Finding the fuel

Despite working with some amazing colleagues across the various projects we deliver, for the past six months I have found myself increasingly behind my computer.

The work has still been inspiring and purposeful. Strategic planning, evaluation, workforce wellbeing, systems reform, leadership development, youth leadership programs. Work that matters.

But somewhere along the way, I didn't realise I was missing the fuel that humanises the work.

I have always maintained that no matter what role I was in, I never wanted to lose connection with the people our sector exists to support. It grounds me, motivates me and reminds me of my why.

As a consultant, I am naturally further removed from direct client contact. We have some wonderful facilitators who lead our Next Gen Change Makers programs and I now mostly fly in to see the incredible social impact projects students have created but it is too brief to truly connect. I have missed sitting in spaces with community and finding inspiration to write. I have missed the unspoken gratitude that comes with authentic human connection. I have missed witnessing that spark in someone who has spent much of their life believing they are not enough, realising that they are worthy of being seen, heard and valued just as they are.

I've often wondered whether I should return to direct client work. It has always been where my heart sits.

But recently I've realised something important.

Connection doesn't only happen in direct service delivery.

It happens when we intentionally create opportunities to stay close to the work, to share space with the people doing the hard work, and to prioritise projects that centre lived and living experience, client voice and consumer perspectives.

It happens when we remain curious about the experiences of the people behind the data, the policies, the strategic plans and the service models.

And if I'm being honest, it's also impossible for me to become completely disconnected from adolescent experiences when I have what could reasonably be described as a small case load of teenagers living under my roof. Some are mine, some are not, but all come with their own unique journeys, strengths, challenges and stories. A daily reminder that vulnerability doesn't discriminate.

Recently, I attended a strategy launch and celebration event for an organisation I've been working alongside. Listening to lived experience journeys and hearing people speak passionately about the impact stable housing had on their lives reminded me again why staying connected matters.

Because when we disconnect from the people behind the work, it becomes easier to focus on outputs, deliverables, timelines and budgets.

When we stay connected, we remember what is actually at stake.

The reflection was reinforced today during a conversation with a practitioner who shared how overwhelmed she felt by system barriers and questioned whether she was really making a difference.

It's a feeling many of us know.

When we work in complex systems surrounded by disadvantage, trauma, bureaucracy and injustice, it can be easy to feel disheartened.

I shared something a wonderful supervisor once told me many years ago.

"Don't ever underestimate the impact you have when you show someone unconditional positive regard when they have never experienced it before."

That conversation stayed with me long after it ended.

Because if I am honest, I have asked myself similar questions lately.

If I can't always see the direct impact of my work on community, how do I know it is making a difference?

What is my purpose then?

As I sat with that question, I realised I still carry the same passion I had as a 22-year-old youth worker who wanted to change the world.

And rescue everyone. (let's be honest, wasn't an uncommon career aspiration when we first entered the sector.)

What has changed is my understanding of how change happens.

I now understand that some of the most meaningful change is difficult to measure.

For me, it is often easier to feel.

I can feel it when the energy shifts in a room because someone finally feels heard.

I can feel it when a reflective practice group puts down the weight they have been carrying and remembers they are not carrying it alone.

I can feel it when leaders make sense of a problem that has been keeping them awake at night and begin to see a pathway forward.

I can feel it when lived experience voices are genuinely listened to and not simply consulted.

I can feel it when a strategic project moves beyond compliance and starts creating the conditions for people to respond differently, think differently and connect differently.

Those moments are what matters.

They remind me that impact is not always about what we can measure, but what we can feel.

Some of the moments that stay with me most are not the big achievements or ones I could measure, they are often quieter.

The adolescent who slowly leans into vulnerability after spending months keeping everyone at arm's length.

The relief that washes across their face when they realise they are in a space where they don't need to perform, defend themselves or have all the answers.

The moment they realise they are safe.

The gratitude that exists in those moments is difficult to describe, but impossible to forget.

And while I may not always see the ripple effect firsthand, I know it exists.

I know that every safer conversation, every practitioner who feels supported, every young person who feels seen, every service that responds with humanness and every leader who chooses courage over comfort creates change that extends far beyond what any data set can capture.

I will forever be an advocate for people who have not yet found their voice. That has been part of who I am for as long as I can remember.

The difference now is that I understand that in my current role, advocacy can look a little different.

Holding space for a practitioner.

Helping organisations make sense of complexity so they can better support the people who need them.

And sometimes it looks like simply staying connected enough to remember why the work matters in the first place.

Because purpose isn't always found in seeing the outcome, it can be found in the connection.

Sometimes purpose is found in trusting that every authentic connection, every act of compassion and every effort to make systems a little more human leaves something behind.

To feel that, I need connection.

Because connection is my fuel.

It keeps me close to the people and communities at the centre of the work, reminds me why it matters and helps me trust that even when I can't see the impact directly, it is still there. So here is to finding balance between ‘doing the work’ and being in spaces and with people who remind me of why I do the work.