Healing as Leadership: Reimagining Youth Development Through a Liberation Lens

I remember sitting in a circle with our young people after a particularly powerful healing session. The room still held the energy of their truth-telling—stories of resilience, of survival, of dreams deferred but not abandoned. One youth leader, Kira, looked at me with eyes that held both wisdom and question: "Why do other programs keep trying to fix us instead of seeing us?" In that moment, her 16-year-old insight crystallized what has taken me years of unlearning to articulate.

What we are witnessing in the field of youth development is not merely a gap in methodology but a fundamental philosophical chasm that reveals how deeply colonial thinking has shaped our understanding of leadership. This disconnect became painfully evident during our recent program evaluation, where the young people's enthusiastic testimony stood in stark contrast to the puzzled expressions of certain funders and institutional partners who questioned, sometimes explicitly, "But where is the leadership development?"

Their confusion speaks volumes about the violence of dominant frameworks that reduce leadership development to a set of measurable competencies, behavioral adaptations, and performances of professionalism divorced from cultural context and collective healing. These approaches demand that our youth—particularly Black and Brown young people from communities fractured by structural violence—contort themselves into shapes recognizable to systems that were never designed for their thriving.

At YMAN, we hold a different truth: healing is leadership development. Love is mentorship. Affirmation is empowerment. These are not complementary elements to "real" leadership training; they are its very foundation. As Audre Lorde reminds us, self-care (and I would add, community care) is not self-indulgence but self-preservation, and "self-preservation is an act of political warfare." When our young people engage in collective healing practices, they are not taking a detour from leadership—they are embodying its most revolutionary form.

The most vulnerable youth in our communities already shoulder immense burdens of navigating systems of harm while processing personal and historical trauma. To then impose upon them "improvement" metrics based on standards they had no hand in creating reproduces the very dynamics of oppression we claim to address. This approach reinforces the toxic belief that their worth is tied to their capacity to adopt behaviors valued by dominant culture, rather than affirming the brilliance, resistance strategies, and cultural wealth they already possess.

I think about Jamal, who entered our space carrying both the weight of three school suspensions and extraordinary gifts as a peace-maker in his neighborhood. Traditional programming would have focused on "correcting" his school behavior without recognizing how his de-escalation skills on his block represented sophisticated leadership capacities. At YMAN, our approach centered affirming these gifts while creating space for him to heal from the educational trauma he'd experienced. Two years later, he's not only thriving academically but leading restorative justice circles in his school.

That our students "really enjoyed" our program while adults "struggled to see the value" reveals precisely where transformation is needed. The young people recognized authentic care when they experienced it. They felt the profound difference between being fixed and being held, between being treated as problems and being embraced as visionaries.

Our work isn't about preparing youth to survive toxic systems—it's about creating microcosms of liberation where they can heal from systemic harm while practicing new ways of being in relationship with themselves and each other. Through this healing-centered approach, they develop not just the capacity to navigate unjust systems but the radical imagination to envision and create more just alternatives.

This is leadership development at its most profound—not merely managing oppressive conditions but transforming them through collective care, critical consciousness, and the courage to imagine worlds beyond what currently exists. What our young people experienced wasn't peripheral to leadership development—it was its essence, its heart, its revolutionary core.

The Power of Our Stories: Counter-Narratives as Liberation Work

In my years of youth work, I've witnessed the transformative power of story circles – spaces where young people speak their truths with such clarity and conviction that the very air seems to vibrate with possibility. These moments remind me of what critical race theorists have long understood: counter-narratives aren't merely responses to dominant narratives; they are acts of reclamation, restoration, and revolution.

The urgency of this work has never been more apparent. We find ourselves in a moment where powerful interests are actively working to sanitize history, to erase the lived experiences of our communities, to deny the very existence of systemic oppression. The attacks on Critical Race Theory – often by those who have never engaged with its rich theoretical framework – reveal a deeper fear: the fear of stories that challenge power, that complicate simple narratives, that demand we reckon with uncomfortable truths.

As non-profit organizations, particularly those working with young people from marginalized communities, we have both an opportunity and an obligation to center counter-storytelling in our work. When a young person shares their experience of navigating educational spaces that weren't built for them, when they speak about the wisdom they've inherited from their elders, when they articulate their visions for a different future – these aren't just stories. They are theory being built from the ground up, knowledge being produced outside of traditional academic spaces.

