Laid off? More like liberated and empowered!

Laid off? More like liberated and empowered!

By Carlos García León, anti-capitalist, joy seeker, and nap lover

We talk about community so much at CCF, but it was still so heartwarming to know how many of my friends and family I was able to lean on after being laid off… It is in this time that you find out just how much your support network is willing to do to be in your presence and support you. Cherish that.

Layoffs are becoming more common. According to CCN on November 6, “Layoff announcements surpassed more than a million in [the] first 10 months of this year, an increase of 65% compared to the same period last year.” 

In the nonprofit sector alone, in accordance with the Chronicle of Philanthropy Nonprofit Layoff Tracker, at least 10,000 full-time nonprofit jobs were cut between January 20 and March 31, 2025. This amounts to an average of 140 jobs lost per day over a 70-day span. 

A lot of it is mainly stemming from cost-cutting, the usage and implantation of AI (the bane of my existence, or as the kids say, my opp), and lack of government funding. If you have been laid off in the past, or know someone who has, you know it is a rough time. However, as a second time winner of organizations’ layoffs, there are also blessings that come after. 

I do believe that layoffs are an organization’s last resort due to financial circumstances, changing leadership, and desperate measures. While there are ways to do layoffs that are not as harmful and more human-centered and caring (see Vanessa’s article here), the experience itself leaves you feeling like the rug got pulled from under your feet and without a support system. The organization and its people you worked for, made memories with, spent so much of your time with, and raised money to make an impact in your community are now letting you go, as if you didn’t matter. It’s unsettling. 

Here are some tips to make sure you are prepared for it. 

1. Get the termination paperwork and take the time to read it. You do not have to sign it there and then.

Whether the layoff came out of nowhere or not, do not feel pressure to read the document or sign anything right there. Generally, there should be some time to look over the paperwork and understand what you are signing.

2. Ask for severance and in the worst case, fight for it. 

Nonprofits are generally not required to give severances when doing layoffs. There may be a policy in place in your organization, so make sure to check your contract, offer letter, or the employee handbook. (Added tip here: advocate for a severance policy in place when you land in your next job.) However, as it is not a legal requirement, nonprofits may opt not to give a severance after just removing you from your living income. It should come as no surprise to your leadership that you, a person who asks for money for a living, asks for money for yourself due to leadership deciding to lay you off. 

Most likely, the initial severance will be low. Unless it is written in the contract–and even if it is–you can ask for more. As fundraisers, this should not be trouble for you. If they tell you “no,” remind them of the work you did to raise funds. Those funds are currently paying the salaries of the ones laying you off, and know that leadership, whose salary is usually more than the general staff, should have money for you. If my immigrant father and mother who raised two kids in the States below the poverty line can survive with that income, your boss can survive for a few months with less money so that they can give that to you. 

What has worked for me is understanding that the severance agreement is also the employer protecting themselves from legal risk and future lawsuits. Use this to your advantage. Remind yourself that as a fundraiser your powers are in storytelling and networking, and now as a laid off person, you have the time and the will to use those powers to tell your story to your network of how you are being treated. The organization is doing layoffs because of x reason, and they may not be able to handle dealing with x reason and the truth of your experience with them. 

3. Apply for unemployment as soon as you can 

You will need to check your state laws, but applying for unemployment is important and relatively easy. The government often needs your identification information, your employment history, and most likely any proof of your termination. It varies across the US, but the unemployment amount is determined by how much you were making prior to being laid off and usually lasts around 26 weeks. 

It often takes 1 – 3 weeks to receive your first unemployment check–which is after the certification week. Ask questions about it during the application process, including how much you will receive and when you would receive your payments. The paperwork that the government sends you should document all of that. Follow instructions on the paperwork to certify your unemployment throughout the duration of your unemployment. 

4. Find your support network and the things that bring you joy 

Now that you have some income secured, take the time to process what happened. You have lots of time now. Go hang with your favorite people that you never see because of work and work events. Travel as cheaply as you can to visit your friends and family (and hopefully they can host you so you don’t spend money on lodging) to do a proper catch up. 

Get involved in some arts and crafts at home and invite others. Join your local community’s walking, running, or sports club to stay active. Binge-watch the shows you’ve been queueing on your streaming sites. 

