Hi friends,

Ça va?

I recently caught myself in the midst of a ~ lite ~ social media addiction.

LinkedIn starts off as a work thing but then sucks me in with its tickertape of updates. On Instagram, I let memes rain down on my husband’s DMs like a beautiful, hilarious hailstorm.

I am but a product of these times. 😌

One of my favorite things on the Internet are those clips where a Black person looks knowingly at the camera and…that’s it. That’s the meme.

It’s like an anthropological freeze-frame. The raise of an eyebrow, the purse of a lip – there is an art to saying nothing, and in doing so, saying it all. If you’ve ever pointedly locked eyes with your bestie across a crowded room (or, for that matter, with your work spouse across a batsh*t meeting), you know what I mean.

Over in social impact land, I’ve been thinking about the dance of deciding what we say aloud, or don’t, for a while now. As someone who’s staked my career (and a good chunk of my personality 🥲) on the idea that saying the right thing in the right way at the right time can change everything, it has to be acknowledged that this particular moment is an undeniably crowded, complicated, exhausting, and sometimes dangerous time to run your mouth.

So what does that mean for us advocates?

I was in a workshop recently where the conversation turned to the topic of narrative change. What’s a harmful story that hurts your work, what’s a better idea to socialize in its place — that sort of thing. We traded issues and observations until someone cut in and begged the group, “Please stop telling people when a story they’re about to hear is good for them.”

Oh!

So just like — don’t bring it up. At all. Tell the stories, make the impact, but don’t say a word about it. Let the meaning speak for itself.

There was a pause as we all took it in, one question hanging in the air:

Does our sector even think that way anymore??

I mean, if a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to knock out a quick social post about it…

For those of us who came into this work in this specific era — post-Will & Grace-style soft influence and mid-unsubtle social media hashtag — it’s basically unheard of to not tell 360° stories about why your values-driven work matters, who it serves, and what it’s doing for the world. For as long as I’ve been in this space, the vibe has been: bang every drum, state every statement, quote every quote. And definitely, boldly pronounce your purpose — never leave the public wondering when you’re about to drop some knowledge on them. Then say you’re welcome. 

We can understand why. The literal advocating part of advocacy work, where we name a truth, set a boundary, or challenge a belief on behalf of ourselves and others, is the stuff that can force a pivot. It’s the heart of our truth-telling. It’s what makes the pages of history turn.

But honestly — who can handle much more history these days? 😮‍💨

Everyone who’s persisted in impact work has likely done so aware of its risks of vulnerability, stretched resources, and exhaustion and overwhelm. The committed can choose to keep pushing, knowing that they or their efforts might burn out before they get where they’re trying to go. They can use their voices to champion change, knowing that in some ways they do so at their own risk.

How fair, how safe, is that to ask of ourselves, our teams, and each other? And really, are we even granted the space to ask that question?

And this is where where the projections, the self-consciousness, the imposter syndrome, and the shame come in, at least for me. Because I’m pretty sure there is an archetypal image of what an advocate for positive social change looks like, and it’s not someone who wants to put their head down, conserve their energy, and see how things shake out.

Despite years of telling friends and mentees in this work to set their own boundaries, take care of themselves, and follow their intuitions, I’ve still internalized a message that the only ‘real’ way to work for our futures is to do so through a megaphone. That there is only one strategy for changemaking and it is confrontation, or the performance of it, agnostic of the moment and where you sit in it socially. That success is not rising each day to thrive, build, reconcile, or rest in spite of what threatens you; it’s only thrashing ceaselessly and demonstratively against what does. And that the only way to change a mind is to keep screaming at it that it’s wrong.

To be clear, the problem is literally everyone. The institutions that try to make us feel crazy for insisting on dignity and decency for all — and the spaces of our own that prescribe how ideas, progress, passion, and change ‘should’ look and feel a little more narrowly than necessary.

In the middle of writing this essay, I received some news. A colleague of Color that I’ve been getting to know shared that they’re thinking about leaving their organization, in large part because of how said organization is navigating its political and cultural stance in this moment (hint: not quietly).

This is someone I’ve heard speak passionately and knowledgeably about their field and the principles they’ve oriented their professional life around. They have dedication and meaningful ideas. And yet, even for them, a threshold had been reached.

A safety threshold? A sanity threshold? I don’t know.

But I get it.

I wrote to you last month that I faced a very literal crossroads when it came to my future when I received two job offers, one with and one without a social mission. I chose the purpose route, and was grateful to. But I can’t help but wonder, if this weren’t a moment where I was feeling ‘quiet’ — an instinct to conserve and protect rather than rail and rage — would the other opportunity have turned my head at all?

