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  • Thrown Into the Fire: The Unintentional Exploitation of Lived Experience Workers

    A lived experience worker sitting alone in a hospital hallway, overwhelmed, illustrating the lack of protection and support provided to lived experience workers in demanding systems.

    The Pattern

    Marcus had been in the peer specialist role for eight months when the panic attacks started. Not at home. Not during his off hours. Right there on the hospital floor, standing in the medication room, his heart hammering as a patient’s story collided with memories he thought he had processed years ago.

    His supervisor meant well. “You’re doing great work,” she’d say during their monthly check-ins. But those sessions never touched what Marcus was actually experiencing. How the lack of clear boundaries left him answering texts from clients at 10 p.m. How the clinical staff kept asking him to do “just this one assessment” because they were short-staffed. How he couldn’t find words for the exhaustion that felt different from anything he’d known before.

    Marcus isn’t alone. Across the United States, organizations are recognizing the profound value that lived experience workers bring to behavioral health, child welfare, substance use recovery, and social services. The research is clear and compelling. Peer specialists reduce hospital readmissions by 56 percent. One county found they help cut involuntary hospitalizations by 32 percent, generating nearly two million dollars in savings in a single year. The evidence keeps mounting.

    But something is breaking in the space between that recognition and the reality workers like Marcus face every day.

    When Speed Outpaces Safety

    Last week, a leader in the lived experience space shared a metaphor with me that I continue coming back to. It captures a consistent pattern I have observed across child welfare, juvenile justice, and the broader social service sector. Too often, well-meaning stakeholders throw individuals with lived experience “into the fire, figuratively and sometimes literally.” Systems recognize the value of lived experience without understanding its burden, rushing implementation without considering the support needed to protect those doing the work.

    The behavioral health field has learned to hire lived experience workers quickly. A short training program. A certification process. Add them to the team. National peer workforce guidance suggests the infrastructure can be built more quickly than other workforce pipelines.

    What the field has not learned is how to build the support systems at the same speed.

    Research reveals a troubling pattern. Organizations often hire peer workers before establishing clear policies and procedures. They bring people on board without conducting readiness assessments that best practices explicitly recommend. Job qualifications, functions, and pay grades are determined after hiring begins, if at all. Supervision structures and organizational policies are still being drafted while workers are already carrying caseloads.

    The numbers tell a sobering story. In one study, 91 percent of peer supporters identified challenges to being effective in their roles. The top challenges were excessive workload, inadequate time, and personal stress. These are not minor inconveniences. They are symptoms of systems that skipped the preparation work necessary to protect the people they recruited.

    Sarah, a peer recovery worker in a substance use treatment program, describes the reality. “They hired me on a Monday. By Wednesday, I was carrying a caseload of twelve clients with complex trauma histories. My supervisor had never supervised a peer worker before and wasn’t sure what questions to ask. I had a list of people to see and no real guidance on how to navigate situations that felt overwhelming.”

    The Hidden Cost of Emotional Labor

    The exploitation at the heart of this dynamic is rarely intentional. Organizations are not deliberately trying to harm the workers they hire. They are trying to do better, to be more responsive, and to incorporate perspectives that have been excluded for too long. The harm emerges from the gap between good intentions and inadequate preparation.

    Consider what research tells us about the unique vulnerabilities lived experience workers face. Approximately 70 percent of therapists working with trauma clients are at high risk for secondary traumatic stress. About 38 percent of social workers experience moderate to severe secondary trauma. For peer workers, who often lack the formal clinical training and protective distance that comes with professional roles, the risk compounds. When peers have trauma histories similar to their clients, which is often the foundational qualification for the role, the risk of re-traumatization and over-identification increases dramatically.

    One peer worker explained: “Every story I heard had echoes of my own. My supervisor kept telling me I was ‘using my lived experience well,’ but nobody ever checked whether I had the support I needed to manage what that was stirring up in me.”

    The research on secondary traumatic stress makes clear that it affects every domain of functioning. Social relationships suffer. Work performance declines. Family connections strain. Sexual health impacts emerge. Psychological wellbeing deteriorates. The emotional and physical toll becomes comprehensive. For lived experience workers whose roles are explicitly tied to their own recovery, the stakes feel impossibly high.

    The Supervision Gap

    Buried in the research is a finding that should alarm every organization employing lived experience workers. Many supervisors receive no formal training in supervision skills. People responsible for supporting workers in one of the most emotionally demanding roles in behavioral health often have never been trained to provide supervision.

    The gap becomes even more pronounced with peer workers. Research shows that non-peer supervisors commonly lack knowledge of what peer support work actually entails. They are supervising roles they do not fully understand. This results in a striking disconnect: supervisors often report confidence in understanding the peer role, while peer workers report their supervisors do not actually understand what they do.

    Maria, a peer specialist in a mental health clinic, captures this disconnect. “My supervisor is a licensed clinical social worker. She’s brilliant at what she does. But when I tried to explain why I needed to show up differently than the therapists on our team, she looked confused. She kept redirecting me back to clinical frameworks. I wasn’t speaking a language she understood.”

    The lack of supervision infrastructure manifests in predictable ways. Supervisors are often unsure what peer specialists should actually be doing. Role ambiguity becomes the norm rather than the exception. More than half of peer workers report poor treatment in the workplace, including discrimination and microaggressions related specifically to their peer status. When supervisors do not understand the role well enough to protect it, workers become vulnerable to being pulled in directions that compromise the very thing that makes their contribution valuable.

    The Training That Never Comes

    Organizations that employ peer workers consistently identify training as essential to effective practice. Yet respondents across multiple studies report feeling inadequately prepared for the specific skills their work requires, particularly advocacy, outreach, and boundary navigation.

    The pattern repeats. Workers are hired quickly. Training is promised. Deployment happens first. Preparation comes later, if it comes at all.

    When peers do not receive training before deployment, the quality of peer support declines. Workers struggle. The people they serve receive inconsistent support. Teams become frustrated. Peer workers often internalize the dysfunction as personal failure rather than systemic neglect.

    Professional development suffers in parallel, with limited access to continuing education or potential for career advancement. Despite growing evidence of impact, lived experience roles are treated as entry points rather than professional tracks deserving long-term investment.

    A Delphi consultation of 110 international participants identified five core training topics with strong consensus. Yet peer worker wellbeing training, despite universal recognition of its importance, remains inadequately addressed. Organizations acknowledge what is needed. They simply do not provide it.

    The Burnout Crisis

    The workforce literature uses clinical language to describe what is happening. Compassion fatigue. Secondary traumatic stress. Vicarious trauma. Lived experience workers often use different words. Exhaustion. Emptiness. The feeling of having nothing left to give. Some describe reaching a point where their own recovery felt threatened by the work they were hired to do because of their recovery.

    The statistics are stark. 93 percent of behavioral health workers have experienced burnout, with 62 percent reporting moderate to severe levels. 23 percent of peer recovery workers report being under stress or experiencing burnout symptoms. For younger peer workers, the numbers climb higher. Many have left their positions entirely due to burnout and traumatic experiences from the work itself.

    Emotional exhaustion among peer providers strongly correlates with intent to leave the field entirely, not just to change jobs. Some peer providers are forced out due to health deterioration from work stress, citing disability-level impacts. Organizations lose experienced workers at the moment retention matters most.

    James, who left his peer specialist role after fourteen months, remembers the breaking point. “I started having nightmares about clients. I couldn’t sleep. I was snapping at my partner over nothing. My doctor wanted to adjust my medications. I realized the job that was supposed to be part of my healing journey was making me sicker. So I left. And I felt like I’d failed.”

    The Screening That Does Not Happen

    Perhaps the most troubling gap in the research is what is not happening at all. Limited standardized protocols exist for screening peer workers for trauma history, burnout risk, or boundary vulnerability before they begin.

    Consider that reality. The behavioral health field has extensive screening protocols for clinical staff. Assessment tools for therapist burnout. Guidelines for managing countertransference.

    In contrast, peer workers rarely receive this protective screening. They are hired with the implicit understanding that their trauma history is an asset, with little consideration for how that same history might make them more vulnerable to specific harms.

    Research shows that rejection sensitivity, often grounded in histories of loss and trauma, significantly impacts organizational attachment and turnover. Yet organizations rarely screen for this or provide support to help workers navigate it. Resilience is assumed rather than built.

    The Economics of Extraction

    Follow the money and the pattern becomes clearer. Organizations achieve substantial cost savings through peer services. Hospital readmission rates drop. Acute inpatient days decrease. Systems reap financial benefits.

    At the same time, peer recovery workers consistently report low wages and workplace stress that leads to burnout and compassion fatigue. Pay is unstable. Roles are poorly defined. Emotional exhaustion threatens workforce stability.

