What it means to lead, build, and stay committed when resources are limited
Recently, we took a hard look at our outreach budget—evaluating every expense to ensure we’re putting resources where they matter most. It raised a real question: what can we sustain, and what truly makes the greatest impact in our communities? Would people understand if we weren’t able to provide everything this time? When a volunteer asked if we could bring training or support to their community next month, I paused to consider our resources before replying, “Do you have time to meet this week?” From there, we work together to determine what is possible with limited resources.
Right now, funding this work means continuing to balance what we want to do with what we can actually manage.
Budget cuts didn’t just reduce our resources; they affected every decision we’ve made since and will continue to affect decisions we make going forward. The ongoing war and rising costs have brought a kind of uncertainty that’s hard to put into words but impossible to ignore. Especially when you have to raise every dollar you will spend, and wallets are tightening, you can see it in our talks with partners and funders, in our hesitation to make long-term plans, and in the constant question:
Will this be enough?
Here at Western Native Voice, we are a very small team that tries to pack a nig punch. There’s no extra layer or safety net. Most days, my staff and I switch between roles without a break: budgeting in the morning, leading a civic education training in the afternoon, checking in with staff in between, tracking local, state, national, and international events, and answering emails late at night. Sometimes I find myself thinking about three problems at once—how to cover costs for an upcoming event, how to support a staff member who’s stretched thin, and how to respond to a community asking for more than we’re sure we can give.
The pressure goes beyond logistical concerns but it is deeply personal. Participants and volunteers trust us with responsibilities, and their involvement shows belief in our mission, not just attendance. I am aware of this responsibility, which grows when resources are limited, and the margin for error is narrow.
But this reality has changed how we approach our work. We can’t do everything ourselves, and honestly, that was never our goal.
Our focus is on growing leaders, not doing the work for them. So we have to lean into that.
I remember a community meeting where we asked volunteers, new to this space, to help lead. We could tell they were nervous, and it showed, but they kept going, even glancing over to check if they were doing it “right.”As the conversation continued and people started to participate, they became more comfortable. They asked better questions and listened closely, and by the end, they weren’t looking to us anymore. They were leading and guiding the room themselves. That shift didn’t happen because we stepped in, but because we stepped back and let them lead.
Those are the moments the team and I remember most. It’s not the perfectly run events, plans that come together easily, or the reporting, but the times when someone realizes they can do more than they thought as a volunteer.
When they take ownership, not because we told them to, but because they see it’s theirs to carry and to help their community.
In all of it, the civic education sessions in small community spaces, the one-on-ones, the leadership trainings where people find their voice, and conversations that lead to action, it’s always about that transfer. We want to make sure the work doesn’t count on us being everywhere, but on people stepping into their own leadership where they are. Then I know that our mission is being met.
The uncertainty is still there. The numbers still don’t always add up the way I want them to. There are still times at the office when I’m trying to figure out how to make it all work.
But I keep showing up because I’ve seen what happens when people step into their own power. I know it’s worth building, even when it’s hard.