We Will Not Burn Out: A Commitment to Ourselves
I originally wrote this essay on LinkedIn in April of 2025. As the founder and leader of a Black-focused nonprofit, I know what it means to constantly do more with less because of the precarious trends and political disruptions of philanthropy. Too often, this reality contributes to Black women who lead and work in small nonprofits to burn out at higher rates than those working within well-funded White-led organizations.
The work we do at bftn is crucial, necessary, and beautiful. But we will not burn ourselves out to do it. I’ve updated this essay and published it here on our organizational blog because these realities continue to persist—and because we need to be honest about what it takes to build organizations and movements that have longevity and are sustainable for the people doing the work.
After over a decade of independent consulting—with a brief pause to earn a master’s—I decided to start an organization in response to the gaps I saw in connections, support, and resources across the overlapping fields I work in. I believed I could bridge some of these gaps through the relationships I’ve built, my expertise, and my commitment to collectivity and collaboration. Initially, I envisioned Black Fiber & Textile Network as a decentralized cooperative network. However, to access the funding we needed and deserved to build a foundation, the financial structure we decided on was a 501(c)(3) nonprofit.
Black Fiber & Textile Network officially launched at the end of 2023. We began with a $30K grant that allowed us to start with a small amount of capital to try creating a sustainable foundation. In January of 2024, we had 13 members in the U.S. and now we have 85 in 12 countries. Despite the growth of our network and programming, the general operating funding has not kept pace with us. While I’ve been told the first two years of a new nonprofit are the most difficult, the funding gap we face persists regardless of all the amazing and important work we do.
White-led nonprofits—especially in environmental, climate, and agricultural sectors—receive significantly more funding than Black, Latinx, and Native-led organizations. A 2022 Donors of Color Network report found that only 1.3% of climate philanthropy goes to Black, Latinx, Asian, and Native-led environmental organizations. A 2019 report by The New School showed that White-led environmental groups receive 91% of foundation funding—leaving just 9% for everyone else. The BEA (Building Equity and Alignment) report revealed that the top 10 mainstream environmental nonprofits had a combined budget of over $1 billion, while many grassroots Black and Latinx-led nonprofits operate on under $1 million, including us. This is exacerbated by the current government and exclusivity of philanthropy.
Regardless of race, many executive directors are burdened by financial anxiety and the never-ending cycle of fundraising. During the (almost) three years bftn has existed, several funders have expressed interest in “investing in Black communities” and supporting “underserved populations.” In fact, a few funders have even funded programs I created as an independent consultant to support Black businesses at White-led institutions. Funders have said their budgets are limited, a disorienting response from multimillion-dollar foundations.
We’ve done so much with a fraction—probably less than 0.1%—of what they have. Because wealth and wage gaps are so deeply normalized, many people with access to capital, including foundation staff, don’t realize how vastly different their financial realities are from most staff working at nonprofits. This disconnect often shows up in how they talk about money—sometimes using alienating or dismissive language when discussing how funding decisions are made. I quickly learned that to run bftn, I’d need to be financially creative—and that some things would have to be sacrificed in order to pay people what they deserve. Over the past three years I’ve made as many sacrifices as I can, and I cannot sacrifice anymore of myself.
The stress of running an impactful organization dependent on philanthropy isn’t just a professional issue—it’s a public health issue. Anxiety is a natural response to uncertainty, and running an organization that requires external funding from philanthropy is full of uncertainty. Anxiety can cause everything from mild unease to intense distress. It activates the body's stress response, triggering the release of cortisol and adrenaline. Chronic anxiety keeps the nervous system in a heightened state, which causes long-term health effects. For Black women, this toll is compounded by the intersections of our identities.
We live in a world shaped by racism and sexism, which creates daily stressors. We’re expected to do more with less while remaining “resilient.” The fact that Black-led environmental nonprofits rarely receive multiyear, six-figure general operating support reinforces this exhausting norm and reminds me that our health only matters when it does not disrupt the status quo. I’ve been called “strong” and “resilient,” and it is tiring.
The nonprofit sector, especially for Black women leaders, is not designed for wellbeing. Those of us working to create alternatives—more equitable, regenerative realities—often spend large swaths of our time asking for small amounts of capital to address structural issues we didn’t create, yet are forced to live within. As nonprofit leaders, we expend energy convincing funders of the value of our work—drafting reports, proposals, case studies—justifying why we should continue. Even while doing the work, we must prove its worth. We at bftn have proven our worth, our impact and what we mean to the communities we serve. We do not need to prove or justify our existence, it is already affirmed.
Every six months as funds dwindle, I’m confronted with anxiety and question whether I can realistically continue operating bftn. And yet, whenever I speak to our members and extended communities, it’s clear how meaningful and necessary our work is. The dissonance between not wanting to live in constant financial stress and knowing this work must be done is disorienting. Many Black women in this field have told me, “this is just how it is.” They say overworking and burnout are just part of our reality. I reject this reality. I will not burn out to run a nonprofit.
I know there are people in philanthropy working to change these dynamics, but the pace of change is far too slow. I am devoted to building better alternatives, but not at the cost of my body or my staff’s. The solution is simple: fund us well and fund us quickly so we can thrive and create change. However, without the proper funding we will not continue to do more with less.
bftn is full of members whose life work matters and makes our planet better. Our small but mighty staff, board and contractors are committed to our mission and support our vision everyday with their work. Being a good leader means I do not ask others to burn out for our organization or work for less than they deserve. Being a good leader means being honest about what our capacity is and what it takes to be sustainable. Being a good leader means having integrity and boundaries in this work.