My favorite activity is dancing and if you ever get to see me at any dance floor I am vibing to the music, dancing, sweating, knowing that it takes community to create a dance floor moment. I have found much liberation on the dance floor, because nothing says resistance to the evils of the world than finding and experiencing joy when they want you to be anything but joyful. 

We talk about community so much at CCF, but it was still so heartwarming to know how many of my friends and family I was able to lean on after being laid off. A mentor would offer to buy me lunch and catch up; a colleague in the field would introduce me to someone who had a position open; friends would buy a drink or a ticket to a show to spend some time together, or make a homemade meal and have me over. It is in this time that you find out just how much your support network is willing to do to be in your presence and support you. Cherish that. 

5. Enjoy some of the time off

I am often talking about taking naps in the middle of the day. I am adamant that more people deserve more rest. Now, you have the time to do it. For a brief moment, you no longer are giving 40+ hours of your week to work. Catch up on your deserved rest. 

In your work, I am assuming you did a lot for the communities you were making an impact for, but you weren’t resting because there is always work to be done. Now, you have time. You deserve that nap and an extra hour of sleep. 

6. Detach your work from your worth 

This is hard to do in such a capitalistic world. Repeat after me: “I am so much more than a fundraiser.” Say it again. Find a mirror, look yourself in the eye, and say those words again. 

It is easy to forget who you are outside of your title when that’s all people know you as. 

Before you were your title, you were your name. It’s time to find out who you are all over again. Capitalism makes us believe that we are only worth something if we are working, but that’s just not true. You are worth something simply because you exist. You can make an impact without being attached to an organization. You have the skills, and if you have learned anything from CCF, you know that our value should not be attached to our net worth. 

My mother had so many jobs while being in the States, but she put the most effort in being a mother–a job in its own right, but one that doesn’t come with health insurance or a 403(b) match. My mom is worth her weight in gold and then some, but even when she didn’t have a job, she was worthy of being. 

7. Take your time with the search 

While I do firmly believe that philanthropy should work to end itself, and that in the future there won’t be a need for fundraisers to raise money, for we have finally solved the social issues that nonprofits began for anyway, we are not quite there. This means that fundraisers are very much needed. 

The job market is certainly not great, but it does not mean that you should jump at the first offer you get. What helped me was telling myself that it is not a matter of if I get a job, but when I get a job. 

Find out how long you can go on with unemployment payments, savings, and any side gigs you may have, before you truly need a full-time gig. Apply for positions for organizations whose work you really believe in, that will pay you just as much if not more than your last position for your skills, experience, and expertise. They may not appear right after being unemployed, but they will come. 

Being a community-centric fundraiser is for every organization, but not every organization is ready for a community-centric fundraiser. However, the ones who are will fight for you, too. Make sure that when, not if, you land again on your feet, you land at a better place than before. 

 

It is my wish that you, my dear reader, will never experience being laid off and that you will never need these tips. However, if you do, or know someone that has or will in the near future, save, pass along, and use these tips. 

I felt so lucky and grateful that there was community that kept me together during both of my layoff eras–which I call Funemployment and Funemployment 2: Electric Boogaloo. Other people deserve to know that being laid off can be empowering and liberating, even when it is a dark moment. 

Briefly, I wanted to note that I brought up my parents’ and my own upbringing throughout this essay because during the lowest part of my process, recalling the struggles of my ancestors helped me ground myself that things are not as bad as they could be. That even if they were, people have survived worse things and even then they were able to make it through. 

Lastly, because you read this, thank you for being in community with CCF. My gratitude extends to you–a person I may not know nor never will–because you took the time to be in community with my experience and thoughts. The mission that CCF has continues, whether I am employed or not, and I’m glad to be fulfilling that mission with you. 

Carlos García León

Carlos García León

Carlos García León (he/they; el/elle) is a queer, non-binary, Latine, Mexican-Statesian, and cute little revolutionist. They were born in Atlixco, Puebla, Mexico, and reside in the stolen land of the Peoria, Potawatomi, Kickapoo, and Kaskaskia tribes, also known as Chicago, Illinois. Their work is driven by a fight for cultural equity, decolonizing the arts, and social justice. As such, Carlos describes themselves as an anti-capitalist, community-centric, theoretical fundraiser.

