By Esther Saehyun Lee, new fundraiser, young leader, and Scorpio

I entered the nonprofit sector in 2021 after completing a fundraising certificate— of which I finished in my living room during the series of city lockdowns after losing my job in the restaurant industry. In my courses, I was taught about “donor cultivation cycles,” why you should count how many “you”s are in your communications, and about “the ask.” I was taught many practical, useful skills about the art and science that is capital “F,” Fundraising.

I had entered the fundraising certificate course unsure about whether this industry was right for me. As I plowed through courses like “Marketing for Nonprofits” and “Annual Giving,” I kept waiting for some affirmation that this was the right fit for my values and my skill set. 

Strangely, it wasn’t until I read the phrase “feast or famine” that I felt a sense of affirmation. Reading about how nonprofits navigate this extreme oscillation between scarcity and overwhelming comfort and stability sounded so familiar to me. Reading about how this M.O. is harmful was more fascinating still. 

It was interesting to read a detailed explanation for why the mindset of “feast or famine” was harmful because this model of living had been my entire way of life.

Traditional fundraising doesn’t let you ever stay comfortable in the “feast” phases of the cycle.

I’m not surprised with how I landed in this sector because I now understand that I gravitated to this industry where a scarcity mindset is not only encouraged but is considered the industry standard.

I am never comfortable with the “feast” of life. No one that has experienced sustained scarcity ever is. 

Anyone who has experienced poverty viscerally understands the phrase “feast or famine.” If you’ve grown up with the utilities turned off sporadically, have had to move several times and uproot from your school, your friends, and your neighborhoods in search of affordable housing, or have come home to paltry pantries, you understand scarcity. But more importantly, you know scarcity, like a distant relative that overstays their visit, but you don’t have the heart to tell them to get out.

It has been years since my family and I have felt the sting of poverty, and yet, I think for all of us, we know that if we were to lose everything today, the shock of destitution wouldn’t surprise us. As I said, it’d be like that distant relative showing up at our door, telling us it’s just for a couple days, but we know it’s for several months, maybe years. 

In some ways, familiarity with scarcity can feel like it’s equipped me for this industry. Nothing surprises me. I’m never comfortable with what I have, and one outcome that is beneficial to navigating a capitalist world that values a person’s productivity more than humanity, is that this background equipped me with a tireless work ethic. This work ethic has translated into opportunities. Which eventually landed me in the nonprofit sector. I’m not surprised with how I landed in this sector because I now understand that I gravitated to this industry where a scarcity mindset is not only encouraged but is considered the industry standard. 

Fundraising doesn’t let you ever stay comfortable in the “feast” phases of the cycle. If everything’s great, you’re probably not doing enough. You secured a major gift? Great, but what money did you leave on the table? Oh, and don’t forget that meeting your goal is actually not enough; you’re supposed to spend months strategizing and deciding on a feasible revenue goal, only to try and blow it out of the water—anything less will be considered a failure. The capitalist intersection with nonprofit practices creates this insatiable monster of a machine called “revenue goal”— and it is never full. It can be a perfect environment to nurture imposter syndrome, model minority myth, internalized capitalism, or, to put it more concisely, harm. 

If you’re from a systemically oppressed group, if you hold an intersectional identity, scarcity is what you’re taught as a mode of survival. It’s not something you can reflect on because it’s not something you can get distance on because it’s just your way of being. Scarcity fuels you to apply for the job, feel grateful that they wanted you, accept systemic racism as a norm, accept misogyny and condescension as a small price to pay to have a job that puts a roof over your head and food on the table. Scarcity will tell you that these indignities are a rite of passage to have a job that can cover your basic needs. 

And it’s something I’ve consciously (or unconsciously) accepted as fact. Until recently. It wasn’t until I was tasked to lead a team that I was forced to confront the extent of harm this scarcity has done and realize my own complicity in perpetuating its damaging effects. 

Unmitigated responses to the fear of scarcity harms others

And now, this modus operandi of scarcity, which has always been harmful to my mental, emotional, and physical health, is, for the first time in my life, harmful to the work I’m doing.

In this transition to a leadership position, I’ve had to deeply reflect on the harm I have been perpetuating to myself and others. The most difficult part of my role, by far, is being reflexive and aware enough to ensure that I don’t perpetuate the very same problematic leadership practices I have grown and worked under. 

