As someone who works in the nonprofit world, I spend a lot of time asking people for support.
Sometimes it’s for backpacks.
Sometimes it’s for diapers.
Sometimes it’s for a family that simply needs a little help getting through a difficult season.
I’ve learned that asking isn’t always the hardest part.
Sometimes, the hardest part is wondering why it’s so difficult to convince people that prevention matters just as much as response.
Lately, I’ve found myself sitting with a question I can’t seem to shake.
Why are we often more willing to support people after a tragedy than while they’re still living through one?
Think about it.
A parent shares that they’re struggling to afford school supplies before the new school year begins. The post receives a few likes. Maybe a comment or two.
Sometimes, instead of compassion, they’re met with criticism.
“Why have children if you can’t afford them?”
It’s a question I’ve seen asked far too often.
But I’ve always wondered why that’s our first instinct. We know nothing about that family’s story. We don’t know what happened six months ago, a year ago, or even last week. We don’t know what sacrifices they’ve already made before deciding to ask for help.
Somewhere along the way, we’ve confused asking for help with personal failure. I don’t think they’re the same thing.
Someone quietly mentions they’re having trouble paying rent or buying groceries. People scroll past.
A nonprofit launches a campaign to provide backpacks for children in the community. Support trickles in slowly.
Then tragedy strikes.
A family loses someone unexpectedly. A GoFundMe is created. Thousands of dollars are raised within days.
And every time I see it happen, I ask myself the same question.
What changed?
The generosity was always there.
The compassion was always there.
The willingness to help was always there.
So why did it take a tragedy to unlock it?
I don’t ask this to make anyone feel guilty.
I ask because I genuinely don’t understand it.
Maybe it’s because tragedy feels urgent.
Maybe it’s because loss is something we can all immediately recognize.
Maybe we assume that someone asking for help today will somehow figure it out tomorrow.
Or maybe we’re simply conditioned to respond to emergencies instead of preventing them.
I don’t know.
But I do know this.
Every crisis has a beginning.
Before someone loses their home, they were behind on rent/ mortgage payments.
Before a child shows up to school without supplies, there was a parent wondering how they were going to make it work.
Before burnout becomes a breaking point, there were countless moments when someone quietly said they were tired.
Before the headlines, there were warning signs.
The older I get, the more I believe that some of our greatest acts of kindness happen long before anyone else realizes they’re needed.
I’ve never believed that generosity is measured by how much we give. I think it’s measured by how aware we are of the people around us.
Do you ever ask your friends, “Do you need anything?” simply because you’re in a position to help?
Sometimes, when I’m shopping for my son’s winter coat, I check in with a few friends. If one of their children needs a coat too, I buy another one.
Because that is what community is.
Maybe that’s what we’ve lost.
Helping before someone reaches a breaking point.
Helping before they have to ask.
Helping simply because today, we’re able to.
Imagine if more of us lived that way.
A backpack isn’t just a backpack.
It’s one less expense for a parent who’s already trying to stretch every dollar.
Paying someone’s utility bill isn’t just financial assistance.
It’s the relief of knowing the lights will still be on tomorrow.
Sometimes the greatest gift isn’t the item itself.
It’s removing one burden from someone who’s been carrying too many.
It might be the difference between stability and crisis.
This is why I believe so deeply in the work nonprofits do. At least, the work I do with my non-profit.
Not because we solve every problem.
We don’t.
But because we have the opportunity to step in before a small problem becomes an overwhelming one.
I’ve also learned something else through this work.
People don’t usually ask for help the first time they need it.
Most wait.
They borrow.
They cut back.
They sacrifice.
They tell themselves they’ll figure it out.
By the time they say, “I need help,” they’ve often exhausted every other option.
Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to this question.
What would our communities look like if we became just as passionate about preventing hardship as we are about responding to it?
What if we celebrated generosity before the crisis?
What if we normalized asking for help before someone reached their breaking point?
What if we viewed supporting a child’s education, a family’s groceries, or a parent’s mental well being as an investment in our community rather than an act of charity?
I don’t have all the answers.
These are simply the thoughts that have been sitting with me every time I host a community event, every time I read another post from a parent who’s struggling, and every time I see a community rally around a family after tragedy strikes.
I keep wondering…
What if we showed up sooner?
What if we noticed the quiet struggles before they became public ones?
What if we asked, “Do you need anything?” before someone found the courage to ask us?
What if compassion became something we practiced every day instead of something we reserved for emergencies?
Maybe that’s how stronger communities are built.
Not by waiting for people to fall.
But by making sure they know someone is willing to help them stand.