    The inequity is palpable. Organizations capture value while making minimal investment in the people generating it. Peer workers are sidelined, siloed, or asked to perform tasks that do not reflect their role. Regardless of intent, the disconnect between value extracted and support provided represents a form of systemic exploitation.

    What Harm Looks Like in Practice

    The research documents recurring organizational failures.

    Clinical environments lack recovery orientation. Peer workers are placed in settings where dominant cultures contradict peer values. Stigma and marginalization become part of the work environment.

    Role clarity remains absent. Decision-makers do not understand peer responsibilities, yet peer satisfaction depends critically on that understanding.

    Policies arrive too late. Some organizations pilot peer services while internal policies are still under development, leaving workers unprotected during the most vulnerable phase.

    Leadership doubts capabilities while expanding the workforce. Administrators question whether training can compensate for a lifetime of struggle even as they continue hiring without adequate support.

    A Different Path Forward

    The solution is not to stop employing lived experience workers. Their contributions are too valuable. The solution is to refuse to hire without first building the infrastructure to support them.

    Establishing organizational readiness:

    Conducting genuine readiness assessments before recruitment begins. Establishing job qualifications, functions, and pay grades before posting positions. Ensuring supervision structures exist with supervisors trained specifically in peer support. Developing clear policies about scope, boundaries, and team integration before anyone starts work.

    Protecting workers proactively:

    Screening for vulnerabilities just as rigorously as for any other high-risk role. Pre-deployment assessment of trauma history. Explicit discussion of boundary challenges. Identification of potential triggers. Creation of wellbeing plans before workers encounter situations that compromise their health.

    Investing in professional development:

    Providing ongoing training, not just initial certification. Creating professional development pathways. Ensuring access to continuing education. Building clear career advancement structures that signal this is professional work deserving professional support.

    Ensuring adequate compensation:

    Paying wages that reflect both the value these workers provide and the emotional labor they perform. Translating the cost savings organizations achieve through peer services into compensation that acknowledges the role’s complexity and demands.

    Building appropriate supervision:

    Creating peer-informed supervision even when peer supervisors are not available. Training non-peer supervisors in the values and practices of peer support. Ensuring every peer worker has access to some form of peer-to-peer supervision or mentorship, contracted externally if necessary.

    Slowing down:

    The urgency to capture the value of lived experience has outpaced the commitment to protect the people providing it. Organizations must stop treating lived experience workers as quick fixes for workforce shortages. They are professionals whose wellbeing matters as much as the outcomes they help achieve.

    The Moral Question

    At its core, this pattern raises a fundamental ethical question. Can organizations call themselves trauma-informed and recovery-oriented while failing to protect the workers whose trauma and recovery they rely on?

    Good intentions are not sufficient. Recognition of value is not protection. Inclusion without infrastructure becomes another form of harm.

    Every organization currently employing lived experience workers should conduct an honest assessment:

    • Do peer workers have access to supervisors trained in peer-specific supervision approaches?
    • Are clear policies in place about scope of practice, boundaries, and role clarity?
    • Has screening been conducted for trauma history and vulnerability factors?
    • Do professional development pathways exist with clear opportunities for advancement?
    • Are wages competitive with the value these workers provide?
    • Is peer-to-peer supervision available, either internally or through external arrangements?
    • Have non-peer team members been prepared to support and respect the peer role?
    • Are workload and caseload expectations realistic given the emotional demands of the work?

    If the answer to any of these questions is no, the organization is participating in a pattern of unintentional exploitation that places workers at risk.

    The Fire Still Burns

    Marcus eventually left his peer specialist position. Not because he stopped believing in the work, but because the foundation never materialized. He realized staying meant sacrificing his own wellbeing.

    He thinks about it sometimes, the promise his supervisor made during the interview. “We’re building something special here. You’ll be part of creating a new model.” What they built, he realizes now, was a role without a foundation. A position without protection. An expectation of resilience without the support that makes resilience possible.

    Organizations across the country continue making similar promises. They recognize value. They recruit with enthusiasm. They deploy faster than they prepare.

    The question is not whether lived experience workers have something essential to offer. The evidence is irrefutable.

    The question is whether organizations are willing to do the harder work of building systems that protect the people they ask to step into the fire. Until the answer is yes, each hiring decision risks unintentional harm, no matter how good the intentions behind it.

    If you enjoyed this article, check out our foundational articles: Why Us?, Why Now?, and How? Be sure to subscribe for monthly updates and resources.

  • Deafening Silence: NASW Restructuring and the Fear of Speaking Up

    A political cartoon showing a large NASW chair at the head of a boardroom table facing two gagged chapter leaders labeled NASW IA and NASW CA, with six empty labeled chairs for NASW KY, NASW AR, NASW KS, NASW AZ, NASW SD, and NASW TN to represent directors removed during the NASW restructuring.

    This piece is an unplanned follow up, written in response to the extraordinary volume of feedback to my previous article. You may wish to read that analysis first for full context.

    Editor’s Note (6:20 pm December 11, 2025): This article has been updated to include formal letters from NASW Texas and Michigan chapters, to correct Dr. Gandarilla-Javier’s title, to add context from a September 2024 board statement, and to reflect verification of the December 8 email.

    NASW Restructuring Article Response

    On Friday, I published an analysis of the November NASW restructuring decision. The response revealed something I did not fully anticipate: the gap between what social workers wanted to say and what they felt they could say publicly. Therein lies the true story.

    Within hours, messages arrived from former chapter directors who felt discarded by the organization they had faithfully served for years. Former national staff confirmed what many suspected. Current leaders explained that they could not speak publicly for fear of retaliation. Anonymous Reddit discussions became the only spaces where practitioners could name what they had witnessed.

    The response confirmed what the restructuring itself revealed: a profession struggling with the distance between its stated values and its organizational practice.

    A Systemic Pattern, Not an Isolated Crisis

    The November 2025 restructuring did not emerge from nowhere. It sits inside a longer pattern of conflict, silence, and contested governance.

    Last year, NASW Vice President and National Board member Dr. Sharon Gandarilla-Javier publicly announced her resignation. Her original LinkedIn statement was edited multiple times within hours, then reduced to a single sentence. A preserved copy on Reddit describes her account of being pressured to resign after questioning CEO Anthony Estreet’s handling of the Preferra insurance collapse. In that statement, she alleged serious concerns about workplace climate, financial management, and retaliation, and stated that her duty of loyalty lay with the organization’s mission rather than any individual leader.

    Context for her resignation appears in an earlier September 2024 board statement defending CEO Anthony Estreet against what they characterized as ‘maliciously published’ and ‘alleged unfounded grievances.’ The board stated they stood ‘firmly behind Dr. Estreet and the leadership team as they address these challenges head on.’ Three months later, the Vice President resigned after questioning the CEO’s handling of the Preferra crisis.

    Whether these allegations will ultimately be substantiated is a matter for investigation. What matters here is the pattern: a sitting Vice President described pressure to resign after raising concerns, and her attempt to speak publicly about it was quickly constrained and then largely erased. That context helps explain why so many people now fear speaking out.

    The pattern continued. Boards in Arkansas, South Dakota, and Kentucky resigned in full. Iowa’s chapter issued a vote of no confidence citing opaque decision-making and concerns about retaliation. Kansas publicly challenged the removal of its director and the absence of clear process.

    Taken together, these events suggest more than a single controversial decision. They point toward systemic governance failure.

    The Scope Becomes Clear

    Since the November restructuring, at least seven state chapters have taken formal institutional action challenging national leadership’s decisions and governance practices.

    Iowa issued a vote of no confidence citing opaque decision-making and concerns about retaliation. Kansas publicly challenged the removal of its director. Board members in Arkansas, South Dakota, and Kentucky resigned in full rather than continue under the current structure.

    This week, two additional major chapters formalized their positions. The NASW Texas Executive Board, representing one of NASW’s largest and most active chapters, issued a vote of no confidence in executive leadership. The NASW Michigan Board, representing 5,000 members and over 32,000 licensed social workers in the state, issued a unanimous vote of no confidence and explicitly called for the resignation of both the CEO and Board President if immediate corrective action is not taken.

    Both letters make nearly identical demands:

    • Financial transparency, including five years of financials and third-party audit
    • Full account of restructuring decision-making process
    • Establishment of independent steering committee with chapter representation
    • Publication of board agendas, minutes, and voting records
    • Written acknowledgment and action plan within 14 days

    Texas’s letter notes a particularly important ethical dimension: “Texas social workers expect NASW to champion fair labor practices, reasonable workloads, transparency, and member-centered policy decisions. Yet the recent restructuring asks Executive Directors to absorb multi-state responsibilities without adequate compensation, staffing, or structural support.”

    Michigan’s letter is even more direct in its assessment: “At this time, the NASW–Michigan Board finds that these standards are not being upheld.”

    These are not anonymous complaints. These are formal institutional statements from elected chapter leadership, representing tens of thousands of social workers, using their organizational authority to demand accountability.

