Leading through loss: Mental health in the midst of crisis

When I founded the Legal Aid Society, I knew that bridging Pakistan's chronic justice gap would be an uphill battle. Over the past decade, we faced resistance from a system that is inherently opposed to honouring and empowering people. Yet, we built a movement that legally empowered and impacted over 52 million lives. Despite all the challenges we overcame, nothing prepared me for the moment I had to look my team in the eye and tell nearly all of them that, in one sudden and devastating blow, they were losing their jobs overnight.

The recent U.S. stop-work order, combined with the global wave of foreign aid cuts, felt like being dragged into an inescapable black hole-sudden, merciless, and beyond control. Decades of effort and the foundation we had built seemed to collapse under the crushing weight of external forces. We were forced to let go of dedicated professionals who had poured their hearts into serving the most vulnerable. But this was more than a financial or managerial crisis; it was a human crisis-one that left wounds far deeper than words can describe.

Beyond the internal loss was the weight of the silent suffering of those we had to leave behind. Hundreds of clients were now stranded in courts, their legal battles suspended indefinitely. How do you process the guilt of knowing that the women seeking protection and the prisoners awaiting justice will now face even greater barriers-not because the fight wasn't worth it, but because of the politics of funding?

Leadership, I've learned, is often about holding pain-your own, your team's, and that of the beneficiaries you can no longer help. In Pakistan, women in leadership are expected to be unbreakable. We juggle careers, families, social expectations, and emotional labour, often without a safe space to acknowledge our struggles. Burnout is worn like a badge of honour, and vulnerability is mistaken for weakness. But true leadership isn't about suppressing hardship; it's about navigating it with honesty and resilience.

In this moment of crisis, I have come to redefine what mental fitness means to me. It's not about powering through at all costs. It starts with accepting my own imperfections and understanding that I can't carry the burden alone. As women, we are conditioned to absorb pain in silence, but leadership is not martyrdom. What has helped me is reaching out to mentors and trusted colleagues-those who understand the emotional weight of leadership.

I have also learned the importance of holding space for others. During the layoffs, I saw a profound lesson in grief. Sometimes, leadership isn't about fixing things; it's about listening, acknowledging pain, and simply being present.

Lastly, I've had to redefine productivity. We are taught to equate value with output, but true leadership isn't just about moving forward. It is about managing energy, not just time. My role is no longer just to push ahead but to rebuild an organisation that can adapt, heal, and sustain itself even in the face of adversity. This moment of unprecedented crisis has forced me to also redefine resilience. At the end of the day, leadership isn't about being the strongest person in the room-it's about creating a culture of trust, safety, and human connection, even when it feels like everything else is falling apart.

We are taught to equate value with output, but true leadership isn't just about moving forward. It is about managing energy, not just time. My role is no longer just to push ahead but to rebuild an organisation that can adapt, heal, and sustain itself even in the face of adversity.

-The author is a Barrister-at-Law and the CEO of the Legal Aid Society