Carlos has spoken at multiple conferences introducing the concept of Community-Centric Fundraising and building a more gender-inclusive workplace to hundreds of attendees. Carlos holds a B.M. in Bassoon Performance from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and a M.A. in Arts Administration and an MBA from the University of Cincinnati. They enjoy their leisure time by hanging with friends, resisting capitalism by taking naps, dancing to Latin, disco, and house music, and exploring new Chicago food spots. They can be reached via email or on InstagramTwitter, and other social media platforms @cgarcia_leon. You can tip them for their work via Venmo @cgarcia_leon or via PayPal using their email. Carlos would be eternally grateful for any tips during their Funemployment 2: Electric Boogaloo era. 

Can people change? Captain America: Brave New World and CCF.

Can people change? Captain America: Brave New World and CCF.

By Abigail Oduol, CCF Movement Coordinator

This is about superheroes, but more than that, it’s about how we judge changing, redemption, and accountability in our real-world institutions.

This piece contains spoilers. The writer acknowledges that Disney+ is currently on the BDS list, and does not encourage readers to break the boycott. Reading this piece is a substitute for watching the movie. 

 

Hi. It’s me again. Resident fundraising nerd and superhero IP lover. If you haven’t been keeping up with Marvel, it’s okay, you don’t have to be up-to-date to enjoy the lessons. We’re in our Sam Wilson Captain America era (played by Anthony Mackie). Marvel did an excellent series as a lead in, embracing the tensions of being a Black man wrapped in the American flag. 

Let’s recap the story, explore why believing in change is hard, and unpack what it means for us in nonprofit fundraising. 

This is about superheroes, but more than that, it’s about how we judge changing, redemption, and accountability in our real-world institutions. 

Brave New World: A Complicated Villain

In this movie, Captain America uncovers a government plot. The central antagonist? The President of the United States, Thaddeus Ross (more on Ross here for the lore). 

Ross has held super-powered statistician Samuel Sterns/the Leader in a black site for 16 years, promising exoneration in exchange for one more favor. President Ross’s love of power, control, and certainty prevent him from doing the right thing. When it’s clear Ross doesn’t intend to keep his word, the Leader hatches an elaborate plan to escape. 

A part of this elaborate plan is microdosing Ross with gamma radiation without his knowledge. 

Meanwhile, President Ross has a poor relationship with his estranged daughter because of his mishandling of the Hulk in the past. He leaves her voicemails about how much he’s changed. 

Eventually, he’s battling his own demons literally and figuratively as he transforms into the Red Hulk. Destruction and heavy CGI ensue until Sam Wilson gives him a lullaby.

At the end of the movie, President Ross steps down from power. He gets a peace treaty named after him. He gets to see his daughter, who he hasn’t seen in years. 

All of this is framed as a redemption arc, to be admired: a world leader who has made personal mistakes with public outcomes accepting responsibility and making right choices. But has he changed? 

I bet you’re saying “no.” 

Why We Struggle to Believe In Change

From real-life villains seeking redemption for their past misdeeds, from transgender care to the reintegration of formerly incarcerated individuals, we resist believing people can change. When people do in fact change – when they’ve been through a process we have only seen some of – we don’t believe them. Maybe we’ve been burned before, hurt by people saying they’ve changed, but who haven’t done the work that real change requires. Maybe we liberally apply our traumatic experiences as context, projecting those experiences on to others trying to change. We want people to suffer visibly, and then we cast our vote in the court of public opinion as to whether their change is “real.” 

Here’s an example from the nonprofit industrial complex: Behaviorally-based work interviews are a part of how most of us hire. We look at past behavior as the best indicator of future behavior. It also means that we assume that how you’ve been is how you’ll always be. 

That means no one gets a redemption arc. You’re either already where you need to be or you aren’t. There’s no room for growth, only judgment.

But We Love A Glow Up

Despite our skepticism, we love stories of change. 

The stories that we tell in songs, books, and other media are all about the human drama of change and transformation. We want stories of people being in a new situation, getting a new skill set or powers, or changing from a normie into a hero. We want to hear about someone turning into an underworld boss, a cop becoming a beauty queen, or moving from a desk job to become a super spy. 