    Like-minded members can join NASW Texas’ sign-on letter, reflecting many of the concerns listed above.

    What the Numbers Reveal

    Many assumed NASW’s restructuring reflected financial collapse or mass membership loss following the Preferra insurance crisis. Yet NASW’s own IRS Form 990 filings do not support that narrative. Membership dues revenue over the past four fiscal years (ending June 30) remained stable:

    • $18.81 million in FY 2021
    • $19.15 million in FY 2022
    • $19.37 million in FY 2023
    • $19.42 million in FY 2024

    While growth plateaued, the data show neither catastrophic membership decline nor fiscal emergency. Unless something catastrophic occurred between June 2024 (the fiscal year end in the 2024 filing) and November 2025, recent decisions do not appear driven by financial necessity.

    The broader financial picture further undermines claims of crisis. NASW’s total revenue and expenses over the same period show an organization that operated at or near break-even:

    • FY 2021: Net income of $2.22 million
    • FY 2022: Net income of $6.23 million
    • FY 2023: Net loss of $269,000
    • FY 2024: Net income of $39,000

    Three of the past four years showed positive net income. This marks a significant improvement over the prior seven fiscal years (2014-2020), which each recorded net losses ranging from $1.48 million to $3.35 million annually.

    If the restructuring were in response to imminent collapse, the data would reflect crisis. They do not. Financial performance from 2021 through 2024 shows stabilization, not emergency.

    This matters because it clarifies what the restructuring was not:

    • It was not forced by sudden collapse in dues
    • It was not a last-resort austerity response
    • It was not an emergency measure to keep the organization afloat

    This reframes the issue entirely. If not compelled by financial necessity, it must be understood as a matter of choice.

    Why choose an approach that bypassed chapter leadership, ignored participatory governance expectations, and dismantled state advocacy infrastructure without transparent explanation?

    The numbers do not justify the method. They instead reveal a deeper concern: a top-down governance decision carried out without regard for NASW’s own Code of Ethics.

    When Voice Requires Risk

    “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
    — Maya Angelou

    Directors and leaders who reached out did not only describe disagreement. They described grief.

    One person wrote about spending years building legislative relationships, then learning of their termination only when the public announcement went out. Another described watching their board resign in protest while being bound by confidentiality agreements that limited what they could say publicly.

    The termination of fourteen executive directors severed years of relational trust with legislators, coalitions, community partners, and state agencies. It also revealed a deeper dynamic: critiquing NASW National now carries professional risk.

    Current staff shared concerns about job security and potential retaliation. Former staff referenced NDAs and policies warning of legal consequences for sharing internal information. Chapter leaders described calculating how public they could be without jeopardizing future opportunities.

    Social workers are trained to speak truth to power. When they feel unable to do that within their own professional home, the issue is not individual courage. It is organizational culture.

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    What Social Workers Shared Privately

    Across direct messages, emails, comment threads, and anonymous forums, several themes repeated with striking consistency:

    Betrayal of professional values

    Social workers asked how an organization that teaches transparency can function without it. Many referenced the Code of Ethics directly. One former director wrote: “I taught students about ethical decision-making for years. Now I’m watching our own association make decisions I would have told students to challenge.”

    Loss of advocacy capacity

    State-level advocacy cannot be centralized without cost. It is relationship-based. It requires local trust and daily presence. Directors who built those relationships over years were removed with no transition planning. Practitioners worried about coalitions, policy campaigns, and community partnerships that depend on steady local leadership.

    Fear of retaliation

    This theme dominated. Not primarily anger or outrage, but fear. People described deleting posts after second thoughts, moving conversations into private messages, or choosing anonymous forums because they felt safer. A current chapter leader wrote: “I know what happened was wrong. I also know I can’t say that publicly without risking my position.”

    Organizational trauma and grief

    Many used language of loss, rupture, and betrayal. They spoke of years of work made irrelevant overnight. They described watching an institution that was supposed to protect their advocacy instead dismantle the infrastructure that made it possible.

    The Silence Is the Story

    For every public statement, there were several private messages. Comments appeared, then disappeared. Former staff wrote publicly, then removed their posts. Reddit became one of the few places where practitioners could speak without attaching their names.

    Silence, in this context, is not neutrality. It is evidence of power. When people believe that telling the truth about their experience may cost them their livelihood, silence becomes protective. The profession should be deeply concerned any time silence is the safest choice.

    When Public Messaging Contradicts Private Reality

    On December 9, a document appeared on Reddit, shared by someone identifying as a recently resigned NASW chapter board member. The post included an email from NASW National leadership dated December 8, which I have since independently verified through direct communication with affected parties.

    In that message, NASW leadership asserts that the restructuring was neither sudden nor reactive, but the result of “nearly a decade” of planning, pilots, and incremental testing. The communication frames the consolidation of 14 chapters as necessary operational modernization rather than an ethical rupture or governance breakdown. It directs members to board minutes and Form 990 filings as evidence of transparency and due process.

    The response from the community has been swift and skeptical. The resigned board member characterizes the messaging not as clarification, but as post-hoc justification, writing:

    “To put the blame on social workers for not being ‘informed enough’ is simply ludicrous”.

    Others in the discussion attempted to verify the leadership’s claims of long-term transparency. One user noted that publicly available board minutes on the NASW website appear to extend only through January of this year. This leaves the claim of a “decade of planning” effectively unverifiable to the average member.

    This critique does not hinge on whether restructuring was necessary. It hinges on timing and access. In trauma-informed systems, transparency is not a courtesy extended afterward; it is the process that precedes impact.

    Public messaging that invokes openness while leaving members unable to verify foundational claims creates the mistrust it seeks to quiet. In social work, transparency is not merely disclosure of outcomes. It is shared process, shared risk, and the ability to ask questions without consequence.

    What is most striking is the contrast. Leadership points to board minutes and filings as evidence of transparency, yet those materials appear incomplete and the financial record (as shown above) contradicts claims of necessity. This is transparency as performance, not practice.

    The restructuring may have been justified. The communication culture that surrounded it was not. That is the ethical breach that continues to reverberate.

    Governance, Stewardship, and Professional Legitimacy

    This is no longer only a crisis about restructuring. It is a crisis of credibility and stewardship.

    In nonprofit governance, three duties are foundational: duty of care, duty of loyalty, and duty of obedience. These duties belong to an organization’s governing board at the national level, not its executives.

    When an organization’s Vice President, who serves on the National Board, describes facing pressure to resign after raising concerns related to governance and transparency, it signals a serious breach of fiduciary responsibility. Board members are obligated to ask hard questions and act in the best interest of the organization’s mission, even when doing so is uncomfortable or unpopular.

    Separately, when chapter boards resign in full, they are not simply rebelling. They are signaling that they can no longer participate in governance under a structure they believe undermines transparency, ethical practice, and meaningful accountability to members.

    An association cannot ask its members to uphold a Code of Ethics it ignores in its own operations. Doing so undermines the moral authority of our entire profession.

    Clinical Drift in Organizational Form

    Macro practice teaches that institutions must be accountable to the communities they serve. Social workers learn to analyze systems, challenge harmful power dynamics, and build participatory structures.

    If social workers cannot successfully advocate within their own professional association, how do we maintain credibility when we advocate in legislatures, agencies, and communities? If chapter leaders fear retaliation for naming concerns, how do we encourage practitioners to challenge injustice elsewhere?

    This moment is not separate from the broader trend of clinical drift. When the national association centralizes power, restricts participation, and treats member voice as a risk to manage rather than a resource to cultivate, it enacts the same individualizing tendencies that have pulled the profession away from macro work.

    A professional body that silences dissent cannot credibly train people in community organizing. An association that treats governance as an internal matter rather than a shared practice cannot credibly promote democratic participation.

    The restructuring is not only a symptom of clinical drift. It is clinical drift expressed through organizational design.

    What Ethical Accountability Requires

    Repair is impossible in an environment of silence. Silence protects those who hold institutional power and isolates those who have been harmed.

    Ethical accountability would require, at minimum:

    1. Clear public explanation of the restructuring decision, including the financial and strategic analysis that drove it and the alternatives considered.
    2. Transparent reporting on the Preferra insurance collapse and the use of insurance-related funds.
    3. Open forums where members, staff, and chapter leaders can process what has happened without fear of retaliation.
    4. Restoration or thoughtful redesign of state-level advocacy capacity that respects the importance of local leadership and relationships.
    5. Independent review of retaliation, intimidation, and workplace climate concerns raised by past and present staff.
    6. Governance reforms that prevent major structural changes from being enacted without meaningful consultation with chapters and members.

    These are not radical demands. They are the minimum for ethical stewardship in any mission-driven organization. They are especially important in a profession that teaches transparency, participation, and accountability as core practice principles.

