By Kim Berry Jones

August 2025

It was my fourth surgery in less than three months, and my first thought when I woke from the anesthesia was, “You’re done. It’s time.” And I knew what that meant. My time leading a nonprofit organization was drawing to a close. My life depended on it.

This month marks three years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. In August of 2022, I had no idea what was ahead. This was certainly a mercy. Eight surgeries, five hospital stays, a brush with a deadly infection, countless complications from surgery, and an emergency spinal cord surgery thrown in for extra drama was the road ahead for me, and I am so glad I did not know what was coming.

On this side of it all, it is not an understatement to say that everything for me has changed. And now, healthy and with the #survivor I never wanted, I am actually grateful for the journey. I wouldn’t want to do it again, but the crisis handed me the opportunity to wake up and live.

Heading into this journey three years ago, I was already worn down. I was passionate about my work – to build programs to prevent the trafficking of women and youth, a college scholarship for survivors, and the region’s most robust research. But I was exhausted. I had the great honor of doing this work at my alma mater, a place that profoundly shaped me as a young woman, but now, upon my return, I found it was not an environment where I could thrive. I advocated for myself and my team, striving to build a healthy culture in our small corner. However, without realizing it, I ultimately shut myself down. I fractured my whole person – ignoring the physical clues that flew at me first as small pebbles and then as bricks. I was laser-focused on the mental energy it took to keep going, while I withered emotionally and physically, until nothing I was doing to ignore the signs was enough to stop the train racing at me. My body gave up so that I could have a chance to live.

In this season of rebuilding, I’ve had the time to reflect, the privilege of good care, and the resources to pursue health. As I transitioned into my role to operationalize and lead a small private foundation, I dedicated considerable time to exploring alternative approaches. I committed to doing things differently from how I had experienced working with foundations; thus, the framework of The Kinship Fund is built on trusting nonprofit leaders and walking alongside them in an attempt to disrupt the very real power dynamics of philanthropy.

I also emerged passionate about the well-being of nonprofit leaders. The Wellbeing Project undertook a significant research study into both the need for wellbeing support in the field of social change and the connection between inner wellbeing and systems change. The research defines wellbeing as,

“an ongoing personal journey towards wholeness and connection…a journey of inner work that encompasses increasing self-awareness, healing from past trauma, and moving toward healthier patterns of living.”

It revealed across the system of social service changemakers not only the need for ongoing wellbeing support, but intense barriers to that support. Working to exhaustion was a badge of honor (um, yes), and it was clear that organizations played a significant role in enabling a culture that was either supportive or dismissive of a leader’s inner wellbeing. The eighteen-month program helped leaders reorient themselves to wellbeing, providing tools and expressions of new practices. And this focused support captured shifts, including rejecting the hero model, growing in emotional resilience, and recognizing that self-care is critical to the ability to care for others.

I see my role at the Kinship Fund as three-fold:

1. To build relationships with nonprofit organizations where our funding and technical assistance are most impactful.
2. To disrupt the current state of philanthropy by modeling trust-based practices.
3. To dedicate resources to advocating for and financially supporting the wellbeing of nonprofit leaders.

In so many ways, the nonprofit sector is at a crossroads. With government funding shrinking and often disappearing, it is clear that private philanthropy cannot fill this gap. The ongoing and now exacerbated pressure of raising the funds to operate weighs heavily on leaders who are already weary and burned out, leading staff who are weary and burned out. Working with fewer resources, less pay, and a lack of balance and support for health and wellbeing has been tolerated, and even expected, of nonprofit leaders for too long.

Unhealthy leaders cannot lead healthy teams.

We should never expect people to support the mission over their own lives, but too often that is exactly what happens, either because those in power are not paying attention or because they count on this so we can continue to do more with less.

In the fall of 2022, when the nurse handed me the resource notebook outlining my treatment plan, I noticed the large pink ribbon on the cover – the symbol of surviving breast cancer. I did not want that label. I did not want that notebook. I can now embrace the pink ribbon, because when you have survived something, you often find a new passion to help others who are on the road behind you.

We have a choice when we face a crisis. We can either navigate around it or crawl through it. I carry the scars, on the inside and the outside, of what happened to me. I also carry a message for others. You deserve to thrive, and your wellbeing matters. Putting the mission, your staff, or your clients before your own health does not ultimately serve anyone. I’ve become much better at recognizing the signs in myself that I need to slow down and pay attention, and I’m committed to creating space for others to do the same.