The best stories show us why the change happened. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV series) did this well. It begins with Sam Wilson unsure if he wants to become Captain America because he feels unworthy and is aware of what it means to follow a white man in a job he did well. He returns the shield to the US Government, and they promptly choose a blonde-haired, blue-eyed replacement. As he experiences racism from the systems he encounters and bias from the people around him, relationships with others like his sister, Bucky, and the first Black super soldier, he gradually accepts the hero’s call and forms his own reasons for becoming Captain America.

But in this particular Captain America story, Ross’ change feels like a sugar rush with little substance. One moment, one piece of evidence in an arc isn’t enough and feels incomplete. 

Implications for Fundraising and Nonprofits

We have ideas on how these things look interpersonally. Some people live by “once a ____ always a ____.” Others lean in to opportunities for redemption and believing in growth. Some may even err in offering too cheap a version of unity at times, or absolving people too quickly. 

What does that mean in fundraising and nonprofits? What are things we should consider in order to manage the idea that people and the institutions they are in might change for the better?

Create a gift acceptance policy.

In your institution, ask, “Do we want your money? What does it mean if we take your money? What if you have a heel turn? Do we still want your money?” 

Instead of binary acceptances and rejections, consider what it means to have a conversation about the money on the table first. What does giving the opportunity to change and to grow into a new person or institution look like? Is the institution in question systemically problematic? Who in your organization is best positioned to evaluate this? 

Most changes can best be discerned by those who are in community with the institution and clear eyed about what is happening internally and the culture. Who is their community? What do they know? How have they experienced this growth story?

Create a fundraiser rights document and maybe a donor expectations agreement.

How are you letting supporters know what they can expect from you when such a situation arises? Just like interpersonal interactions, how important are safety and distance relative to proximity? Are you the right organization or person to help that donor or institution grow? Are you in a relationship with them that you can tell them the truth? Are you a part of their community? 

That is very different from being someone from outside the orbit and being a critical onlooker with no direct power to affect change. How close do you need to be to speak into the situation in a way that will be heard? 

Are you getting so much out of your proximity to a donor or institution that you individually or as an institution don’t actually tell them the truth and only bask in their glow? Do you love the microphone opportunities so much that you won’t speak into it to say what’s necessary? Are you providing people and entities absolution from their ethnocentrism, transphobia, etc. too quickly rather than allowing them the chance to sit in their apology or feelings and learn from it? 

What does your proximity to these institutions and individuals and the harm they’ve caused to others signal to your community? Will they believe those institutions are safe because you work with them? Consider if your proximity is signaling legitimacy, inadvertently providing cover for ongoing harm.

Accountability Starts With Me

Be aggressive in personal examination and motives, and be kind when examining others.

Don’t read this and send it to your partner, spouse, adult child, or someone in the CCF community who has highlighted your problematic behaviors. Take a moment and sit with it. Be aggressive in personal examination and motives, and be kind when examining others. 

Instead of viewing yourself as the hero of every story and reinterpreting your choices through your own motives (like the Brave New World movie does with Red Hulk), take ownership of the impact your choices have had on others. When others make choices that you disagree with, acknowledge their agency and provide the understanding that you would request for others to have of you.

Like Captain America said, “I know what it’s like feelin’ like you have something to prove. When everyone only sees one thing. Showing there is more to you, it’s not about when times are easy. It’s about moments like this.” The proof of change is how someone has responded to things that are hard, decisions where doing the wrong thing might be easier or more convenient. 

Institutions can change, but not without accountability. Institutions are just organized groups of people. Maybe just like you’re growing and changing, they might be too. But that doesn’t mean they get to Hulk-smash the city and hide people in black sites on the way to their redemptive arc. 

Change must be earned, examined and held accountable. 

Abigail Oduol

Abigail Oduol

Abigail Oduol’s (she/hers) surname is not Irish or Pennsylvania Dutch. It’s Kenyan. Abigail is the CCF Movement Coordinator and is a member of too many committees. She invests time thinking about how popular culture informs fundraising and how people connect to each other. Follow Abigail on LinkedIn.

