by Dr. Kevin Dean, President & CEO, Tennessee Nonprofit Network
In our last chapter, we were at a pivotal moment. The grand plan for a statewide association had seemingly fallen apart with the collapse of our original coalition. But a new, radical idea emerged: to transition Momentum Nonprofit Partners into the state’s first nonprofit association. With a unanimous board vote to explore the concept, we embarked on a journey across the state. Our mission was to gather feedback and build a new, inclusive plan, even in the face of pushback from those who saw our expansion as a threat.
But despite the progress, I was beginning to have some serious doubts.
It wasn’t enough to have a solid plan on paper; I had to convince the people who had the most to lose: my own board of directors. Some of them seemed a bit nervous, and I couldn’t blame them. We were proposing a massive change, a complete rebrand, and a fundamental shift in our mission. We had built a strong, well-respected regional organization, and I was asking them to risk it all for a vision of a statewide body that might not succeed. The pressure was on me to make the case not just with data, but with passion, and to prove that this was a step forward, not a leap into the unknown. Even Mark Jordan, our board chair who was supportive, was getting nervous.
The doubts didn’t stop with the board. While a lot of people were excited about the idea, a good number of people saw us as a threat. Our team began to face pushback that was both subtle and, at times, surprisingly blunt. My team also had to deal with their own share of uncomfortable moments. At one reception, a person told my coworker, “I’m not talking to you. You’re the competition.” Some organizations worked to undermine us behind the scenes, fueled by a scarcity mindset that saw collaboration as a zero-sum game. This wasn’t something our staff was used to navigating. We were connectors and collaborators; suddenly, we were being seen as “the competition.” And what a sad and ignorant way to view other organizations really. Until we stop acting like we’re competition, we’re never truly going to be the nonprofit sector that this country, our state, and our communities need. This was all becoming a little too personal. It’s one thing to go after me, but I am and always will be terribly protective of our current staff. They all work at TNN not because of the paycheck, but because they truly believe in the work.
The resistance wasn’t just coming from the nonprofit sector; it was coming from government, too. I had a meeting with one government official who, bless his heart, kept calling me “bro.” He told me point-blank that Tennessee didn’t need a nonprofit association and that his office wouldn’t be engaging with us. It was a discouraging and disarming encounter, but it reinforced our belief that this work was absolutely necessary. It was a hard reality check, a clear sign that the fight for our vision was going to be an uphill battle. At another meeting, a state representative took one glance at our one-pager proposal and threw it back at me, letting me know that she wasn’t interested in talking about it…although she did wish me well LOL.
My final concern was with our move to increase public policy efforts. And let’s be honest, public policy work is not easily funded. Foundations are often skeptical if you even say the word “policy.” This would require us to raise significant additional revenue for our “glow up,” and I was worried everything might fall apart, just as it almost had before. It felt like this project might collapse before it even started.
The Best Counseling Session I Ever Had
I happened to be in Knoxville, feeling frustrated after a week of meetings with East Tennessee funders in Chattanooga and Knoxville. “We love what you’re trying to do,” they’d all tell me, “but we won’t be funding you.” I’ve heard that line for the last nine years from other funders, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. We had their support, but not their money.
I had a meeting with Jerry Askew, former President & CEO of Alliance for Better Nonprofits, at a local coffee shop. Jerry is also an Episcopal priest and has an uncanny ability to understand people. He’s one of the most jovial and loving people I know—a truly fantastic guy. He sat down and immediately knew I wasn’t okay. I hadn’t been looking for a pastoral counseling session, but I got one, and it was the best thing that could have happened.
Though Jerry had pulled away from the work when his organization merged, he still understood what I was trying to do. More importantly, he had faith in me personally. That’s exactly what I needed.
In organizational change, there are so many unspoken things that happen underneath the surface. We don’t talk about them enough. Imposter syndrome is one of them—that feeling of being a fraud, like you’re not as competent as others perceive you to be. I’ve suffered from it my entire life, and the monumental task of launching a statewide association was weighing on me heavily. Despite all the excitement from supporters, the idea that this could fail—and that I would fail—was a weight I couldn’t shake.
When someone is in the midst of coordinating big organizational change, you have to be easy on them. What happens underneath is often very different from what they have to convey in public. I was losing sleep, burning myself out, and questioning everything about myself and our ability to make this happen. Jerry gave me the courage to keep going. He reminded me why we wanted to do this in the first place, and it was exactly what I needed.
When I walked out of that coffee shop, I had a smile on my face. Even though it was raining and I had no umbrella, I felt like Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain. I was ready to dance through the rest of the challenges. You’ll never get 100% consensus on anything in this world, and in the end, it should matter more about the quality of people who support you rather than the number of those who don’t. And Jerry reminded me in that meeting that the detractors – while influential – were small in number.
When I returned home the next day, an email from Elle Benson popped up. She was our consultant responsible for writing our expansion plan. The subject line said the expansion plan draft was ready for my review. I instantly burst into tears. We had a codified plan that was years in the making. It was finally going to happen, and Jerry’s conversation had reminded me that we could do this. The next big challenge was to convince our board that this was the right move to make, as it was ultimately their decision, not mine. But that’s a story for the next chapter.