    Honoring Those Who Cannot Speak

    Many of the people most affected by these decisions are constrained by contracts, risk calculations, or ongoing roles inside the organization. Professionals who have given decades to advocacy and leadership deserve acknowledgment and ethical clarity, even if they cannot safely share their stories in public.

    This article is, in part, an attempt to honor that reality. It draws on what has been said publicly and on what has been shared privately, without attaching names where doing so could create harm.

    If you have insight, concern, or experience related to the restructuring or to NASW governance more broadly, I welcome confidential conversation at hello@themacrolens.com. Not for publication, but to better understand the collective landscape that has brought the profession to this moment.

    The Stakes for the Profession

    The profession of social work cannot afford selective accountability. We cannot insist on transparency from agencies, courts, and legislators while accepting opacity from our own institutions. We cannot teach ethical courage in classrooms while expecting quiet compliance in our professional associations.

    The silence surrounding NASW’s restructuring is beginning to break. What happens next will reveal whether institutional power chooses defensiveness or the ethical courage that social work has long claimed to embody.

    NASW faces a clear choice: commit to meaningful governance reform, or accept continued erosion of credibility and trust.

    There is no third option.

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  • NASW Restructuring and Ethical Accountability: When Chapters Stand Up To Leadership

    Illustration of a suited figure labeled NASW holding the Code of Ethics near a lit lighter, symbolizing ethical risk associated with NASW restructuring.

    Due to the extraordinary response to this article, and the number of professionals who voiced fears around voicing their concerns publicly, I decided to write a follow up article. You can read it here.

    Social workers across the country are concerned, confused, and angry. How can the organization that claims to represent us, the steward of our Code of Ethics, so blatantly violate the values it taught generations of practitioners to defend?

    Last month, national leadership executed sweeping NASW restructuring, resulting in the leaders serving fourteen state chapters being laid off. Many learned of their eliminations at the moment the announcement became public. No transition plans, no member consultation, no collaborative process, and no opportunity for affected chapters to prepare for the loss of their advocacy infrastructure.

    For a membership organization in a profession built on community voice, this was not merely an internal decision. It was an ethical rupture.

    The response was immediate. Iowa issued a vote of no confidence. Kansas publicly stated they were given no rationale or process for the removal of their leadership. Arkansas and Kentucky reported full board resignations. Former directors expressed not only shock, but grief that the relational work of years could be severed without forethought, acknowledgment, or transparency.

    These reactions are not isolated. They are a collective recognition that something fundamental has cracked at the center of our professional home.

    The Values NASW Forgot to Practice

    The execution of the NASW restructuring reflects a fundamental disconnect with our professional values. Social work rests on transparency, accountability, and shared decision making. We teach these principles to students. We write them into policies. We defend them in courtrooms, classrooms, community centers, legislatures, and crisis shelters. They are not aspirational ideals. For many, they are deeply intertwined with our professional and personal identity.

    Yet national leadership made sweeping decisions about chapter consolidation and layoffs without meaningful consultation with members, chapter boards, state leaders, or the Delegate Assembly. What was removed was not only staffing, but presence. Not only roles, but relationships. Not only operations, but the connective tissue of state-level advocacy.

    Paying lip service to our professional values is not enough. We cannot abide a professional organization that refuses to hold itself to the same standards it demands from its members.

    This is why Iowa’s action matters. Their statement was not an act of rebellion, but of fidelity. They spoke not out of hostility, but out of moral obligation.

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    Betrayal, Not Disagreement

    It is important to name the emotional truth of this moment. Social workers are not simply upset about process. They are wounded by betrayal.

    Directors like Becky Fast did not hold symbolic roles. They built coalitions, strengthened legislative relationships, and carried advocacy work forward for years in a profession that often erases that labor. To remove them without partnership or dialogue was not a technical oversight. It was a dismissal of what makes this profession function at the state level: trust, time, continuity, and presence.

    The problem is not that NASW made a difficult decision. It is that they made it in a way that violated the relational and ethical commitments that define social work as a profession. We are asked, in every setting, to confront power responsibly, inclusively, and accountably. When NASW leadership bypassed those values, it modeled the very behavior social workers are trained to challenge in systems of harm.

    That disconnect is what social workers feel so viscerally now. Not a policy disagreement, but the sting of hypocrisy.

    The Importance of Iowa’s Stand

    Iowa’s statement did not emerge from impulse. As someone who has served on that board, I can attest to the deliberation, restraint, and ethical seriousness with which they operate.

    This was more than a critical response to a single action from NASW leadership. They were calling out a concerning, sustained pattern of behavior. They cited opaque decision making, lack of disclosure concerning the Preferra lawsuit and loss of member benefits, and alleged retaliation against volunteers and staff who raised concerns.

    Their vote of no confidence reflects the gravity of what has unfolded. NASW leadership repeatedly acted in blatant violation of the professional values they hold sacred. Their alarm is not dramatic, but a measured and appropriate response.

    This is exactly the level of clarity, courage, and integrity we should expect from leadership within our field. The actions of state chapters like Iowa make the failures of national leadership all the more apparent.

    Social workers know how to sit with discomfort, how to speak truth to power, and how to hold systems accountable. We expect that of ourselves. We have the right to demand that of NASW.

    Where Trust Goes From Here

    The NASW restructuring reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of how state-level advocacy works. Legislative relationships cannot be managed remotely. Grassroots organizing requires local presence. Policy change demands sustained engagement with specific communities, agencies, and political contexts. Efficiency models that treat advocacy as scalable administrative work will hollow out the very infrastructure that makes social work more than clinical licensing.

    Trust between NASW and its members cannot be restored through email statements, public relations language, or internal talking points. Trust can only be rebuilt through action that reflects the values the profession is named after: transparency, collaboration, and shared leadership.

    Social workers are not asking for perfection. They are asking for participation. They are asking to be included in decisions that redefine their professional landscape. They are asking that their expertise, advocacy relationships, and labor be recognized and respected.

    The profession must demand more from the organizations that claim to represent us. NASW cannot champion justice while practicing exclusion. It cannot require accountability from practitioners while denying it in its own operations. It cannot claim stewardship of values it fails to uphold.

    Social workers deserve better than this. We are better than this.

    The profession deserves an organization that reflects the best of who we are, not the worst of what hierarchy can become.

    If you enjoyed this article, check out our foundational articles: Why Us?, Why Now?, and How? Be sure to subscribe for monthly updates and resources.

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  • Suffering in Plain Sight: How Child Welfare’s Institutional Amnesia Failed My Brothers

    Two boys, approximately ages nine and twelve, sit dejected on concrete steps in a black and white urban scene, symbolizing the instability and invisibility children face under caseworker turnover.

    This piece continues the personal story I began in My Why, where I share the experiences that shaped my commitment to macro social work and empowering lived experience leaders.

    The US child welfare system is deeply flawed. For many children, the greatest and most lasting harm does not come from the events that triggered involvement, but from the system itself. Caseworker turnover and the revolving door of service providers creates a cycle of instability. Each new professional asks children to recount their trauma, and each transition erases the understanding the previous worker painstakingly built.

    I did not come by this truth through research or policy reports. It was hard won, advocating for my half-brothers as the system lost sight of their needs time and time again. Same children, same histories, same needs, yet every new caseworker treated them as blank slates. Each transition meant starting over, because the child welfare system could not remember.

    When Systems Forget

    In 2018, my youngest brothers entered Iowa’s child welfare system for the second time and were placed in my care. The removal itself followed familiar patterns; crisis, intervention, placement. What came after, however, was something more insidious: institutional amnesia.

    The revolving door of service providers began almost immediately. Caseworkers changed. Service coordinators came and went. Each transition brought the same exhausting ritual. New faces asking old questions, requesting information already documented. Strangers forming impressions without context, making decisions that contradicted previous plans.

    It felt like we were starting over from scratch every time their caseworker changed, because we were.

    The system wasn’t just failing to build on existing knowledge. It was actively forgetting what it had already learned about my brothers’ specific needs and trauma histories. Each new professional entered with good intentions but without institutional memory. Armed with case files but missing the lived context that makes those files meaningful.

    The Permanency Plan That Wasn’t

    The worst manifestation of this amnesia came during the transition between the second and third caseworkers on my brothers’ case.

    After more than two years of active child welfare involvement, we finally had a plan. The second caseworker had been critical of my stepmother’s ability to maintain a healthy and positive relationship with the boys. Given the infrequency of visitation and ongoing mental health struggles, he recommended termination of parental rights and my adoption of my brothers.

    At the time, I agreed. He presented a compelling argument, and I trusted his professional opinion. After years of uncertainty, it looked like my brothers would finally have permanency. They could stop holding their breath in anticipation. We could all exhale.

    Then the third caseworker took over.

    During our first conversation, she asked what I wanted to see regarding permanency. Trusting the established plan, I repeated the previous worker’s recommendation of termination and adoption. She didn’t push back. She didn’t comment on it at all.