I think about the youth in our programs who have taught me more about resilience and resistance than any academic text ever could. Like the young sister who created a literary zine featuring the voices and artwork of young Black women and girls, transforming her personal longing for representation into a platform for collective storytelling and celebration. Or the group of young organizers who documented their community's fight against displacement, creating a counter-narrative to the sterile language of "urban renewal" and "development."

This work of storytelling and story-keeping is not neutral. When we support young people in documenting their experiences, in challenging dominant narratives, in claiming their right to be both subject and theorist of their own lives, we are engaging in what bell hooks called "education as the practice of freedom." We are creating spaces where multiple truths can exist, where complexity is embraced rather than flattened, where the personal and the political are understood as deeply intertwined.

For non-profit organizations, this means moving beyond simply "giving voice" to communities – a framework that often reinforces problematic power dynamics. Instead, we must create conditions where stories can emerge organically, where different ways of knowing are valued, where young people are recognized as the experts of their own experiences. This might look like youth-led research projects, intergenerational story circles, digital archives, or creative arts programs that center counter-storytelling.

In a world of alternative facts and deliberate misremembering, the act of telling our stories truthfully and powerfully becomes a form of resistance. When we support young people in claiming their narratives, we are not just preserving history – we are actively shaping the future. For in these stories lie the seeds of transformation, the blueprints for the world we are working to build.

The Power of Community: Balancing Accountability and Care in Revolutionary Times

As I sit with the complexities of this moment – a time marked by both unprecedented challenges and extraordinary possibilities for transformation – I find myself returning to a truth that has always sustained our movements: the power of intentional, loving community. Recently, these words found their way to me like an ancestral whisper: "Be hard on institutions, hard on systems, but as gentle, loving, and caring toward individual people as you can be." In this simple yet profound statement lies a roadmap for how we might hold both justice and healing in the same breath.

In my two decades of youth work, I've witnessed how systems of oppression attempt to isolate us, to convince us that our struggles are individual rather than collective. But our ancestors knew better. They understood that community – real, messy, imperfect community – is both the vessel that holds us and the medicine that heals us. When we gather in circle, when we break bread together, when we hold space for both celebration and grief, we are engaging in acts of resistance that have sustained our people for generations.

The mandate to be gentle with people while remaining unwavering in our critique of systems is not just a leadership philosophy – it's a practice of liberation. When a young person shows up late to program because their metro card was empty, when a staff member struggles to meet deadlines because they're caring for an elder, when a community member expresses frustration in ways that reflect their own unhealed trauma – these are moments that call us to embody this dual consciousness. We can name the systems that create these challenges while holding the humans navigating them with tenderness and understanding.

"We are all we got. There is only us." These words echo in my spirit as I think about what it means to build beloved community in a world designed to separate us. It means understanding that the colleague who seems resistant to change may be carrying generations of institutional trauma. It means recognizing that the young person who tests boundaries is often seeking evidence that our love is unconditional. It means remembering that we are all, in some way, trying to heal while still in the waters that wounded us.

This approach requires a profound shift in how we understand accountability. Instead of replicating the punitive systems we're trying to dismantle, we must create spaces where people can make mistakes, learn, grow, and be held by community rather than cast out from it. This is the work of transformative justice – not just in theory, but in the daily practice of choosing connection over isolation, understanding over judgment, and love over fear.

As leaders in this movement, our task is to model this balance: to be fierce in our analysis of systemic oppression while remaining tender with the humans doing the difficult work of unlearning and relearning. Each time we extend grace to ourselves and others, each time we choose curiosity over condemnation, each time we respond to harm with an invitation to repair rather than a push toward punishment, we are creating microcosms of the world we're fighting to build.

For in the end, there truly is only us – beautiful, broken, healing humans trying to create something different than what we've inherited. The revolution we seek will be built on this delicate dance between accountability and care, between justice and healing, between being hard on systems and soft with souls. This is the work. This is the way forward. This is how we remember that we are, and have always been, each other's best hope for transformation.

The Revolutionary Act of Rest: Reimagining Care in Youth-Centered Organizations

Recently, I found myself in a moment of profound disconnect as I observed conversations unfolding across our organization. Staff members and external partners repeatedly characterized our paid two-week rest period as "generous" – a benevolent gift bestowed by leadership. This framing troubled me deeply, as it reflected the internalized capitalism that continues to shape our understanding of rest, even within spaces dedicated to liberation work.

