People who choose to work in the nonprofit sector are already well-versed in commitment. We care deeply about contributing to a better society and are often profoundly invested in our organizations’ missions.
But what has commitment come to mean in the context of service? And what is that definition costing us?
Where does our idea of commitment come from?
In service-focused sectors like nonprofit, commitment is often equated with self-sacrifice. The more we give to the work, the more committed we appear.
Within this paradigm, there can be very little legitimate space for ourselves. The underlying message becomes: I have to take care of everyone else before I can take care of myself.
Commitment can also become intertwined with over-responsibility. The more I take on, the more I hold, the more committed I am. When we view commitment through that lens, delegating, doing less, or acknowledging that something simply cannot get done can feel like a failure.
And then there is tying our worth to our contribution. When how much we give becomes a measure of our value, commitment can pull us towards perfectionism, overworking, and chronic self-doubt. Doing enough becomes difficult when giving more has become evidence that we matter.
These patterns are not unique to women, but there is a gendered dimension to them. Women make up the majority of the nonprofit workforce, and many of us have also been socialized to be accommodating, dependable, and to prioritize other people’s needs. In a sector built around serving others, these expectations can become further reinforced.
When self-sacrifice becomes evidence of commitment
Nonprofit cultures often celebrate people for going “above and beyond.”
But what does “above and beyond” actually require of people? And when overextension becomes the norm, what are we really rewarding?
The consequences extend beyond individual exhaustion. When people routinely donate unpaid labour to close resource gaps organizations, and funders can lose sight of what the work actually requires. Our willingness to compensate for an unsustainable system can inadvertently help sustain it.
What looks like commitment from the outside may actually be people personally absorbing the gap between the resources available and the work expected of them.
There can also be a cost to challenging this version of commitment.
Earlier in my nonprofit career, a manager once questioned a personal commitment I had taken on outside work out of concern that it might affect my job. I remember thinking: where does an organization’s claim on my time end? I am here to do meaningful work and do it well. But does commitment require organizing the rest of my life around maximizing what I can give to my employer?
And when that judgment comes from someone with organizational power, there is another question: what might it cost us professionally to be perceived as less committed?
There can also be a quieter cost: our sense of belonging. It is there in the sideways looks when someone leaves on time while everyone else keeps working. In the discomfort of being the person who says, “I don’t have capacity for that.” In the unspoken distinction between those who will always find a way to do more and those who maintain boundaries around what they can reasonably give.
Over time, we can internalize those messages so deeply that nobody else needs to question our commitment. We begin doing it ourselves, continually looking for evidence that we are doing enough, giving enough, and working hard enough.
What if commitment looked different?
What if commitment did not mean proving how much of ourselves we are willing to sacrifice?
What if we understood commitment as a responsibility to ourselves, to one another, and to the work?
That might mean having an honest conversation when expectations exceed capacity rather than quietly absorbing more. It might mean delegating rather than assuming responsibility for everything. It might mean leaving work on time without believing we have failed the mission.
And at an organizational level, it means paying attention when the work consistently requires people to exceed the boundaries of their roles rather than celebrating their willingness to do so.
None of this means caring less.
It means taking our commitment seriously enough to think beyond what we can give today.
Because a model of service that depends on people continually sacrificing themselves is not sustainable for staff, organizations, or the communities they exist to serve.
Perhaps the question is not whether we are committed enough.
Perhaps it is what we are committed to.
If we are committed to meaningful, lasting impact, then sustaining the people doing the work has to become part of how we define commitment itself. Organizations have a responsibility to create cultures where that is prioritized. And those of us doing the work have a role too: to include ourselves within our circle of care, and to stop participating in and perpetuating a paradigm that equates our commitment with how much of ourselves we are willing to sacrifice.
Daniela Cohen is the founder of Transformative Conversations, a Vancouver-based coaching and leadership development practice supporting women leaders in nonprofit, healthcare, education, and other service-driven sectors. With over 15 years of experience in nonprofit leadership in Canada and South Africa, Daniela specializes in woman-centered coaching, sustainable leadership, and creating conflict-positive organizational cultures.
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