5 Things I Learned From a Non-Profit Implosion

A few years ago, I was working at a nonprofit in the middle of a full-on scaling sprint. We were flush with funding and buzzing with energy—rolling out asynchronous and AI-assisted volunteer training across the country, expanding services internationally, and celebrating high engagement scores like we were on top of the world.

This was also during the early days of the COVID lockdown. George Floyd had just been murdered by police. The world was (rightfully) on fire.

And well, if you’ve read the title of this post… you know where this is going.

The pressure to scale fast is baked into so many of our systems. But the pressure to scale unsustainably? That’s a whole different beast. Cue: “Who needs infrastructure? Skip the planning! Don’t talk to me about burnout—we’ve got metrics to hit and dreams to chase!” (Imagine this said with Willy Wonka-level entitlement: “I want an Oompa Loompa and I want it NOW!”)

Combine that with systemic racism, unchecked ego in leadership, toxic performance management, and a general refusal to slow down or listen?

Boom. Implosion.

Here’s what happened: mass leadership exits (ahem, “indefinite leaves”), CEO ousting, unionization efforts, manager burnout, in-fighting, public smear campaigns—all unfolding in plain view of the communities we were meant to serve.

It was brutal. It was heartbreaking. And it was entirely preventable.

But here’s the thing: this nonprofit wasn’t special in that regard. Companies collapse all the time under the weight of their own dysfunction—Enron, WeWork, Nokia, SmileDirectClub… need I go on?

Most implosions aren’t about one big bad decision. They’re what happens when systems fail—when lots of little cracks form and no one stops to patch them before the whole thing gives out.

So what did I take from the rubble? A few lessons I still carry with me:

It’s all interconnected.

Organizations are just systems made up of humans. When one part breaks, the ripple effects are real. When multiple parts break at once? You’ve got a mess. Patchwork fixes won’t cut it. (Band-aids only stick for so long, right?) Start with the root cause, not just the symptoms. Complexity doesn’t scare us—it’s what makes systems worth studying.

It’s really not personal.

Late-stage capitalism, White supremacist norms, hustle culture—we’ve been conditioned to think our worth is our productivity. That if we just follow the rules, smile, and never push back, we’ll be safe. (Spoiler: we won’t.) When things go sideways at work, it’s usually not because you failed. It’s because the system is broken. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt—but you don’t have to carry it like it’s yours alone. (Note: systemic harm and identity-based discrimination are real and valid and deserve a whole separate conversation.)

Everything, everything, everything is impermanent.

Ride the waves when things are good—great teammates, generous funding, exciting work. Just know: the tide always shifts. That’s not a problem, it’s just reality. The more we can embrace change and build flexibility into our work (and ourselves), the better off we’ll be when the winds inevitably change. Oh, and the tough seasons? Those don’t last forever either.

You gotta have your people.

Middle management during an implosion? Special kind of lonely. You’re stuck in the squeeze—trying to support your team while navigating chaos from above. Find your people. The ones you can text in all caps. The ones who remind you who you are. The ones who make space for both the big feelings and the ridiculous memes. Don’t wait until it’s bad to reach out—let them in for the good stuff too.

Refocus on your big, beautiful life.

Work takes up a lot of space—especially when it’s falling apart. But your job is not your whole life. Even in the mess, joy still exists. Take inventory. What’s feeling good? Who has your back? Where can you be of service in a way that actually feels nourishing? How can you reclaim just 1% of your attention for the things that matter most?

How we work IS the work

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How we work IS the work 〰️

No organization is immune to collapse. But we can learn from what breaks. We can lead differently. Build differently. Relate differently.

And maybe most importantly, we can keep coming back to ourselves—and each other—with just a little more courage, care, and curiosity than before.