The Real Reason Your Fundraiser Just Quit
Ann Criswell, CFRE, helps nonprofit leaders chart effective paths to greater impact. With more than two decades of experience, she brings deep expertise, strategic insight, and empathy to every engagement. Ann partners with organizations of all sizes to navigate challenges, build consensus, align teams, and strengthen long-term capacity.
Behind every mission-driven organization are fundraisers holding it all together—until the weight of mistrust drives them out.
Over the past twenty-four years as a nonprofit fundraiser, there have been days when I’ve sat alone in my car after work, questioning everything. There were days when the exhaustion ran deep, and I seriously considered walking away. Because honestly, what’s the point of serving when the very people you're trying to help—or work alongside—treat you like the enemy?
I got into charitable work because I wanted to give back to the people in my community. I believed then—and still do—that nonprofit work is one of the highest callings a person can answer, especially when you've experienced its impact firsthand. Why Fundraising? How did it find me? I was a Brownie, a Girl Scout, and a Cadet. I grew up watching parents—mostly moms—pour their hearts into their daughters’ troops. These women wanted more for their girls than they had for themselves, and I deeply understood that. I wanted more for my daughter than I had.
That’s why, after graduating from college in 1995, I took a job as a Girl Scout volunteer manager with a local Girl Scout Council. This experience felt like completing a circle. This position was my first professional role after college. I wasn't particularly wise, but I was filled with purpose. I wasn’t just planning events or managing Girl Scout volunteers; in my heart, I was carrying forward something that had shaped me as a girl. I witnessed the power of community, how men and women could uplift one another, and what determined individuals could achieve when they believed in a cause. It was the Vice President of Development who introduced me to fundraising. I loved hearing stories about how the lives of former Girl Scouts were transformed through scouting. These women wanted to give back so that another child could attend summer camp or receive a scholarship to cover Girl Scout fees. As I became more involved, I gradually realized that I wasn’t just working for a nonprofit—I was becoming a fundraiser, the person behind the scenes ensuring the lights stayed on, the programs ran smoothly, and the girls had the same opportunities I had. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was real. And it mattered.
As the years went on, I started to find my footing in fundraising. I moved into roles with more responsibility, took on bigger goals, and learned how to navigate the unique ecosystem that is nonprofit work. I began mentoring younger fundraisers, helping them understand both the heart and the grit this work requires. Somewhere in that process, I stopped just doing the job—I started owning it. Fundraising wasn’t just a function anymore; it became my way of creating change. I wasn’t in the spotlight, but I was behind the curtain, ensuring the curtain could even rise. That’s when it really clicked: fundraising is about building relationships, not just raising dollars. It’s about inviting people into something larger than themselves.
A pivotal moment in my career occurred when I managed my first $10 million campaign for a human service organization that had not run a fundraising campaign in 35 years. I vividly remember the day we set the goal; it felt immense and unattainable. However, I came to realize that to address urgent needs, we must establish high standards. It was about what that funding would enable—enhanced educational programs, broader outreach, and transformed lives—rather than merely the amount itself. I seized the opportunity to craft a persuasive argument, engage potential donors, and inform board members on how to be more effective advocates. There were many challenging meetings, sleepless nights, and setbacks. Yet, momentum built steadily, gift by gift. And it was validation, not just triumph, when we crossed the finish line. Not merely for me, but for all fundraisers who have ever been accused of being "just the money people." We were the engine behind the mission, and that campaign proved it.
Throughout the years, the greatest surprise has been the tension within nonprofits: the icy stares, the silent treatment, and the implicit notion that the fundraising team is viewed as a necessary burden instead of a dedicated group performing vital tasks.
If you’ve ever worked in fundraising, you know exactly what I mean. You walk into meetings expecting skepticism rather than collaboration. People leave you out of emails, exclude you from conversations, change meeting locations without notice, and give credit to someone else for your hard-earned money. And when you don’t hit a target—typically one set without any real input from you—the whispers begin. The blame game starts.
Fund development is already challenging. It requires constant balancing of strategy, relationship-building, deadlines, and rejection. One might assume that organizations would at least establish environments that support the individuals responsible for maintaining operations. Yet, too often, the reality is the opposite. Fundraisers face suspicion, micromanagement, and even active undermining from colleagues whose own programs depend on the funds raised.
I’ve been talked over in meetings, shut down mid-sentence, and excluded from key communications. I’ve heard sarcastic comments questioning whether fundraising is even "real work," as if programs magically fund themselves. I’ve had my skills questioned by individuals who’ve never made a single fundraising call. At one point, a doctor in the organization even half-jokingly accused me of being willing to sell off the bathrooms if it brought in a major gift.
But the worst part? I’ve seen incredible fundraisers—smart, mission-driven, and heartfelt professionals—walk away. Not because they didn’t believe in the cause, but because trust had been broken. They weren’t supported. They weren’t believed. Eventually, they couldn't keep showing up for an organization that didn’t show up for them.
They didn’t leave the mission. They left the mistreatment.
When trust breaks down between fund development and the rest of the organization, everything suffers. Fundraising becomes reactive rather than strategic. Staff morale declines. Communication falters. And the mission—no matter how noble—loses its foundation. You cannot sustain impact in an environment built on skepticism and silos.
Fundraisers don't leave because we've stopped believing in the mission—we leave because it hurts too much to keep believing in organizations that don't believe in us. Trust isn't just part of the job; it's the heart of it. And when trust breaks, even the strongest hearts eventually walk away.
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