    Instead, her initial report to the court stated that my “adversarial regard” for my stepmother was harmful the boys. She further recommended that the case should not close until this issue was resolved. She painted me as a harmful agent in my brothers’ lives for the sin of trusting her predecessor’s plan.

    The light at the end of the tunnel was effectively snuffed out, as we started over from scratch yet again.

    Right Outcome, Wrong Method

    Despite that initial antagonistic treatment, I am actually grateful to the third caseworker. Her perspective helped myself and the court recognize the value of the relationship between my brothers and their mother. The case ultimately closed with my stepmother retaining parental rights while I became permanent guardian. My brothers gained stability with me while maintaining a safe and meaningful relationship with their mother. Looking back, it was the best possible outcome.

    But being right doesn’t excuse the methods.

    Had the third caseworker approached me openly, I would have seen the logic and validity of this permanency option. I would have supported it from the start. Her choice to leave me in the dark and paint me as an aggressor was unnecessary, frustrating, and further eroded my trust in the child welfare system.

    This is the insidious nature of institutional amnesia: it doesn’t just lose information, it loses trust.

    The Human Cost of Starting Over

    For my brothers, this nearly three-year case felt like perpetual limbo. Each caseworker transition brought fresh waves of uncertainty about their future. It meant new strangers making decisions about their lives and repeated questions about painful histories.

    The consequences lingered long after the child welfare case closed. My youngest brother lived in a state of emotional limbo for years. The system’s inconsistent messaging around permanency left him uncertain, even after closure. He continued to put his life on hold. He avoided forming friendships, joining activities, or putting down roots in his new community.

    I remember when, nearly two years after the case ended, he finally began to come out of his shell. He made friends at school, planned sleepovers, and became excited about his life again. It was a joyful shift, but it underscored the cost of years spent waiting for an outcome that would never come.

    If the system had provided consistency around permanency from the beginning, I believe he would have acclimated much sooner. The years of his childhood lost were not inevitable, they were preventable.

    The One Who Remembered

    There was one critical exception to this institutional amnesia: my brothers’ Court Appointed Special Advocate (CASA).

    Assigned at the onset of my brothers’ case, the CASA volunteer became their constant through nearly three years of system chaos. While caseworkers rotated and service providers changed, she remained. She was the only agent of the system that my brothers truly trusted. The one adult who showed up, who remembered, and who actually saw them.

    She was a godsend, providing the continuity that the formal system failed to maintain. She knew their story not from case notes but from relationship. When new caseworkers entered, she could provide context that files couldn’t capture. When permanency plans shifted, she was the bridge helping my brothers make sense of changes that adults struggled to explain.

    I am forever grateful to my brothers’ CASA. Her involvement in their case inspired me to spend three years as a CASA volunteer myself. I later dedicated my graduate practicum to the CASA program, designing and piloting a comprehensive data system to better track child outcomes, needs, and the systemic barriers they face. This was my first direct effort to ensure the needs of other children and families did not remain invisible, as my brothers’ once had.

    The Systemic Design Flaw

    This is not a story about bad caseworkers, but that of a system designed to fail.

    The professionals involved in my brothers’ case were dedicated, competent people doing their best within impossible constraints. Every one of them cared deeply about my brothers’ wellbeing.

    The problem is that child welfare is designed as if children exist in a perpetual present. As if each assessment captures a stable truth rather than a moment in a long narrative.

    Case files document decisions, but not the reasoning behind them. They record permanency plans, but not the dynamics, observations, and deliberation that shaped those plans. When workers leave, all of that vital context disappears. New workers inherit conclusions without understanding how they were reached.

    This creates a perverse dynamic where each new worker, lacking context, feels compelled to form their own independent judgment rather than risk perpetuating a predecessor’s mistakes. The result is what my family experienced. Not thoughtful course corrections based on new information, but wholesale abandonment of existing plans because the reasoning behind them died when the worker left.

    What Research Tells Us

    An ethnographic study of day to day child protection work helps explain why caseworker turnover and inconsistent staffing are so damaging. The research found that effective child welfare practice depends on intimate engagement with children. It requires the ability to enter a child’s world through careful listening, observation, and relational depth. This level of practice requires sufficient preparation time, organizational support, and reflective supervision. Without these conditions, workers quickly become overwhelmed or cognitively overloaded. The emotional and relational grounding that meaningful assessment requires becomes impossible to maintain.

    The study also found that many workers arrive at visits in a bureaucratically preoccupied state. They are still mentally tethered to administrative demands, computer screens, or the pressure to complete tasks quickly. This state of mind makes it difficult to engage deeply with children or to absorb the sensory and emotional complexity of family environments. When workers lack reflective containment, they struggle to process the anxiety, conflict, or emotional intensity they encounter. This leads to rushed interactions, superficial assessments, and a reliance on procedural checklists rather than thoughtful relational practice.

    The research emphasizes that this is not a matter of individual competence. The same workers practiced skillfully in some cases and detached in others, depending on the emotional demands they faced and the organizational support they received. Caseworker turnover forces workers to start from deficit. They lack the contextual and relational foundations required to truly understand the children in their care.

    Rebuilding Systems That Remember

    If we want child welfare to function, we need more than better documentation or reduced caseloads. We need systems built on the assumption that caseworker turnover will occur, so children do not pay the price.

    A number of promising approaches already exist:

    • Team based models that distribute knowledge across multiple workers.
    • Narrative focused documentation that preserves both decisions and the reasoning behind them.
    • Supervision structures that provide the containment workers need to think clearly and maintain child centered focus.
    • CASA programs that offer relational continuity that agencies struggle to provide.

    These innovations are real, but they are also far from systemic.

    From Amnesia to Accountability

    My brothers are mostly grown now. The final permanency plan served them well, and they are thriving. However, the harm from the system’s inconsistency still matters. They lived with adults repeatedly disagreeing about their future. Professionals disappeared from their lives without explanation. Promises shifted without warning.

    Those experiences shaped them as much as the trauma that led to removal.

    This understanding is the foundation of The Macro Lens. Lived experience is essential to systemic reform. Relationships are not soft skills, they are infrastructure. Systems must be redesigned by those who have lived their consequences.

    Institutional memory is not optional. When systems forget children’s stories, they lose the children themselves.

    Child welfare will continue to fail until we build systems that remember with intention. Ones that protect continuity as fiercely as safety, and recognize that every lost piece of knowledge becomes a wound the next worker must rediscover.

    My brothers deserved a system that built on what it learned, not one that forgot with every transition. So do the thousands of children experiencing discontinuity whenever a caseworker’s email auto reply announces they have moved on.

    To build systems that remember children, we must elevate those who know what it is to be forgotten.

    To learn more about the experiences and commitments that shape my work at The Macro Lens, visit the About Me page.

  • Coalition Building for Social Workers

    A practical framework for creating powerful partnerships that drive systems change

    Illustration of a city skyline with interconnected lines representing coalition building, community networks, and systemic collaboration in social work.

    Social Work Coalition Building

    When you work alone, you’re limited by your own capacity, resources, and sphere of influence. When you build a coalition and bring together diverse partners around a shared vision, you multiply your collective power to create lasting change.

    Coalition building is one of the most essential skills in macro social work, yet it’s rarely taught with the level of practical detail needed to do it well. This guide breaks down the process into seven concrete steps you can follow; whether you’re organizing around a policy change, launching a community program, or addressing a systemic issue that no single organization can solve alone.

    What Is a Coalition?

    A coalition is a temporary or long-term alliance between individuals, organizations, and groups who come together around a shared goal. Unlike a single organization with a formal hierarchy, coalitions work through collaboration, shared decision-making, and distributed leadership.

    Coalitions can be formal (with bylaws, officers, and structured meetings) or informal (loosely organized around specific campaigns). What matters most is not the structure, but the shared commitment to a goal that no one partner could achieve alone.

    In social work, effective coalitions have:

    • Advanced healthcare access by bringing together hospitals, community clinics, and patient advocacy groups
    • Reformed school discipline policies through partnerships between parents, educators, and juvenile justice advocates
    • Secured housing protections by uniting tenants, legal aid organizations, and faith communities
    • Changed child welfare practices when social workers, families with lived experience, and community organizations demanded better

    The 7-Step Coalition Building Framework

    Step 1: Define Your Shared Vision and Goals

    Before inviting anyone to the table, get clear on what you’re trying to accomplish. A coalition without a focused goal quickly becomes a social club—well-intentioned but ineffective.

    Ask yourself:

    • What specific change are we working toward?
    • What would success look like in six months, one year, or three years?
    • Is this goal achievable through collaboration, or could one organization do it alone?

    Be specific. “Improve mental health services” is too broad. “Secure $2 million in county funding for school-based mental health clinicians in underserved districts” gives partners something concrete to rally around.

