The Weight We Carry

In the space between exhaustion and hope.

I found myself struggling to write this week.

I had an outline written, sticky notes above my desk to help organize my ideas, and a topic I was excited about. I was going to dive into the concept of community philanthropy and how it can serve as a pathway to building trust and real agency for communities.

And then I realized…the most honest thing I can do is practice that trust right here, with you. Because every time I sat down to write, the words just wouldn’t come in the ways I wanted, and not with the energy or clarity I usually bring to this space.

The truth is, I’m exhausted.

I’m on month five of job searching. Most recently, I completed three rounds of interviews and a multi-part hiring exercise over two months for a role at an organization I really wanted to work at. I was sure I had the job in the bag.

And then came the email: they were going with someone else.

It’s not the first time this has happened, and I know it won’t be the last, but it doesn’t get easier. Rejection has a way of burrowing into my self-worth, especially when the work I do is so tied to who I am. It makes me question my value and my right to take up space in a sector that often feels like it only has room for people with a certain level of professional accolades.

I started questioning whether I had the credibility to write about big topics like community philanthropy as a model for and a driver of strengthening capacity at the ground level. I don’t have 20+ years of experience in the sector. I don’t hold a fancy job title. Hell, I don’t have any job title right now. Imposter syndrome has been loud this week, and the weight of it made me want to shrink, to stay silent until I feel more secure.

But then I remembered that this is my Substack.

I didn’t create philanthropy unfiltered to add to the pool of performative thought leadership or meet some imaginary benchmark of pushing out content just for the sake of it. I created it to tell the truth, my truth, about the sector and my experiences in it—peeling back the layers of this field and naming what so many of us feel but are rarely able to say out loud.

And the truth this week is that I’m tired. I’m disappointed. I’m navigating grief, self-doubt, and questioning where I go from here.

Burnout doesn’t always arrive with a bang. Sometimes it unknowingly drifts into your subconscious and you don’t realize it until you’re staring at a blank computer screen, hoping for a spark of inspiration despite your heart feeling too heavy to do…well, anything.

It’s especially strange to feel this way while working in a sector that claims to be about justice, healing, and care. Philanthropy talks a lot about systems change, but rarely about the people within those systems who are carrying the weight. People are expected to keep performing, producing, and persisting through burnout, especially if they don’t have the title, tenure, or institutional safety nets to fall back on.

It's interesting how I almost forced myself to operate in that same mindset.

I guess old habits die hard.

I know that rejection doesn’t always mean I’m not good enough. Sometimes it’s about timing. Sometimes it’s about fit. And sometimes, it’s a mirror reflecting the systems and biases that continue to shape who gets chosen and who gets overlooked.

And imposter syndrome? It’s a beast that thrives in moments like this. But I’m learning not to feed into it. I’m learning that showing up, even when I don’t feel like the most qualified, polished, or confident version of myself, is still powerful.

No, this isn’t the post I planned to write. But it’s the one I needed. And maybe you needed it too.

If you’re feeling burned out, discouraged, or lost in your journey, I want you to know you’re not alone. You don’t need a title to speak the truth, your truth. You don’t need permission to rest. And you don’t need a resume full of accolades to be worthy.

You already are. You always were.

Thank you for meeting me here, in the space between exhaustion and hope.

Here’s to choosing honesty, to being present over performative, and remembering that showing up for ourselves is just as liberatory as showing up for the communities we serve.

P.S.—And don’t worry, I’m still going to write that piece about community philanthropy. I can’t wait to share it next week. :)

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