If I want to respond to, not ignore, the tension-fatigue I feel in me personally and sense around me culturally, incorporate it into my practice, and allow the moment to organically convert my drum-banging into something new, will I still be welcome in this work? Will I still have a right to feel proud?

In my humble opinion — I have to be. Or I won’t make it.

The reason my LinkedIn is a welcome distraction and my Instagram is a meme-tastic escape is because I’ve allowed them to be. I follow the causes I believe in, I read the pieces that open my eyes, but I cultivate generous, intentional reprieve.

Turns out, I cannot gorge myself on protest art and ideological rants — as a consumer or a creator. And while we live in an era of echo chambers, from the algorithmically-engineered to the self-constructed, I cannot lock myself in mine just to prove I was there. Not if I want to have something left to give by way of energy, optimism, and inspiration for the actual efforts of our work.

And that’s why, when that workshop collaborator who wanted us to stop shouting our changemaking strategies from the rooftops offered the permission to step back from the pulpit and simply create, offer, build, and be in this work, without lecturing or pronouncing or defending — I was kind of here for it. Where once I might have felt shocked or confused or put off, now I just felt intrigued and a little…relieved.

And I don’t think it’s for nothing. As my tendency toward watchfulness and consideration have grown, so has my intention. I don’t approach advocacy work today solely by asking, Does it feel right for me to speak up? That’s just question #1. The questions that follow ask trickier things like:

Would this thought be truly additive or helpful to add to the noise out there?

Would sharing it endanger anything precious?

Is this really a thought For The Group — or better shared with a smaller space, meaningful eye contact-style?

Will this point even be heard, given this era of exhaustion and raised defenses, by whoever actually needs to receive it?

Is this a time for two cents at all, or is it a moment to act through the work and let the meaning speak for itself?

We’re all on a journey here, using our relative power where we can and doing our best to make it count. I think my personal lesson for the moment is that being in this work sometimes means standing as confidently in my silences as I do on my words. Trusting my judgment, my instinct, my priorities, my way of embodying truth. Accepting that the context of positive change work can shift like seasons. And knowing that when it comes to needing to slow down to find the version of advocacy that feels right for me today, I’m certainly not alone.

If you’re also evolving your role, posture, or perspective in this work during this tumultuous era, I want to extend my solidarity and grace. Later in our careers, when we reckon with the moves we made today and think about whether we’re more proud of the moments we spoke up and out or the times we honed our discretion and persevered with restraint, I suspect the honest answer will be — both.

In love and community,

💪 If there’s one thing purpose-driven pros know how to do, it’s show up when we’re needed. And I could use your help! If you get value from the Issue Space Letter and the content and community it brings, please support by inviting a colleague or friend to join us here. You can also become an ~ official ~ Issue Space Supporter with a gift or subscription. However you contribute, you are appreciated! ✨

Because folks know I have a lot of Thoughts about professional social change work, they’ll sometimes share their observations about the impact job market with me.

With so many different perspectives in my inbox, it can be hard to get a sense of what’s broadly going on out there for the purpose-driven job seeker.

So I’ve taken to harassing starting meaningful dialogues with the recruiters in my life to get a sense of what they’re seeing from a wider point-of-view.

Below, a few recent thoughts from Kimberly Aguilera of Zocalo, an executive search firm for diverse and purpose-driven seekers and teams.

Things I’m loving in these takes:

Thanks for the sharp takes, Kimberly! Forever a fan. 💫

Last year, we binged Something Sweet. But now, some of you want something spicy. 🌶️🔥

Unpopular Impact Opinions is our Space to share your takes on how the impact workforce could be better. Let it out, and hope to inspire a decision-making changemaker who’s reading along.

Last month’s writer lamented the ‘culture of hesitancy’ created by our sector’s over-correction for insensitivity. I’m curious how that one landed with you!

This month, a grants manager at a nonprofit challenges whether we’re working just to work — instead of to solve problems:

I mean.

This is the big, unspoken thing, right? Social problems = jobs for us = a question around intention. How urgent could an approach really be when the expectation is that it’ll keep on rolling for as long as we like, maybe because some part of us wants to keep building our own organizations or our funders’ legacies? Or else maybe a part of us doesn’t really believe that the issues we’re tackling are solvable, so we don’t push harder than it takes to just barely keep chipping away at them?

What do you think? Is the tension here too great to incentivize genuine and effective impact efforts? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

And you can submit your own unpopular opinion about impact work here.

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