    Pro tip: If your goal is too large to achieve within one to three years, you may need a movement, not a coalition. Start smaller and build momentum.

    Step 2: Map Potential Partners Strategically

    Not every organization working on a similar issue needs to be in your coalition. Think strategically about who brings what you need.

    Consider partners who offer:

    • Legitimacy: Credibility and trust in the community
    • Resources: Funding, staff time, meeting space, or technology
    • Expertise: Legal knowledge, policy analysis, or lived experience
    • Access: Connections to decision-makers, media, or grassroots networks
    • People power: Members who can mobilize for actions, hearings, or canvassing

    Power map example:

    • Decision-makers: Who has the authority to make the change you want?
    • Influencers: Who has their ear? (Staff, advisors, donors, community leaders)
    • Allies: Who already supports your goal and has influence?
    • Potential partners: Who could be persuaded to join if they understood the issue?

    Critical point: Always include people with lived experience of the issue. If you’re working on homelessness, unhoused individuals must be at the table—not only consulted but included in leadership.

    Step 3: Build Relationships Before You Ask for Anything

    Coalition building is relationship work. You cannot send a cold email asking someone to join and expect genuine commitment.

    Relationship-building strategies:

    • Have informal conversations: Learn about their priorities, challenges, and vision
    • Attend their events: Show up for their work before asking them to show up for yours
    • Find common ground: Identify where your goals naturally align
    • Be transparent about your own capacity and limitations

    If your first interaction is a request to sign a letter or attend a meeting, you’re starting from extraction, not partnership. Trust takes time. Let people see your consistency and genuine commitment to collaboration, not convenience.

    Step 4: Establish Structure and Decision-Making Processes

    Coalitions fail when no one knows who is responsible for what, or when power dynamics go unspoken.

    Key elements:

    • Leadership model: Lead organization, rotating leadership, or a shared steering committee
    • Decision-making: Consensus, modified consensus, majority vote, or delegated authority
    • Roles and responsibilities: Who facilitates meetings, manages communication, tracks action items, or handles media

    Put your agreements in writing. A simple Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) can prevent conflict by clarifying expectations early.

    Step 5: Create Sustainable Meeting Practices

    Meetings are where coalitions live or die. Effective meetings build energy and accountability; poor ones drain both.

    Meeting essentials:

    • Consistent schedule (monthly or quarterly)
    • Clear agenda shared 48 hours ahead
    • Defined outcomes for every meeting
    • Rotating roles (facilitator, note-taker, timekeeper)
    • Accessibility measures (hybrid options, interpretation, childcare)
    • End each meeting with action items and accountability

    A simple flow that works:

    1. Check-in and wins (10 min)
    2. Updates from working groups (15 min)
    3. Decisions and strategy (30–40 min)
    4. Action steps and closing (10 min)

    Only meet when coordination or decision-making truly requires it. Otherwise, share updates by email.

    Step 6: Navigate Conflict and Power Differences

    Coalitions bring together organizations with different cultures, resources, and levels of power. Conflict is inevitable—and healthy when handled well.

    Common tensions:

    • Resource disparities
    • Credit and visibility
    • Pace and tactics
    • Representation in messaging

    Strategies for balance:

    • Name and discuss power differences openly
    • Center grassroots and lived-experience leadership
    • Rotate visibility and speaking opportunities
    • Encourage resource sharing from larger to smaller partners
    • Establish conflict protocols before disagreements arise

    Avoiding conflict doesn’t build trust. Addressing it respectfully does.

    Step 7: Celebrate Wins and Evaluate Honestly

    Momentum sustains coalitions. Celebrate progress, however small, and reflect on lessons learned.

    After each milestone:

    • Celebrate publicly through social media or community events
    • Acknowledge contributions by name
    • Reflect on what worked and what didn’t
    • Document insights for future use

    When it’s time to close:
    If you’ve achieved your goal or the coalition has run its course, end intentionally. Hold a closing conversation about what was accomplished, which relationships will continue, and what resources can be shared with others.

    The Bottom Line

    Coalition building isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about trusting that collective wisdom will surface them. When diverse people, organizations, and communities align around a focused goal, they create power that no single entity can replicate.

    Systems change never happens in isolation. It happens when social workers, community members, advocates, and organizations move in the same direction, united by a vision of justice.

    You don’t need permission to start. You need a clear goal, authentic relationships, and the humility to share power. Start small. Reach out to two or three partners. Find your overlap. Take one action together. That’s how movements begin.

    Ready to Take the Next Step?

    Building coalitions is just one piece of macro social work. For more tools to strengthen your systems-change practice, visit our Macro Social Work Resources Hub: a curated list of 37 free systems work resources across 8 categories.

    Also, subscribe to The Macro Lens newsletter and download your free Intro to Macro Social Work: A Beginner’s Guide.

    This 10-page workbook will help you:

    • Map your transferable skills from micro to macro practice
    • Identify opportunities for systemic change in your current role
    • Reframe barriers that hold social workers back
    • Build your professional network for collective action

    Subscribe today and take your first step from casework to catalyst.

  • How to Build a Career in Social Justice: Four Professional Paths to Meaningful Systemic Change

    A minimalist aerial view of four golden paths converging toward a bright horizon, representing different routes to build a career in social justice.

    Your Career in Social Justice

    When most people think about social justice work, they picture direct service; careers built around helping one individual or family at a time. But real justice asks us to look deeper, beyond individual acts of kindness, to the roots of inequality. How do we shift the systems that create inequality in the first place?

    Four major professional pathways offer meaningful routes to systemic impact: macro social work, law and legal advocacy, community organizing, and public administration. Each aligns differently with social justice values, requires different levels of education and investment, and offers distinct strengths and challenges.

    Here is a comparative analysis of the four best pathways toward a career as a changemaker. If you’ve ever felt the call to create large-scale positive change, this guide can help you find your path.

    Macro Social Work

    Focus:

    Policy advocacy, program design, systems reform, and organizational leadership

    Macro social work is one of the few professions built explicitly around systemic change. Macro practitioners tackle structural issues (poverty, inequity, discrimination, and access to resources) through community-level, organizational, and policy interventions.

    For more information, read our article “Why Social Workers Make Effective Agents of Systemic Change“. Visit the Social Work Education Center to learn more about career paths in macro social work.

    Time and Cost:

    • Bachelor’s degree in social work (BSW) or related field, followed by a Master of Social Work (MSW)
    • Typically 6 years of education total
    • Average MSW tuition: $30,000–$70,000 depending on school and residency
    • Licensure is often optional for macro roles, but many hold the Licensed Master Social Worker (LMSW) or equivalent

    Potential for Impact:

    Macro social workers operate across government, nonprofits, advocacy groups, and think tanks. While it can take time to gain the experience needed to break into leadership roles, the field is incredibly broad. This allows you the freedom to focus your career on the populations and issues that matter most to you. The profession is also deeply aligned with social justice values.

    Compensation and Stability:

    • Median: $60,000–$65,000
    • Senior or leadership roles: $90,000–$125,000+
    • Stability: Moderate to high, especially in government or large nonprofits

    Strengths:

    • Deep philosophical alignment with equity and advocacy
    • Diverse career options (policy, research, community planning, administration)
    • Expanding field with above-average growth

    Challenges:

    • Requires advanced degree for meaningful leadership
    • Required practicum experiences are often unpaid
    • Modest early-career salaries

    Bottom Line:

    Social work incorporates justice, equity, dignity, and cultural humility into every aspect of the profession. Macro practice can offer you a direct and intentional path toward social justice leadership. However, it takes patience and persistence to rise into influential roles.

    Law and Legal Advocacy

    Focus:

    Rights enforcement, litigation, and legislative reform

    Law remains one of the most traditional and visible social justice careers. Civil rights, public defense, immigration advocacy, and nonprofit legal work all fall under this umbrella. Attorneys often influence systems through litigation, policy design, and strategic interpretation of the law.

    Explore the social justice lawyer career path.

    Time and Cost:

    • Bachelor’s degree (4 years) + Juris Doctor (JD, 3 years)
    • 7 years total education
    • Average cost: $120,000–$200,000 for law school alone
    • Must pass the bar exam to practice

    Potential for Impact:

    Lawyers can achieve sweeping systemic change through precedent-setting cases, legislation, and public policy. However, the field can be adversarial and hierarchical, making early systemic influence slow to achieve.

    Compensation and Stability:

    • Median: ~$146,000 nationally (varies widely)
    • Public interest and nonprofit roles: ~$60,000–$90,000
    • Stability: Moderate; government roles are stable, private practice less so

    Strengths:

    • Direct pathway to policy and legal influence
    • High earning potential and strong professional status
    • Potential for transformative systemic wins

    Challenges:

    • Extremely high cost and time investment
    • Competitive field; slow to reach leadership or impact roles
    • Can feel disconnected from community-level realities

    Bottom Line:

    A legal career can give you unmatched structural leverage, but requires immense upfront investment and patience. Its impact depends on your ability to balance advocacy with systemic realities.

