What I Found on the Other Side of Being Pushed Out

NPQ’s column, We Stood Up, features first-person stories from workers, builders, activists, and organizers of their work and world. From inspirational stories to strategic insights and powerful solutions, these stories may offer a moment to breathe, collective wisdom, and the community solidarity we need to keep pushing toward a just and equitable future.

I was a nonprofit senior leader. I built programs that served 200,000 people a year. I secured the largest public sector contract in my former organization’s history. I inherited a partner network in disarray and restructured it into a high-functioning ecosystem that became a model for the region.

Then I was pushed out—while on medical leave. My health insurance was canceled within two days. No warning. No transition. Just silence where support should have been.

That was the barrier. But what I found on the other side of it is what I need to tell you.

I did not find bitterness, though I earned the right to it. I found clarity.

I found that the nonprofit sector—the one that puts equity on its letterhead and justice in its strategic plan—has a quiet, persistent habit of discarding its most experienced Black women leaders the moment we become inconvenient. Not because our work is lacking. Because our presence is threatening to people who confuse their title with their worth.

I found that I was not alone. The research confirms what Black women in this sector have known in our bodies for years. Ninety percent of Black women nonprofit leaders report that their work has negatively impacted their health and wellbeing. Seventy percent say Black women in leadership have been under attack. And still, the sector wonders why its leadership pipeline is drying up.

I found that the job market would not save me. Two years of applications. A master’s degree. Fifteen years of documented results. And an employment professional who advised me—with a straight face—to downplay my experience so I would not intimidate potential employers.

That is the moment I stopped waiting for the sector to recognize my value and started naming what was actually happening. This is not a pipeline problem. There is no shortage of qualified, experienced Black women ready to lead. There is a shortage of organizations with the courage to hire us, trust us, and get out of our way long enough to see what we can actually do.

What I found on the other side of being pushed out is this: My expertise did not leave with my job title. My ability to build systems, secure funding, manage complexity, and drive measurable impact did not expire when my health insurance did. Those things belong to me.

And I found something else—something quieter but more sustaining. I found that telling the truth plainly, without apology, without shrinking, is its own form of resistance. That refusing to dim my light to make others comfortable is not arrogance. It is integrity.

The sector has a choice. It can keep pushing out the leaders who built it, or it can finally make room for us to lead it forward.

I know which one I am ready for.