Working in the nonprofit field doesn't have a lot of monetary perks. Most of us live in poverty right alongside the people for whom we advocate. I haven't had a raise since I was hired in 2008, but I've never asked for one. I've got $200 in my bank account right now, and I'm still better off than most of the people I serve. In a few months, when my divorce is finalized, I won't have health insurance, and then we'll be even.
No biggie.
There are certain benefits that my employer, the Brain Injury Association of Delaware (BIAD), couldn't buy from a health or life insurance company. They couldn't list these benefits on a job advertisement. They couldn't even say for sure that I'd receive them. That's because the benefits I'm talking about are not monetary, but they are invaluable and life-changing.
I recently sat in on a meeting with several executive directors who were talking about - among other things - employee recruitment. One man told about receiving a resume from an M.I.T. graduate who had all sorts of experience and - he thought - would expect a very high salary. Upon calling the applicant and asking her if she was sure she had meant to apply to his nonprofit, and telling her that he knew he couldn't afford to employ her, she said, "I just want to work for [your organization]. I don't care about the pay. I want to believe in my work." Flabbergasted, the executive director arranged for an interview and hired her - at an extraordinarily low rate - on the spot. She's still employed there, and is one of his best employees.
Two months ago, I took a call from an anonymous out-of-state woman who suspected she sustained a brain injury after being beaten repeatedly by her husband. I listened and cried with her, felt her fear and anguish, and begged her to have the courage to leave. Just before that, a man called me in utter confusion because he couldn't figure out how to request his military records in order to apply for a TBI reassessment. I spent ten minutes on the phone with him, filling out online forms, and talking him through the process. The challenge of trying to meet their needs makes me bust my ass, stretch myself, and ultimately, grow.
Although I am fairly certain I won't retire a wealthy woman, I'm aware that the long-term benefits of serving my community will enhance my life to the point that I won't care. I've worked for BIAD for the past three years, and I've seen myself develop beyond my own expectations. I've embraced and adopted aspects of my own character that I put to use to advocate for people who are lost or scared or hurt. And I wouldn't change it for the world. I actually feel bad for people who chase "the almighty buck" every day and don't even know what they're missing.
Money is great, but it's not the reason I'm committed to BIAD, and to valuable local nonprofits. Self-discovery and self-awareness are the payoff. And by working within this field, I've discovered a stronger, resourceful side of myself that will get me through the rest of my life just fine.