    Community Organizing and Development

    Focus:

    Grassroots mobilization, coalition building, and movement leadership

    Community organizing is the most accessible and immediate way to engage in large-scale justice work. Organizers build people power through community engagement and needs assessment. They confront systems of inequity directly, whether through campaigns, policy demands, or civic engagement.

    See a detailed guide to community organizing careers.

    Time and Cost:

    • No formal degree required (though many hold degrees in social sciences or social work)
    • Low educational cost relative to other paths
    • Leadership often grows through credibility, experience, and relationships rather than credentials

    Potential for Impact:

    Organizing is the fastest route to visible impact, as practitioners engage communities in real time to change policy or culture. Yet sustaining grassroots movements can be difficult, and funding instability often limits long-term career security.

    Compensation and Stability:

    • Typical salary: $40,000–$60,000
    • Leadership in larger organizations: up to $90,000+
    • Stability: Low to moderate; depends on grants and political context

    Strengths:

    • Direct alignment with democratic participation and empowerment
    • Quick path to leadership and visible impact
    • Grounded in lived experience and relational credibility

    Challenges:

    • Often low pay and inconsistent funding
    • High burnout risk due to emotional labor and unstable job structures
    • Success depends on sustained community momentum

    Bottom Line:

    If you prioritize immediacy, movement energy, and bottom-up change, organizing offers rapid influence. However, it remains the least financially stable path and depends heavily on passion, perseverance, and community trust.

    Public Administration and Policy

    Focus:

    Government or nonprofit program management, policy implementation, and systems governance

    Public administration professionals translate social policy into real-world systems. They manage public programs, oversee budgets, and design policies that shape social equity on a broad scale.

    Learn more about careers with a Master of Public Administration.

    Time and Cost:

    • Bachelor’s degree (4 years) + Master of Public Administration (MPA) or Public Policy (MPP) (2 years)
    • 6 years total education
    • Average MPA tuition: $30,000–$70,000
    • No licensure required

    Potential for Impact:

    Public administrators can enact widespread reforms, but change often moves slowly within bureaucratic structures. Political cycles and competing priorities can dilute social justice goals.

    Compensation and Stability:

    • Salary range: $60,000–$100,000+
    • Stability: High, particularly in government roles
    • Benefits and pensions often strong

    Strengths:

    • Direct influence over social policy and program design
    • Clear advancement structure in government and nonprofit systems
    • High job stability

    Challenges:

    • Bureaucracy and political pressures often limit agility
    • Early roles may feel far removed from justice outcomes
    • Social justice values can clash with administrative or political constraints

    Bottom Line:

    Public administration is ideal if you thrive in structured systems and want to institutionalize equity through policy, budgeting, and governance. It rewards patience with long-term influence and the chance to institutionalize equity from within.

    Comparative Overview

    Each of these careers can advance justice in different ways. The comparison below summarizes how they differ in structure, opportunity, and the kind of change they make possible.

    PathwayEducation & CostEntry TimelineEarning PotentialStabilityAlignment with Social JusticeBarriersDistinct Advantage
    Macro Social WorkMSW ($30k–$70k)Moderate$60k–$125kModerate–HighDirect and explicitBureaucracy; degree requirementsPurpose-built for systemic equity
    Law & Legal AdvocacyJD ($120k–$200k)Long$60k–$200k+ModerateStrong but adversarialHigh debt; slow early impactLegal authority to shift policy
    Community OrganizingMinimal formal educationFast$40k–$90kLow–ModerateDeep grassroots connectionFunding instabilityQuickest path to leadership
    Public AdministrationMPA/MPP ($30k–$70k)Moderate$60k–$100k+HighVariable by agencyBureaucracy, politicsDirect influence over programs

    Choosing Your Path Forward

    Every social justice pathway requires trade-offs between access, influence, and sustainability.

    • Community organizing offers immediate, people-powered impact but limited financial stability.
    • Law delivers powerful structural leverage but demands immense time and money.
    • Macro social work blends systems theory, advocacy, and community connection, offering a versatile route for sustained justice work.
    • Public administration turns policy into practice, shaping institutions from within, though it often requires navigating slow-moving systems.

    The right path depends not just on your skills and resources, but on how you want to wield power. Ask yourself: are you drawn to grassroots mobilization, legal frameworks, policy systems, or social work’s values-driven approach to justice?

    For me, I found my true calling in social work. Its core commitments to social justice, equity, dignity, cultural humility, and the inherent worth of all people resonated deeply. It is a profession that not only supports the pursuit of justice and systemic change, but demands it. It is the perfect reflection of my personal values in professional form.

    Of course, every journey is unique. No single profession owns systemic change. Whether you build policy, organize neighbors, or challenge laws, you hold a piece of justice in your hands. Carry it wisely, share it freely, and together we can achieve more than we ever thought possible.

    Ready to start engaging in systems work? Visit our Macro Social Work Resources Hub for free tools, guides, and resources to create meaningful change.

  • Listening as Leadership: How to Lead a Community Needs Assessment

    A diverse group of six adults seated in a semi-circle during a community needs assessment meeting, one person speaking while others listen attentively in a sunlit room.

    Why Community Needs Assessments Matter

    A community needs assessment is a structured way to listen deeply to your community; to understand what is working, what is not, and what is missing. It is the foundation of effective macro social work and systems change because we cannot solve problems we have not clearly defined.

    At The Macro Lens, we believe systemic change begins with listening. A strong needs assessment helps social workers, nonprofit leaders, and advocates uncover the real barriers and strengths shaping community well-being, even without a research budget or academic team.

    This guide will walk you through a practical, justice-driven process for conducting your own assessment using accessible tools, participatory approaches, and real-world examples. You will learn how to define your purpose, gather meaningful data, analyze what you find, and turn insights into action that fosters equity and accountability.

    If you’re new to macro practice, check out Why Social Workers Make Effective Agents of Systemic Change, an internal article exploring why social workers are uniquely equipped to lead systemic reform.

    For technical guidance on designing assessments, consider the Community Toolbox: Assessing Community Needs and Resources, a comprehensive and free step-by-step resource created by the University of Kansas. You can also browse additional tools in our Macro Social Work Resources Hub.

    Step 1: Define Your Purpose and Scope

    Every effective community needs assessment begins with clarity. Before collecting any data, ground yourself in purpose. Ask: What do I want to understand, and why?

    Your purpose shapes everything that follows, from your questions to the people you engage.

    Examples of purposes:

    • Designing or improving a program
    • Informing advocacy around a policy issue
    • Supporting a funding proposal
    • Guiding a multi-organization coalition

    A narrow scope might focus on one issue, such as barriers to after-school care for working families.

    A broad scope might explore overall community well-being, including health, safety, and economic opportunity.

    Mini Checklist: Define Your Scope

    • Who is your target population (for example, youth, single parents, older adults)?
    • What geographic area are you focusing on (for example, neighborhood, city, county)?
    • What’s your timeframe for collecting and sharing results?
    • What’s your intended use (program design, funding, advocacy)?

    Defining your scope keeps your work focused and achievable, especially when you’re a team of one.

    Once you’ve clarified your purpose, you’re ready to invite others into the process.

    Step 2: Engage the Community From the Start

    A justice-oriented needs assessment begins with partnership, not extraction. The community is not your subject; they are your co-designers.

    Start by connecting with:

    • Grassroots organizations already doing trusted work
    • Informal leaders such as faith advocates, youth mentors, or small business owners
    • Community members with lived experience related to the issue you’re exploring

    Sample outreach message:

    “I’m gathering insight from community members about what’s working and what needs to change around [topic]. Would you be open to sharing your perspective or connecting me to others who might be?”

    Ethical Considerations

    • Be transparent about your purpose and how the results will be used
    • Obtain consent before collecting or sharing stories
    • Make sure all voices are heard, especially those from marginalized or underrepresented groups
    • Practice cultural humility by listening more than you speak

    This stage is crucial for building trust, something social work has not always succeeded at. For a deeper look at how professional practices can alienate the very communities we aim to serve, see Alienating Vulnerable Communities: The Hidden Cost of Clinical Saturation.

    Including community members from the beginning builds trust and ensures your findings reflect real experiences rather than assumptions.

    Once you’ve built those relationships, you can begin gathering data in a way that feels collaborative and authentic.

    Step 3: Choose Your Data-Gathering Methods

    You don’t need advanced software or formal research credentials to conduct a strong community needs assessment. What matters most is curiosity and structure. Combining quantitative and qualitative methods gives you both the facts and the human stories that bring them to life.

