I left the AECEA retreat with a mix of gratitude and unease.

Gratitude — because I was reminded how much care, wisdom, and commitment already exist in our community. Unease — because beneath that care, I could also sense how much is being carried quietly, often by the same people, in ways that may not be sustainable.

Leadership as something that happens

One thing that stayed with me from the retreat was a conversation about leadership. Not leadership as a title or a role, but leadership as something that happens — often without being named — when people care deeply and feel responsible for a problem they can’t ignore.

At the same time, we talked about how hard this is. How leadership and responsibility can slowly pile up. How the people who step in once are often the ones who step in again. How showing up, over time, can start to feel less like a choice and more like an expectation.

This isn’t about blame. It’s not about saying anyone is doing something wrong. And it’s definitely not about asking those who are already tired to do more. If anything, it’s the opposite.

A gentle clarification

One misunderstanding I want to gently clear up — from my last post and from conversations since — is this:

I’m not asking leaders, advocates, or organizers to articulate the needs of others more clearly or more forcefully.

What I’m inviting us to notice is something subtler. Sometimes, when we feel tired but still feel the urge to keep going, that’s not a personal failure or lack of resilience. It can be a signal. A sign that the way the work is structured — or the way responsibility is shared — may not be sustainable in its current form.

Care work has a way of doing this to us. We keep going because the work matters. Because children matter. Because our communities matter. And because of that, it’s easy to blur the line between commitment and overextension.

What if leadership doesn’t start where we think?

At the retreat, I found myself thinking about leadership development efforts I’ve seen over the years — programs, academies, trainings, incentives. Many of them are well-intentioned. Some are genuinely helpful.

But I also wonder if, sometimes, they unintentionally reinforce the idea that leadership is a skill you acquire, a credential you earn, or something you’re “not yet ready” for.

What if leadership doesn’t start there?

What if leadership begins when someone notices a problem they care deeply about — and realizes they don’t see it being addressed in a way that feels right?

In that framing, leadership isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about responding to something real. And sustainability doesn’t come from asking those people to carry more. It comes from helping them not carry it alone.

That might mean:

• Finding others who are already working on related issues, even in different spaces
• Sharing responsibility across groups instead of within a small circle
• Being honest about capacity, limits, and needs
• Or stepping back at times, not as withdrawal, but as a strategic choice

None of this makes the work less meaningful. In fact, it might make it more so.

Questions I’m sitting with

I’m still sitting with these questions myself:

• Where am I carrying something alone that doesn’t need to be?
• Where have I normalized exhaustion as part of caring?
• What would it look like to work with others differently — not harder, but wiser?

I’m sharing this not as a conclusion, but as an angle — another way of looking at our work and ourselves. Not to demand more. Not to assign guilt. But to open up space for reflection, connection, and more sustainable ways of creating change together.

Because care shouldn’t depend on a few people quietly carrying everything. And leadership shouldn’t require anyone to disappear in order to keep the work going.