The commodification of rest – transforming it from a fundamental human necessity into a privilege to be earned or granted – represents one of the most insidious ways that capitalist logic has colonized our relationship with our own bodies and spirits. This commodification becomes particularly dangerous in non-profit spaces, where the urgent nature of community needs often creates a martyrdom culture that glorifies burnout as a symbol of commitment.

But here's the truth we must speak: When we work with young people – holding space for their dreams, witnessing their trauma, and nurturing their infinite potential – we engage in profound spiritual and emotional labor. Each conversation, each workshop, each moment of crisis intervention demands our full presence. We cannot guide young people toward self-love and liberation if we ourselves are operating from a place of depletion. The mathematics of care is unforgiving: empty vessels cannot pour.

Non-profit organizations, particularly those centered on youth work and community transformation, have a unique responsibility to model different ways of being. Our organizational practices must reflect the world we are trying to build. When we treat rest as a luxury rather than a birthright, we reproduce the same systems of exploitation we claim to resist. We tell our young people that their worth is tied to their productivity, even as we preach self-love and radical acceptance.

Paid rest periods represent more than just time away from work – they are an acknowledgment that economic justice and healing justice are inextricably linked. The anxiety of unpaid time off disproportionately impacts those who have been historically marginalized, forcing many to choose between financial stability and genuine restoration. This choice is no choice at all; it is a manifestation of the same systemic inequities we work to dismantle.

As we reimagine what truly transformative youth work looks like, we must center radical rest as a cornerstone of our organizational culture. This means moving beyond superficial wellness initiatives to embrace deep, structural changes in how we value and support our staff. It means recognizing that community care requires sustainable practices that allow our people to show up whole, regenerated, and capable of holding space for the sacred work of youth development.

The revolution we seek will not be built on borrowed energy and borrowed time. It will be cultivated in the quiet moments of restoration, in the joy of unrushed connection, in the wisdom that comes when we allow ourselves to be still. When we honor rest as resistance, we teach our young people that their humanity is not measured by their output but by their inherent dignity and worth.

This is the model of liberation we owe to our youth and to ourselves – one that recognizes that sustainable transformation requires sustainable practices. Let us move forward with the courage to reject the false dichotomy between impact and wellbeing, knowing that our most powerful work emerges when we honor the wholeness of our humanity.

True Leadership in Philanthropy: When History Calls, Will We Answer?

Leadership isn't measured by the size of our endowments, but by our courage to act when the moment demands it. As we approach a potential shift in federal leadership, the philanthropic sector faces a critical moment that demands immediate and decisive action. While many foundations have embraced trust-based philanthropy and unrestricted funding models in recent years, these steps—though important—are merely the beginning of what our sector must do to protect and empower communities in need.

The looming threat of HR 9495 should serve as a wake-up call to philanthropic leaders. This legislation's potential to strip organizations of their 501(c)(3) status represents an unprecedented challenge to the nonprofit sector's ability to serve marginalized communities. The bill's broad language and vague criteria for revoking tax-exempt status could be wielded as a tool to silence organizations working with and advocating for minoritized populations.

We in philanthropy must recognize that our traditional approaches—careful deliberation, multi-year planning cycles, and risk-averse grant-making—are ill-suited to this moment. Organizations serving marginalized communities need substantial resources now to build resilience against potential regulatory challenges and strengthen their operational capacity before these changes take effect.

The stakes couldn't be higher. Community organizations are already struggling to maintain services while navigating increasingly complex political and social landscapes. Many operate on razor-thin margins, leaving them vulnerable to any disruption in funding streams or increased regulatory burden. The potential loss of 501(c)(3) status would be catastrophic not just for these organizations, but for the communities that rely on their services and advocacy.

Foundations sitting on billions in endowments must ask themselves: What are we waiting for? The traditional philanthropic model of preserving capital for future generations assumes a stable democratic framework that protects civil society. That assumption is increasingly questionable. Organizations need substantial funding before year-end to secure their operations, strengthen their governance, and build legal defense funds. Waiting until 2025 to make these critical grants could leave organizations scrambling to adapt amid a changed regulatory landscape. The time to deploy these resources is now, when they can help fortify community organizations against coming challenges and give them the breathing room to prepare thoughtfully rather than react in crisis mode.