    Quantitative methods (numbers-based):

    • Public data from the U.S. Census Bureau, the official source for national demographic and economic statistics
    • National datasets through Google Data Commons, a free online aggregator of public data
    • Create short online surveys using Google Forms, SurveyMonkey, or Typeform
    • Quick polls shared through your organization’s social media or email list

    Qualitative methods (story-based):

    • One-on-one or small-group interviews
    • Focus groups or story circles
    • Observations at community events
    • Open-ended questions on digital or paper surveys

    Example questions to ask:

    • What barriers make it hard to meet basic needs?
    • What resources are most helpful in your community right now?
    • What gives you hope or pride about your neighborhood?
    • If you could change one thing, what would it be?

    Blending data types captures both the realities and the emotions that shape community life, and those insights drive real change.

    When you’ve collected your data, the next step is to organize what you’ve learned and look for patterns that reveal deeper truths.

    Step 4: Organize and Analyze Your Findings

    Information without meaning is just noise. The goal is to identify patterns, priorities, and blind spots that reveal what your community truly needs.

    Start organizing your data using:

    • A simple Excel or Google Sheet to list responses
    • Color-coded sticky notes to group common themes
    • Use a free AI assistance tool like ChatGPT to summarize text and highlight patterns, or Notion AI to quickly categorize and tag responses by topic

    Simple ways to analyze your data:

    1. Read everything once to get a general sense of what people said.
    2. Highlight recurring words or ideas such as “transportation,” “mental health,” or “trusted places.”
    3. Create categories or themes by grouping similar answers together.
    4. Note how often key issues appear.
    5. Check who participated — and who didn’t.

    Example: You might notice that “affordable childcare” appears in 60 percent of responses, but fathers were underrepresented.

    Equity is not only about who speaks, but also about noticing whose voices are missing.

    Once you’ve identified themes, the next step is translating them into clear and actionable priorities.

    Step 5: Translate Insights Into Actionable Priorities

    Data becomes meaningful when it guides action. After identifying common themes, convert them into priorities your community can rally around.

    Three steps to move from data to priorities:

    1. Group related findings such as transportation access, childcare costs, or employment barriers.
    2. Identify root causes behind those findings.
    3. Craft short, plain-language statements that turn evidence into clear priorities.

    Sample priority statement:

    “Affordable childcare access was identified as the top barrier to employment for single parents in Eastview. Next step: convene local nonprofits, city employers, and parents to explore collaborative childcare solutions.”

    Your findings can guide:

    • Program design: piloting a childcare stipend or after-school program
    • Policy advocacy: pushing for municipal childcare funding
    • Coalition agendas: aligning partners around shared goals

    Data becomes powerful when it points clearly to what needs to change and who can take action to make it happen.

    Find additional examples and templates for turning data into action in our Macro Social Work Resources Hub.

    Once you’ve identified priorities, share them back with the people who helped you uncover them.

    Step 6: Share Back With the Community

    Sharing your findings strengthens trust and accountability. When people see how their input shaped the results, they feel ownership in the solutions.

    Accessible ways to share results:

    • Host a short community presentation or town hall
    • Use tools like Canva or Piktochart to design quick, eye-catching visual summaries
    • Publish a two-page snapshot report in plain language
    • Post short videos or visuals summarizing key findings on social media

    Tips for inclusive sharing:

    • Use plain language free of jargon
    • Translate materials when needed
    • Include visuals that show key takeaways
    • Ask for feedback: “Did we get this right?”

    Closing the loop turns research into relationship. It shows the community that their time and voice made a difference.

    Now that your findings are public, you can use them to spark new partnerships and collective action.

    Step 7: Use Your Results to Build Partnerships

    A well-designed community needs assessment is more than a report; it’s a relationship builder. Sharing your findings can open doors for collaboration, funding, and shared advocacy.

    Ways to leverage your results:

    • Present findings to local nonprofits, schools, or health departments
    • Share results with funders or elected officials to align priorities
    • Use your data in letters of intent or grant proposals
    • Convene a coalition meeting around your top community priorities

    Next-step examples:

    • Form a childcare coalition based on identified needs
    • Develop a data-informed advocacy platform
    • Launch a pilot program and evaluate its early outcomes

    When done well, a needs assessment becomes a bridge between community voice and institutional power: connecting lived experience with leadership.

    For advanced partnership-building strategies from university experts, explore the Community Toolbox’s guide.

    Common Pitfalls to Avoid

    Even strong assessments can falter if they lose sight of trust or action. Avoid these common mistakes:

    • Involving residents only as survey respondents rather than co-creators
    • Conducting multiple surveys without sharing results (“survey fatigue”)
    • Letting data sit unused instead of translating it into visible change
    • Focusing only on deficits instead of balancing needs with community strengths
    • Duplicating work instead of building on existing assessments

    A community needs assessment is only as meaningful as the change it inspires. The goal is always shared learning, accountability, and collective action.

    Conclusion: Listening as the First Act of Leadership

    At its core, a community needs assessment is not about data, it’s about dignity. Listening deeply, organizing collectively, and acting collaboratively are the first steps toward meaningful change.

    Start small: one survey, one interview, one conversation. Each insight deepens understanding and strengthens the fabric of trust.

    The Macro Lens believes listening is leadership: Transforming lived experience into lasting systemic change.

    To take the next step, visit our Macro Social Work Resources Hub for toolkits and templates. Be sure to subscribe to The Macro Lens newsletter, which delivers new updates and resources to your inbox every month.

  • My Why: From Trauma to Purpose

    Purple daisy growing through cracked concrete, symbolizing macro social work resilience and systemic change.

    How I Found Macro Social Work

    My path to social work was not paved in gold but in trauma. A series of life events left those I love in deep suffering. In their hour of need, I placed my faith in the very institutions meant to protect us. I expected compassion. I expected justice. Instead, I was met with silence. Rather than healing, those systems served to deepen the wounds.

    Few things are more terrible than watching those you love suffer while you stand powerless. That powerlessness almost broke me. For months, I carried that weight like a stone in my chest, replaying every failure, every silence, every closed door.

    Finding My Purpose

    As I processed everything that had happened, I began to see that my family’s experience was far from unique. It was as though a veil had been lifted from my eyes, forever altering my perception. Suddenly, the deep flaws inherent to every societal system, from criminal justice and child welfare to healthcare and education, became impossible to ignore.

    It was in this place of new clarity that I stumbled upon a quote by Henri Nouwen:

    “Nobody escapes being wounded. We are all wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not “How can we hide our wounds?” so we don’t have to be embarrassed, but “How can we put our woundedness in the service of others?” When our wounds cease to be a source of shame, and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers.”

    This concept of the wounded healer reframed everything. I began to see that what had almost broken me could be transformed into a compass and a purpose. I realized that while I couldn’t change the past, I could choose to make meaning from it. This trauma could become a source of healing, not just for me, but for others.

    My purpose became crystal clear: To do everything in my power to address the systemic flaws my experience had laid bare and protect others from the suffering my loved ones had endured. I just needed to find a career path that would allow me to effect this kind of change.

    Finding My “How”

    I spent months researching and soul-searching. Each career path I considered felt lacking. Public Administration could effect systemic change, but it felt cold and bureaucratic. A law degree could expand legal protections for vulnerable populations, but it wouldn’t address the underlying systemic issues that bring them to the legal system in the first place.

    Each path I explored fell short of the scope of my mission until a friend suggested I consider social work. I had only ever known it as a profession for therapists and child welfare workers, but I promised to take a closer look.

    As I researched, I felt an immediate connection to the profession. The core values of service, justice, dignity, equity, and integrity aligned perfectly with my own values and purpose. I was amazed by the breadth of the social work profession and was introduced to macro social workers, professionals committed to addressing social justice issues through systems work. It was everything I had been searching for, and more.

    In that moment, something in the depths of my being clicked into place. I knew immediately I had found my calling. I had never been so sure of anything in my life. I would dedicate my life to protecting the vulnerable from systems that perpetuate harm, and I would do so through social work.

    From Calling to Community

    Since that decision, every step on this path has reinforced my conviction. I have created programs at nonprofits and state agencies aimed at addressing community inequities, developed and piloted a data system for the Iowa CASA program, and worked directly to create behavioral supports for children in the public education system. I’ve witnessed the resilience of communities, the creativity of advocates, and the courage of colleagues, all of which have strengthened my belief in the possibility of systemic change.

    While I still carry the weight of the experiences that led me here, every program I develop, policy I improve, and individual I help eases that burden a little more.

    This is my why. It is why I believe in the power of social work and why I am so committed to social justice and systemic change. It is why I believe this profession is meant for more than managing broken systems: We are called to change them. Finally, it is why I created The Macro Lens. I hope to build a community of like-minded social workers and allies, providing the support, resources, and inspiration needed to effect change in our systems and communities.

    I hope you will join me in the effort to create a more just and equitable future for everyone.

    If you enjoyed this article, check out our foundational articles: Why Us?, Why Now?, and How? Be sure to subscribe for monthly updates and resources.

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