A third space helped me find my community after moving to Cambridge

Last summer, I moved my family from Brooklyn to Cambridge to pursue a doctorate in public health. Amid the chaos of unpacking, figuring out childcare, and adjusting to life as a student in my 30s, I encountered an unexpected challenge: the quiet loneliness of starting over in a new city.

I was fortunate to discover an ummah, Arabic for a community grounded in unity, compassion and mutual responsibility. A community space and café called Minara opened near where I lived and hosted free cultural events. Its programming was inspired by Muslim traditions and accessible to people across cultures and generations.

My family and I found ourselves at Minara most weekends, alongside other families with young children, a stark contrast to the beginning of my journey into parenthood.

Our kids were born during the height of COVID-19, and as parents we enforced strict visitor restrictions. “Mommy and me” groups were canceled indefinitely. It was difficult to communicate virtually with my childless friends, who did not understand the demands of caring for a baby – tracking feedings, constant poop explosions, and praying inshallah the baby would sleep for more than an hour at a time. I was overflowing with love – and overwhelmed with anxiety and sleep deprivation.

I always imagined starting a family within an ummah, not in isolation.

Social connection is a fundamental human need, but our modern society has reduced the number of meaningful interactions we have. COVID-19 has compounded this. Social isolation means infrequent social contact, while loneliness is a feeling of distress in the gaps between the social connections you have and the ones you want.

Everyone needs a place to feel connected to others.

In the United States, 50% of adults are struggling with loneliness. Former Surgeon General Vivek Murthy declared that loneliness is as harmful as smoking and increases the risk of heart disease, depression, and premature death.

A study found 66% of parents feel isolated and lonely. As a new parent, I was already managing hormonal fluctuations, physical changes, and lack of sleep – risk factors for postpartum depression.     

Loneliness was another.

Having Minara during Ramadan this year was a reprieve. Responsibilities as a parent and student don’t cease while fasting. The days started early with suhoor, even earlier than my kids’ usual 6 a.m. wake-up. I moved through classes half-asleep without access to caffeine. I managed my classmates’ guilt about eating in front of me. Then I headed home to feed my kids dinner before it was even time for me to have a drink of water.

On Ramadan nights at this third space, adults and children held onto dates during iftar parties, counting down the seconds until we broke our fasts. We laughed as we watched our children grow overtired and hyper after having too much dessert late into the evening. We wished each other good luck with bedtime as everyone tried to calm their kids. The lighthearted exchanges stemmed from a feeling of camaraderie among Muslim parents.

My doctoral coursework has made it clear that in public health, we need creative solutions to tackle the underlying causes of illness and disease. In a hyper-individualized society that spends significant time online, we all struggle to maintain social connections. For me, I did not connect with many other parents just because we shared motherhood. Being at Minara let me be my true self, around parents who like me wanted to spend iftar with friends instead of at a mosque. And who understood the compromise of keeping their kids up late at night.

Social connections can help people live longer, healthier lives. We need third spaces to help us affirm our identities and build empathy for identities different from our own. There are established places to connect over shared beliefs or interests, such as places of worship or school campus clubs. There are also informal settings, such as a barbershop, book club, or community garden. What they have in common is that they create room for people to exhale, drop their shoulders, and feel welcome just for who they are.

We need more opportunities to interact in meaningful ways. This can be done through specific cultural spaces, like Minara, or by redesigning existing spaces to encourage social connections. While Minara has been closed for a few months now, the families I have met have continued to stay in touch. Whether celebrating a three-year-old’s birthday or my own, we strengthen our strong ties. And I was happy to see Minara is set to reopen later this year, giving us again a third space for connection and reconnection.

When I heard the news of its return, I thought back to Eid al-Fitr in March, Minara’s last day. I remembered watching my two kids run back and forth, shrieking and laughing with a dozen other children. Despite the din, we parents sipped warm cups of Yemeni chai.     

We knew it was a rare opportunity to finish a beverage while it was still hot. Being able to do so with my ummah was my favorite social connection this year. 

Sana Khan is a doctoral student at the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health. Her work explores how community voices and social connection can shape innovative approaches to public health.

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