CN02: Supervision at the End of the Budget

Some days, supervision feels less like leadership and more like triage.

The budget is gone. Not tight, not under review. Gone. And still my team shows up with hearts too big for that balance sheet, asking how we can stretch, share, or save something for the families who trust us.

They want to give everything. They always do.

And I’m the one who has to say no. Or think creatively. Or beg, borrow, and barter for donated diapers, gift cards, or snacks. We spend so much energy trying to find free things in a system that could easily afford to fund them if it cared to.

It’s hard to be the voice of reason when the reason is cruelty.

It’s hard to manage morale when you can see how much people care and how little their care is resourced.

It’s hard to hold boundaries when what you really want to do is cry.

Supervision in this moment isn’t about strategy. It’s about containment.

It’s about helping people who are burning with purpose navigate the slow violence of bureaucracy.

It’s about protecting their capacity without dulling their conviction.

And it’s lonely.

Because I’m tired too.

Because the need is too big.

Because policies make our effort too small.

This is the part of leadership no one prepares you for. The part where you have to ration compassion like it’s office supplies, the part where you quietly grieve what could be possible if care were funded like those empty luxury condos. Multi-million-dollar bonuses. Stadium naming rights. $10,000 team building retreats that could feed a childcare center for months.

The money exists. It’s just being spent somewhere sexier.

And that’s the cruel joke of it all. Here we are pinching pennies, celebrating small wins, scraping together dignity and snacks for families while billionaires play pretend with scarcity.