“I would have done more, but…” text

“I would have done more, but…” text

By Chris Talbot, communications professional and educomics creator

Go back to the educomic via this link

Introduction

The header says “I would have done more, but…” an educomic by Chris Talbot. *Unfortunately, this educomic was inspired by a real public call for accountability with a real foundation representative.

First Section

A small child walks along a concrete walkway. Around them, the land is barren, the trees are without leaves, and the world is literally burning.

In the second cell, the child approaches a tall building where money is raining down.

In the third cell, there’s a man in a business suit standing on top of the building where money is raining down. The man shouts down, “Hey, down there!”

Second Section

In the next cell, the small child looks up and asks “Why didn’t you do more when there was time?” There are flames in the background.

In the next cell, the man answers “We did! We increased our payout…” Money rains down around him.

In the next cell, he’s gesturing with all five fingers splayed out with one hand. He finishes “From 5% to 6%!”

In the next cell, he says, “And I would have done more, but…”

Below this illustration is a text box which says, “In 1969, a law required private foundations to distribute 5% of their hoard based on a 13-month average of the foundation’s asset values. It technically includes the foundation’s eligible operating expenses and grants to donor-advised funds — so not a true 5%. This means that a foundation hoarding $1 million only has to pay out a max of $50k. Most foundations do this — the absolute minimum — regardless of the condition of the world and how much funding is actually needed.”

Third Section

In this cell, The man is on all fours, looking down from the building. There are flames behind the building and money raining down on it. He finishes, “…the word ‘perpetual’ is in our charter.”

In a final text box, it says, “In a separate episode of ‘what are foundations doing while the world is burning?’ an insider in a local foundation disclosed to a group of EDs they expected 73% of the organizations they funded to have to close their doors soon. They didn’t say what they were going to do about it. Immediate, emergency, unrestricted funding? Nah. Increasing their disbursements? Also no. Just tell the EDs who may have to stop necessary services, I guess. Foundations are a core problem.”

Chris Talbot

Chris Talbot

Chris Talbot (they/them) is a queer, trans nonbinary, mixed-race artist, activist, and nonprofit employee. When they aren’t working the day job, they spend their free time editing art and literature magazines, writing and illustrating educomics to help folks affirm their nonbinary pals, creating a graphic novel to describe what it’s like to be nonbinary in a gender binary world, cuddling their cat, and quad skating in the park. Purchase their debut book, Why Must the White Cis Nonprofit Workers Angry React to All My Posts? A compilation of essays, posts, and thoughts by a queer, trans, mixed-race professional surviving predominantly white cisgender heterosexual institutions.

You can find Chris at mxchristalbot.com, on LinkedIn, Instagram, Bluesky, and Twitter — and tip them on Venmo or PayPal or join as a patron on their Patreon.

“I would have done more, but…” text

“I would have done more, but…”

By Chris Talbot, communications professional and educomics creator

View accessible/text-only version

The first three cells of the educomic "I would have done more, but..." See the text version linked at the top

 

Middle five cells of the educomic "I would have done more, but..." See the text version linked at the top

 

Last two cells of the educomic "I would have done more, but..." See the text version linked at the top

 

Chris Talbot

Chris Talbot

Chris Talbot (they/them) is a queer, trans nonbinary, mixed-race artist, activist, and nonprofit employee. When they aren’t working the day job, they spend their free time editing art and literature magazines, writing and illustrating educomics to help folks affirm their nonbinary pals, creating a graphic novel to describe what it’s like to be nonbinary in a gender binary world, cuddling their cat, and quad skating in the park. Purchase their debut book, Why Must the White Cis Nonprofit Workers Angry React to All My Posts? A compilation of essays, posts, and thoughts by a queer, trans, mixed-race professional surviving predominantly white cisgender heterosexual institutions.

You can find Chris at mxchristalbot.com, on LinkedIn, Instagram, Bluesky, and Twitter — and tip them on Venmo or PayPal or join as a patron on their Patreon.

Becoming the desert’s memory

Becoming the desert’s memory

By nae vallejo, a Black, queer, trans, disabled experiential archivist and access designer

graphite drawing of a human figure intertwined with a cactus

Artist Statement

The desert knows how to remember – how to sustain life under pressure, how to make beauty from scarcity, how to bloom when no one expects it. I see my people in that terrain: the Black, Native, disabled, trans, and poor bodies who have always learned to root and rise through community, care, and imagination.