For the first time in my professional life, I can see that my response to the fear of scarcity doesn’t just harm me; it harms others. When I operate out of scarcity, I model the exact same oppressive leadership that I was taught and operated under. This model of individualism and perfectionism is seeped into all our bones but it was not until I entered a leadership role that I could see the nuance of its devastating effects.

When I’m operating out of scarcity, I can’t see my team as the brilliant, kind, hilarious, and creative human beings they are. I can only see the tasks, lack, and metrics. And I start speaking in corporate jargon like “optimize workflow,” and “bandwidth,” and “parallel path” (I’m just joking about the last one, I have no idea what it means) and frankly, stress everyone out. I can only see what work they produce instead of the people they are. 

Scarcity may feel like it serves you as a fundraiser, but it definitely will harm you as a leader.

In my role, in my department, in my organization, we are actively fighting against modeling values of individualism and perfectionism. The model of survival I’ve been living, using scarcity as a driver, something that has served me professionally and helped me get to this position, is now a hindrance. 

I’m now in a role that is trying to build my team up, build our community, and imagine a different and fairer world. I’m in a department and organization committed to moving the needle toward equity. I’m in a fundraising role that operates with the tenets of Community-Centric Fundraising. My team (including myself) consists of five immigrant women of color with lived experience with gender-based violence, an acute understanding of oppression, and an unflinching commitment to equity practices. And now, this modus operandi of scarcity, which has always been harmful to my mental, emotional, and physical health, is, for the first time in my life, harmful to the work I’m doing.

How often do we say that in this capitalist hellscape we live in?

Overcoming the scarcity mindset for better leadership

My role is now to imagine and make space for myself and my team to feel safe and secure enough to risk, to innovate, and to dream. Innovation requires courage. Courage requires vulnerability. Scarcity won’t allow room for any of it.

For so much of my life, I have thought that this mindset of scarcity was innate. And it’s only now, with the internal work I do with my supporting mentors, coaches, therapists, friends, and colleagues that I’m realizing it’s taught. I’ve been taught by white supremacy that I should be grateful to work twice as hard for half the credit; I’ve been taught by capitalism that my value to the world is measured by my productivity and salary; I’ve been taught by the nonprofit sector to hoard money and resources for individualist gain rather than collective good.

These are lessons I refuse to pass on to my team. 

My role is now to imagine and make space for myself and my team to feel safe and secure enough to risk, to innovate, and to dream. Innovation requires courage. Courage requires vulnerability. Scarcity won’t allow room for any of it. 

In my new position as a leader, I have to ensure that although this world doesn’t see us, let alone appreciate us, and actively harms us in multiple ways every day, my team knows that they are worthy of love, respect, and trust. This shift to a leadership role has really forced me to reflect on what internalized toxic practices I am operating from, confront them, and keep myself accountable. 

My role as a community-centric fundraiser means that I am ensuring that we are serving our communities in a way that honors their autonomy and power. It means that my role requires that I hold myself, my team, and my community accountable to equitable practices. 

This is the real work of a leader. This is the true work of a fundraiser. 

This experience and privilege of leading this team has been the most challenging and rewarding experience of my life. And I am forever grateful to my team for trusting me as I navigate this next chapter of my career and life. Watching them flourish, collaborating with them, imagining a new world with them, dismantling harmful fundraising practices, and questioning how and why we do things, these are now the affirmations I need to know this work is right for me.

I’ve since tossed out the term “feast or famine;” it serves no purpose for me. 

“Being a fundraiser,” as Edgar Villanueva said, “is to be a resource mobilizer.” The role requires you to be a visionary.

I entered this sector because I had the trust and optimism that together, we can make change and we can leave this world a better one than we entered. I’m now in a role that requires me to imagine and build this change. Every day, I am reminded of this. 

You cannot imagine when you operate out of scarcity.

You cannot vision when you operate out of scarcity.

You cannot build out of fear. 

So, fellow visionaries and resource mobilizers: I invite you to take a breath with me and say the following words,

“Scarcity no longer serves me.”

And what I’m learning now, especially as a leader, “It has never served me.”