This means moving beyond incremental increases in grant-making. Foundations should consider:

1. Dramatically increasing payout rates well above the required 5% minimum

2. Providing multi-year unrestricted funding that allows organizations to build robust operational and legal capacity

3. Establishing rapid response funds that can quickly address emerging threats to community organizations

4. Creating legal defense funds to help organizations navigate potential challenges to their tax-exempt status

Trust-based philanthropy principles remain vital—organizations closest to communities know best how to serve them. But trust must be paired with urgency and scale. Every dollar held back in endowments is a dollar unavailable to help organizations prepare for coming challenges.

The philanthropic sector often speaks of addressing root causes and systemic change. The potential erosion of nonprofit organizations' ability to serve marginalized communities represents a systemic threat that demands an immediate response. We cannot wait to see how political changes play out while holding resources in reserve.

With mere weeks left in 2024, foundations have a rapidly closing window to make transformative grants that could determine the survival of crucial community organizations. Year-end giving isn't just about meeting payout requirements—it's about giving organizations the runway they need to adapt and build resilience before potential regulatory changes take effect. Every day of delay reduces organizations' ability to prepare. Every foundation board meeting that postpones decisive action diminishes the impact we could have had. The time for bold action is now. By this time next year, it may be too late.

Dreaming Beyond Boundaries: Leadership Lessons in Black Freedom Innovation

As the co-founder and Chief Visionary Officer of the Youth Mentoring Action Network, the past three years have taught me that freedom dreaming isn't just an aspirational exercise—it's a revolutionary act of leadership. While philanthropy often claims to seek innovative leaders, the reality is that true innovation requires both audacious vision and substantial resources. For Black women leaders working alongside communities of color, freedom dreaming isn't just about innovation—it's about survival, transformation, and the radical imagination of what could be.

The pressure to conform, to tone down our visions, to "get in line" with conventional nonprofit models is constant and intense. Funders may say they want innovation, but their actions often reveal a preference for safe, predictable programs that fit neatly into existing boxes. Yet, as Black leaders, we must resist the urge to shrink our dreams to fit within these prescribed boundaries. Our communities deserve more than incremental change; they deserve revolutionary transformation.

In our organization's journey, this commitment to freedom dreaming manifested in what many considered an impossible vision: the acquisition and transformation of a one-acre estate into a youth sanctuary. This wasn't just about purchasing property; it was about creating a possibility model that challenges traditional youth work paradigms while demonstrating what Black leadership can achieve when unbound by conventional limitations.

This estate, which we call The Youth Power Hub, represents more than beautiful grounds and buildings—it's a physical embodiment of our freedom dreams. It's a space where young people from our communities can experience luxury, peace, and unlimited potential. In a world where Black and Brown youth are often confined to underfunded spaces, we've created an environment that says, "You deserve beauty. You deserve space. You deserve to dream without boundaries."

The journey to acquire and curate this space wasn't easy. We faced skepticism from traditional funders who questioned whether such an "ambitious" project was necessary for youth work. We encountered resistance from those who believed that nonprofits, particularly those led by people of color, should operate from a scarcity mindset rather than one of abundance. Yet, we persisted because we understood that freedom dreaming requires not just imagination but action—even when that action seems impossible by conventional standards.

The Youth Power Hub has become more than a physical space; it's a testament to what's possible when Black leaders refuse to conform to limited expectations. It's a model for other leaders of color who dare to dream beyond the constraints of traditional nonprofit frameworks. Our young people don't just visit a beautiful space; they witness firsthand what becomes possible when leaders who look like them dare to dream and execute boldly.

To my fellow Black leaders and leaders of color: Keep dreaming audaciously. When philanthropy suggests you should scale back your vision, dream bigger. When conventional wisdom says your ideas are too ambitious, lean into that ambition. Our communities have always thrived through our ability to imagine and create new realities, even in the face of limitation and opposition.

The work of freedom dreaming isn't just about creating new programs or spaces—it's about fundamentally reshaping what's possible in our field. It's about showing future generations of leaders that they don't have to choose between serving their communities and dreaming big. They can, and should, do both.

Our Youth Power Hub stands as proof that freedom dreams can become reality, even in a sector that often seems designed to limit rather than liberate. It's a reminder that true innovation in Black leadership isn't just about new programs or services—it's about creating new possibilities, new models, and new ways of thinking about what our communities deserve.

For those of us engaged in this work, the challenge is clear: continue dreaming, continue building, and continue pushing the boundaries of what's possible. Because in the end, our freedom dreams aren't just about us—they're about creating new realities for generations to come.

