties, but the presence of skills like empathy and self-awareness that help people navigate difficult situations. Understanding emotional health requires asking questions like: What am I feeling? What might the other person be feeling? How might this affect my thoughts and behaviour? Such questions are a necessary part of understanding the charity’s mission.

I work in the impact and research team, evaluating changes in parenting confidence and emotional health. This work has made me increasingly curious about the stories behind our data, and how change actually comes about for families.

One story that has stayed with me involved a couple new to the UK who were struggling in their relationship with their child. Through one of our programmes, they began realising how praise had been absent from their own childhoods, shaping the way they parented. As they slowly tried to affirm their child more often, they felt closer as a family. Hearing their experience prompted me to reflect on my own, and how much of what we struggle to offer others reflects what we weren’t given. This capacity to see people’s different circumstances with empathy is the crux of our work, and I’m learning how to better cultivate that within myself.

Our organisational culture embodies the same principles we encourage in families; healthy relationship skills in everyday conversations, a shared willingness to offer help, and a sense of playfulness. This culture of connection has given me the safety and confidence to take on things that once felt beyond my comfort zone.

I saw this most clearly when I presented at a conference for early years practitioners. I spoke, somewhat nervously, about the unique impact on parents taking part in our Islamic values programme, and the importance of culturally appropriate framing. As a Muslim woman, I have seen how communities like mine can be labelled ‘hard to reach’ when services haven’t been shaped with their cultural context in mind. It took me standing in that space to realise that inclusivity in emotional health research is something I want to keep exploring, and that my perspective is not separate from my professional role, but part of what I bring to it.

Moments like these have been intimidating at times, but they have also been grounding. I’m still finding my own voice, but learning to be comfortably curious and to admit when something is unclear has tremendously shaped how I learn and contribute. I know I’ll carry this curiosity into whatever comes next.

For others, especially those who feel unsure or out of place, I hope this reassures you that not knowing is not something you should be worried about. It can actually be the best place to begin.

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