This Work Is a Labor of Love

February has a way of slipping past me.

And if I’m being honest, it’s not the first time. In years past, February blogs have often taken a backseat—not because there wasn’t something to say, but because of timing. The proximity of our annual Rent Party fundraiser and Meryl’s birthday tends to pull focus, energy, and bandwidth in every direction. What I’m realizing now is that this has also meant missing an opportunity to fully lean into what February offers so freely: the month of love.

There’s a certain irony in that realization, because love and passion sit at the very center of nonprofit work—especially for those of us who lead it. This work isn’t transactional or neatly contained. It’s deeply human. Personal. And it demands more than strategy or structure; it requires heart.

If you’ve read my blogs before, you know they can sometimes feel heavy. They reflect the real highs and lows that come with creating a nonprofit from the ground up and then working tirelessly to sustain it. The responsibility is real. The stakes are high. And on some days, that weight naturally finds its way into my writing.

Still, even on the hardest days, I wouldn’t trade this. At the very least, I don't know what's worth trading it for.

Because this work—this organization—is a labor of love in the truest sense. Not the kind wrapped in ribbons or reserved for one day on the calendar, but the kind that shows up daily. It’s the kind of love that asks you to wear many hats, often at the same time. Founder. CEO. Advocate. Storyteller. And, inevitably, Development—because when you believe deeply in something, you step in wherever you’re needed to keep it moving forward.

That love often shows up quietly, in moments no one else sees. It shows up when a call comes in from out of state, asking if there’s room in our program—someone placing trust in us during a critical moment. It shows up when young adults need school supplies and the simplest solution is pulling from my own pocket, because access shouldn’t be delayed by process or red tape. And it shows up in the growing awareness that my presence matters just as much as my leadership—being there, showing up consistently, sitting with hard moments, and making sure people know they are seen, heard, and not alone.

It also shows up in moments of pause. When I turn on the news and am reminded of just how much need exists in the world, I’m faced with a humbling truth: there are limits to my capacity. I cannot fix everything or carry every crisis. And learning to hold that reality—without letting it harden my heart—is part of this work, too.

Over time, I’ve come to understand that no one can tell the story of this organization quite like I can. Not simply because I’m the founder, but because my connection to it goes beyond any title. My love for this work is rooted in family, in legacy, and in a belief that what we’re building matters well beyond the present moment.

There’s a quote by Pablo Camacho that says, “A writer is the sum of their experiences.” That resonates deeply with me. Every reflection I share is shaped by the moments that brought me here—the challenges, the people, the lessons, and the purpose that continue to define this journey.

February—and Valentine’s Day in particular—serve as reminders that love shows up in many forms. Sometimes it looks like celebration. Other times it looks like persistence, restraint, or simply choosing to stay committed when the road is long.

To my fellow nonprofit leaders: if any of this feels familiar, know that you’re not alone. The late nights. The quiet sacrifices. The moments where your heart is bigger than your capacity. This work asks a lot of us—but it also connects us in ways few others truly understand.

So here’s my call to action—simple, but intentional. Take a moment this month to name your own labor of love. Share your story. Reach out to another leader. Ask for support when you need it, and offer it when you can. And if you believe in the work we’re doing here, I invite you to stay connected, to engage, and to continue walking alongside us as we build something rooted in care, dignity, and possibility.

This year, instead of letting February pass quietly, I’m choosing to honor it. To acknowledge that love isn’t just part of this work—it is the work.

And even when it’s heavy, even when it stretches me, I know this to be true:

This is my labor of love. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Giving With My Heart