Leadership Lessons: The Perfection Trap in Nonprofit Leadership

As the co-founder and chief visionary officer of the Youth Mentoring Action Network, I recently experienced a rollercoaster of emotions following our annual fundraiser, the Sneaker Gala. While the event was largely a success, I found myself fixating on the imperfections, allowing them to overshadow the numerous triumphs of the night. This experience led me to reflect on the immense pressure leaders face to achieve perfection and how this pressure can be particularly crushing for Black women leaders and leaders of color.

The morning after our gala, I woke up with a heaviness in my chest that I couldn't shake. Despite the smiling faces, the generous donations, and the palpable energy of the night before, my mind kept replaying the moments that didn't go according to plan. The technical glitch during our speaking program, the last-minute cancellation of a high-profile guest, the missed opportunity to send people to the merch table – these "failures" loomed large in my consciousness, eclipsing the overwhelmingly positive feedback we'd received.

This fixation on imperfections is a common struggle for leaders, but it takes on a different weight for Black women leaders and other leaders of color. We often feel we're not just representing ourselves or our organizations, but our entire communities. The pressure to be flawless is intensified by the knowledge that any misstep could reinforce negative stereotypes or jeopardize hard-won opportunities.

The morning after our gala, I woke up with a heaviness in my chest that I couldn't shake. Despite the smiling faces, the generous donations, and the palpable energy of the night before, my mind kept replaying the moments that didn't go according to plan. The technical glitch during our speaking program, the last-minute cancellation of a high-profile guest, the missed opportunity to send people to the merch table – these "failures" loomed large in my consciousness, eclipsing the overwhelmingly positive feedback we'd received.

This fixation on imperfections is a common struggle for leaders, but it takes on a different weight for Black women leaders and other leaders of color. We often feel we're not just representing ourselves or our organizations, but our entire communities. The pressure to be flawless is intensified by the knowledge that any misstep could reinforce negative stereotypes or jeopardize hard-won opportunities.

The concept of perfectionism is deeply rooted in white supremacist culture. It sets an impossible standard that disproportionately affects Black women, people of color, and Queer folks who often have to work twice as hard to be considered half as good. In the nonprofit world, where financial resources and community reputation are constantly at stake, this pressure is amplified. We feel that failing isn't an option because the consequences extend far beyond our personal careers.

However, this pursuit of perfection is not only unrealistic but also detrimental to our growth as leaders and the development of our organizations. It stifles creativity, discourages risk-taking, and creates a culture of fear rather than innovation. Moreover, it sets an unhealthy example for the very youth we aim to mentor and empower.

The concept of perfectionism is deeply rooted in white supremacist culture. It sets an impossible standard that disproportionately affects Black women, people of color, and Queer folks who often have to work twice as hard to be considered half as good. In the nonprofit world, where financial resources and community reputation are constantly at stake, this pressure is amplified. We feel that failing isn't an option because the consequences extend far beyond our personal careers.

However, this pursuit of perfection is not only unrealistic but also detrimental to our growth as leaders and the development of our organizations. It stifles creativity, discourages risk-taking, and creates a culture of fear rather than innovation. Moreover, it sets an unhealthy example for the very youth we aim to mentor and empower.

As I reflected on my post-gala blues, I realized that by focusing on the imperfections, I was discounting the incredible achievements of our team and the positive impact we had made. The young speaker who overcame his nervousness to deliver a powerful testimony, the unexpected connection made between a donor and a young person, the volunteer who went above and beyond to ensure every guest felt welcome – these were the true measures of our success.

It's time for us as leaders, especially Black women leaders, to challenge this perfection paradigm. We need to embrace a more holistic view of success, one that values progress over perfection, resilience over flawlessness. This doesn't mean lowering our standards or accepting mediocrity. Rather, it means recognizing that imperfections and setbacks are not just inevitable but are often the stepping stones to greater achievements.

Moving forward, I commit to being more transparent about our challenges as well as our successes. By sharing our vulnerabilities and lessons learned, we can create a more authentic and supportive leadership culture. We can show that true strength lies not in being infallible, but in how we respond to and grow from our missteps.

To my fellow leaders, particularly those who are Black women: Let's give ourselves permission to be imperfect. Let's celebrate our efforts, learn from our mistakes, and remember that our worth is not determined by flawless execution but by the positive change we strive to create in the world. In doing so, we can free ourselves from the perfection trap and lead with greater authenticity, creativity, and impact.