Painting an Undeveloped Picture

What I’ve learned as a CEO—and not just the figurehead kind but the roll-your-sleeves-up-and-do-it-all kind—is that vision alone isn’t enough. Neither is passion. Or experience.

Or a solid program design. Honestly though, I can do programming in my sleep. And I mean real programming—the kind with pre- and post-assessments, evaluations, logic models, and enough data points to make your head spin. I know, I’m letting my nerd show—I love it!

I digress…

The real challenge? It lies in translating what you see, feel, and know in your bones… into something that makes others believe just as deeply—especially funders. Even if it's something you’ve never done before. Even if it feels like you’re explaining your dream in a language no one else speaks fluently, yet. And believe me, there’s no manual for this part.

Here’s the twist though: before I could articulate our sustainability vision to anyone - more to come soon, I had to check in with someone I had been unintentionally avoiding—myself. I had to pause and self-evaluate. And I get it—that sounds like the worst idea when you’re buried in emails, trying to fix the printer again, fielding staff questions, and finalizing grant reports that were due yesterday. But hear me out.

As a CEO, you get asked a lot of questions about the organization. Most can rattle off its founding story, highlight the impact, and quote a line or two from the strategic plan they (might've) inherited. As a founder and CEO I get all of those questions at the same time. And yes, I can answer them—no worries. But what surprises me is how often I feel like I am stepping into someone else’s shoes while being the first and only to ever hold this position. The shoes of Meryl.

So how did I arrive at this epiphany? Thank you for asking.

Every time I walk into a room—especially with funders (and lenders)—someone who knows the story will ask me to tell it again: how we started, why we exist, what drives us. I share Meryl’s passion and a conversation we had about serving vulnerable youth - the spark and I share my background in nonprofit work and my deep connection to young adults navigating impossible circumstances. But over time, I realized something else was happening. Repeating that story wasn’t just about honoring the past—it was also about reminding myself of our why, and from there, inviting others into our what’s next.

Let’s be real: being a leader means figuring it out. But being a wise leader means staying grounded in your mission while also making room for others to carry it forward. One of my favorite sayings is, Mission drift is real. And it is. But so is mission isolation—when you forget that sharing your vision isn’t just necessary, it’s strategic. Every pitch, every coffee meeting, every "quick call" is a chance to invite someone in—not just to fund your vision, but to own a piece of it with you.

Here’s the hard truth: in the nonprofit world—especially for founders—asking for help can feel like admitting defeat. Like you’re not qualified to lead your own dream. But that’s just fear talking. Funders aren’t looking for perfection. They’re looking for clarity. They’re looking for consistency. And more than anything—they’re looking for collaboration.

Here’s the full-circle moment: funders want sustainability. They want to invest in something that doesn’t fade after one grant cycle or disappear when a founder moves on. And the other day, I said something out loud that stopped me in my tracks:“I may be the beginning of Meryl’s Safe Haven… but I’m not the end.” That was a moment of passion, yes—but also of truth and, on some levels, frustration. It was a reminder that what we’re building has to live beyond me. And that’s not just okay—it’s the point.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Thank you for sitting with this story—not just mine, but ours. Meryl’s Safe Haven was built from a place of vision, yes—but more importantly, from a place of need. And while grief sparked the start, it’s people like you who help sustain the mission. When funders, supporters, and believers come alongside us, they're not just donating dollars—they're investing in futures, in dignity, in hope. They’re helping us tell a new story. One where young people are not defined by what they've endured, but empowered by what lies ahead. So if you believe in second chances, safe spaces, and the power of showing up for someone who needs it most—join us.

Help us continue to paint an image of something that lives beyond any one of us.

Call Me an Artist, I'm in