Becoming the Desert’s Memory reflects the endurance, wisdom, and adaptive beauty of disabled, Black, Native, and of color bodies – how we grow, re-member, and make meaning within conditions not meant for our thriving. This piece is both an offering and witness, a meditation on what it means to survive without erasing the tenderness that keeps us alive. The desert, often misread as empty, is a living archive. It holds memory in its bones, water in its depths, and resilience in its silence. The desert knows how to remember – how to sustain life under pressure, how to make beauty from scarcity, how to bloom when no one expects it. I see my people in that terrain: the Black, Native, disabled, trans, and poor bodies who have always learned to root and rise through community, care, and imagination.

The desert mirrors us. It holds our histories of persistence and possibility. 

In this piece, the figure is intertwined with cacti, embodying the paradox of tenderness and sharpness that survival requires. The cacti are both educator and kin. It shows that defense can be sacred, that softness and strength are not opposites. Its spines are not aggression; they are clarity, boundary, and truth. Its blooms arrive not in abundance but in rhythm, reminding us that flourishing does not depend on permission. 

As an AuDHD, deaf, Black, trans survivor, experiential archivist and access designer, I create from a place of embodied remembering. My art emerges from the archives my body carries – of grief and joy, silence and sound, rupture and repair. The desert’s landscape feels familiar: a space of contrast, restraint, and revelation. Like the cacti, I have learned to hold water in my own way – to preserve energy, to open only when safety and care allow. My work honors that rhythm. It insists that slowness is wisdom, that adaptation is not assimilation, and that survival itself is art. 

Becoming the Desert’s Memory is also a love letter to my kin – to disabled, Black, Native, and of color survivors, to trans and queer villages who have been told our lives are too much or not enough. It honors the ways we continue to cultivate, care, and connect despite systems designed to erase us. We are the desert’s proof that beauty and endurance are not separate, and that living, even in fragments, is an act of creation. When I make art, I am in conversation with survivors – the ones rebuilding after harm, after loss, after invisibility. We are living testimonies that story is medicine. Through our survival, we archive new ways of being. My work seeks to hold that continuum of becoming – to remember us not as broken, but as constantly re-forming, reshaping, returning. 

The desert teaches that every being has its own rhythm of reaching and retreating. Our disabled, queer, trans, and survivor bodies move that way, too, stretching toward possibility, resting when needed. Our rest is resistance. Our boundaries are devotion. Our joy is evidence of life beyond harm. 

Ultimately, Becoming the Desert’s Memory is both personal and collective. It is a mirror, a prayer, a record of what it means to inhabit a body that carries scar and bloom at once. It celebrates the brilliance of disabled survival, the wisdom of Black and Native endurance, the sacredness of trans and survivor becoming. It calls us to see our bodies not as aftermaths, but as living archives-alive, alert, and still blooming. 

The desert, in its quiet vastness, reminds me that memory is never lost. It lingers in roots, in shadows, in breath. It whispers that we, too, are landscapes of endurance and story. Even when the soil cracks and the light burns, something within us still reaches upward. We become the memory that refuses to fade-the proof that we have always been here, and will continue to bloom. 

Visual details: 

Title: Becoming the Desert’s Memory 

Medium: graphite on cardstock paper 

Alt text: graphite drawing of a human figure intertwined with a cactus, symbolizing survival, memory, and renewal.

nae vallejo

nae vallejo

nae vallejo (they/he) is a Black, Caddo, Mexican, queer, trans, disabled experiential archivist and access designer. their work moves through memory, rememory, and care, exploring how survivors leave trace across body, land, and story. as the founder of naeborhood projects, nae creates art that weaves disability justice, sensory attunement, and community connection into everyday practices of survival and tenderness. a hard of hearing, neurodivergent service dog guardian and lifelong educator, he centers interdependence, ritual, and storytelling as tools for collective care. follow their offerings on Instagram @naeborhoodprojects and support their labor via Venmo @nae-vallejo or Paypal @naevallejo.