Picture this – you’re presenting at an international conference in front of a large audience. At the end of your talk, someone raises their hand. You recognize them: one of the ‘hotshots’ in your field. They ask a question. Suddenly, a blank – you don’t know the answer. You aren’t even sure you understood their question. Your heart is racing, you start to sweat, and you just want to disappear from the surface of the planet.

When I got an offer from the University of Geneva to do a PhD, there was one thing that prevented me from directly saying yes: the fact I’d need to supervise students during practical labs and internships. I spent a few sleepless nights thinking about this – what would happen if they asked a question I didn’t know the answer to? What if they thought I was stupid?

It turned out that supervising students and teaching quickly became one of my favourite tasks. Today, mentoring students remains one of the aspects of my academic job that I enjoy immensely. But that same anxiety surfaced every time I needed to present my work – and not only when facing questions from others. I also dreaded asking questions: what if mine was the stupid one in the room?

A decade further and more experience behind me, I understand that I missed an essential concept during my PhD: as a researcher, I’m not supposed to know everything. I’m there to learn, expand my knowledge, and grow my skills. In fact, it’s the essence of research: we explore directions that have not been explored yet – how can we know everything when we explore the unknown? A PhD is about generating new knowledge, both for science and for ourselves. That is why I like the term ‘PhD student’ – because a PhD is fundamentally about learning. And it goes beyond those four years: even senior professors are in a continuous process of discovery. When I stop learning something new regularly, I lose my motivation.

So how can you reframe your relationship with not-knowing?

• Lead with curiosity, not self-defence. When someone in the audience challenges your methodology during the Q&A session, resist the instinct to think their question is attacking you. Ask yourself what their question reveals that you hadn’t yet considered. That shift – from defence to curiosity – changes what the moment feels like, and what you take away from it.
• Flip the perspective. Picture yourself in the audience watching someone on stage answering questions. Do you think less of them? Almost certainly not – you probably respect their work. Extend yourself the same generosity you’d extend to a colleague.
• Say ‘I don’t know’ – out loud. Sometimes, you genuinely don’t know – and it’s okay not to know. A calm ‘that’s a great point, I’d need to look into that further’ signals intellectual honesty. The researchers people trust most are rarely the ones with an answer for everything; they’re the ones who know where their knowledge ends.

Next time the hotshot raises their hand after your presentation and you feel a surge of panic, breathe, smile, and remember that every researcher you admire has stood in the exact same spot as you. Not-knowing is permanent terrain – the type you learn to navigate, not eliminate. Your path to knowledge never really ends – and that’s exactly the point.