No More Folding Chairs: Closing 2025 With Gratitude, Grief, and Grounded Hope

As 2025 comes to a close, I’ve been sitting with all that this year held—the joy, the stretch, the unexpected beauty, and the very real losses. It’s been one of those years that didn’t just happen to me; it shaped me.

This year brought new relationships that quickly became community. The kind rooted in trust, laughter, and shared purpose. I had the honor of being in conversation with brilliant leaders, organizers, fundraisers, board members, and truth-tellers who reminded me why I do this work. Whether on a stage, on Zoom, in a boardroom, or over coffee, these connections renewed my belief that leadership grounded in care is not only possible—it’s essential.

2025 also ushered in new partnerships that stretched my thinking and expanded my reach. From board trainings and retreats to podcasts and collaborative spaces, I saw what happens when we stop guarding our brilliance and start building together. When egos sit down and humanity stands up, the work gets better. Every time.

And then there were the losses.

Some were personal. Some professional. Some quiet, unnamed, but deeply felt. Grief showed up this year and reminded me that leadership isn’t about being unshakeable—it’s about being present. I’m carrying those losses with tenderness and gratitude for what they gave me while they were here.

All of this unfolded alongside a nonprofit and board landscape clearly at an inflection point.

As we end 2025, boards are being asked to do more than govern. They’re being asked to listen, to repair, to share power, and to lead with integrity in a world tired of performative inclusion and empty commitments. The old playbook—exclusive recruitment, extractive fundraising, and culture rooted in comfort over courage—is losing its grip. And honestly?

Good.

This is where my folding chair metaphor comes in.

When I talk about folding chairs, I’m not talking about furniture. I’m talking about what happens when people are invited into leadership spaces but not truly welcomed there. Folding chairs are offered when presence is allowed, but power is not. They’re temporary, easy to move, easy to remove—sending a quiet message: don’t get too comfortable.

Many board members—especially people of color, women, LGBTQ+ leaders, younger leaders, and people closest to the community—know this feeling well. And here’s the truth: folding chairs don’t just harm people. They harm governance. When people don’t feel real belonging, they disengage, withhold insight, or leave. Boards lose wisdom, accountability, and trust—often without realizing why.

Real seats change everything.

A real seat means shared power, honest onboarding, clear expectations, and a culture where lived experience is treated as expertise. It means belonging that doesn’t require shrinking.

As I step into 2026, my focus is clear: helping boards move from symbolic inclusion to real belonging—building governance grounded in humanity, equity, and accountability. Boards where people can lean in fully because their seat is sturdy, respected, and meant to last.

At The Board Pro, this is the work we’ll continue to lead—supporting boards as they shift from compliance to culture, from fear to trust, and from folding chairs to real seats at the table.

I’m ending this year deeply grateful. For the people who walked with me. For the lessons that stretched me. For the losses that softened me. And for the future we’re building—together.

Here’s to 2026!

May we lead like humans.

May we build like we belong.

And may we finally retire the folding chairs.