I attended a fantastic workshop on video editing several weeks ago. One of the things the instructor said has haunted me – and not just regarding video editing. He said that you need to NOT fall in love with whatever video you are making. Instead, you have to make the video, do work you can be proud of, post it, and then MOVE ON. But do NOT pour your heart into it and offer it up with the highest of hopes that all of your hard work and artistry is going to be popular or even acknowledged – because more than likely, you will get just a couple of “likes”, if you’re lucky. That’s it.

I pour my heart into my professional work. I do most projects as though I am doing them as a model for others. I relish in anyone acknowledging that they see my determination and skills in my work. In fact, I live for it. And my heart gets broken repeatedly.

Leaving it all on the field or court after every game is something that man fans and sports commentators admire, but it’s not a healthy approach to every day work and volunteering. I’m not sure I’ve experienced any benefits at all from just how much love and care I’ve poured into my work over the years – or even in the work I do now.

A few years ago, hungry to make some community connections and really missing any sorts of arts in my life outside of movies, I decided to apply for a citizens’ advisory group for a local government body regarding the arts. The role was simple: review applications from area arts organizations, very very small groups, entirely amateur, choose who gets what tiny sum of money, and attend a celebration at the end of the year where performing arts grants recipients perform. Perfect! I would get introduced to a big array of various dance, theater, music and fine arts groups and partake in their work. There would probably also be snacks.

I really enjoyed the first year, especially the grants celebration! Yes, there WERE snacks – and some beautiful performances.

I was shocked when one of the members asked me to be the chair for the next year. She said all the longer-term folks had done it already and I was “fresh” and I’d seen how it works, how much fun it was. So, yeah, okay! I said yes. COVID was in full swing, but we were having meetings online, and they were working WAY better than our face-to-face stuff, so I was quite happy to take on this volunteer leadership role.

At the very first meeting I ran came the bombshell, which the person who talked me into serving as chair swears she did NOT know was coming: our little advisory committee was losing its administrative support from the local government, and we had to form an independent 501 (c)(3) in 12 weeks if we were to continue.

I worked 20 hours a week for six months, identifying priorities, keeping track of who was doing what, scheduling meetings, opening a bank account, researching and drafting by-laws, drafting the web site content and then designing the simple site, working with our new fiscal agent, reading over the government requirements, researching grants management software, designing Google forms and spreadsheets for the data generated, and running meetings. I poured my heart into it.

One member of the committee didn’t like how I was doing things and would question every sentence, every detail, every suggestion, all of which came from hours and hours of research – but never offer to take over any task and work on it outside of meeting time. During one particularly horrible meeting, he insulted me during a long speech about how he didn’t like something I had drafted and, at last, I stopped him. I don’t want to get into details, but before the entire group, I calmly but FIRMLY told him he was going to stop that immediately, that his language and accusations were beyond inappropriate, and I wouldn’t continue for one more minute. He backed down. After that meeting, like so many other meetings, I sat at my computer and wept. Yes, I cried. At least two members wrote me to say they were so, so sorry at what I had just experienced. But they didn’t speak up at this or any other meeting.

The whole experience was grueling, degrading and soul-crusing. And I didn’t feel any sort of passion or love for this. Why did I stick with it? Because I have this ridiculous sense of duty and honor and pride when I take on a role: I’m going to see it to an appropriate conclusion and do my absolute best every moment and THEN walk away. Heaven forbid I inconvenience anyone, just because I’m being repeatedly insulted and overworked! At least I’ll have the knowledge that I did what I could and did my best!

Insert eyeroll here.

I wish I’d said, “F*ck ’em.” Because all but maybe one person on that committee, and no one in the government, saw the hours I was spending on what was supposed to be a simple community volunteering job, and that I was doing absolutely all that was necessary, in RECORD time, to see that this committee would get to continue its work and that small arts groups in my area would continue to receive a bit of funding each year.

I told the other members I would not be continuing on the committee once my term was up. I recruited six more board members, all under 45 – something the board said it wanted, since others were resigning at the end of the term as well and a need for younger minds was very much needed. I interviewed them and onboarded them, trying to give them as much support as I got when I first joined. I chaired my last meeting, introducing the new members, and then I walked away.

There was no real thank you and no acknowledgement that I’d undertaken a part-time job, for no pay, for much of the year to preserve funding for small nonprofits and to create a model that would allow the committee to get back to reviewing grant applications, awarding money and celebrating at the end of it all. In fact, what I felt mostly from the others was hostility at how demanding and pushy I’d been – something that was absolutely required to get all this done.

I kept all those emails and drafts and files from this experience. I went back and looked at them this week. The work takes up more storage on my computer than any one consulting job I’ve ever done.

I threw most of it away at last.

This is just one of MANY examples I could offer regarding having my heart broken because I wanted to do the BEST job possible. In fact, I’m doing this again now, professionally, for my one and only client, and I’m realizing that I need to stop. I need to scale back. I’ll always do work that I can be proud of and that a client and employer deserves. But do they deserve my absolute, tireless BEST, every time? Not for this pay.

I know that I am one of the best people out there for small nonprofits regarding leveraging social media, for crisis communications, for general public relations and marketing, and for donor cultivation, let alone volunteer engagement. But there comes a time when you have to say, “I’ll do just this much, and then stop. Because I’m not getting my heart broken at work anymore and the pay certainly is NOT worth it.”

Life’s too short. Time to play some piano.

Also see:

• How to get rid of volunteers.
• How not to treat volunteers: another saga.
• Volunteer (mis)management at schools – a first-person account.
• School parent volunteer engagement ethics.
• How to get rid of volunteers.
• Still trying to volunteer, still frustrated.
• Song of frustration re: volunteering.
• A missed opportunity with volunteers.
• latest moment of volunteer management madness.
• What you say vs. what you do re: volunteers.
• I’m a Frustrated Volunteer.
• Learning from a nonprofit’s failure.

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