Editor’s Note: In this interview feature, English Hudson Writing Strategist, Dominique Young, PhD, speaks with English Hudson Consulting co-founders Lynn English and Marlissa Hudson about navigating today’s political landscape, sustaining Black women leaders, and reimagining power in philanthropy. We are sharing this conversation in Q&A format to preserve the nuance and authenticity of their discussion.

The current political moment represents a nexus of competing impossibilities and opportunities to build new systems that sustain vulnerable communities. However, ongoing policy shifts continue to compromise the nonprofit leaders and organizations working hardest to support them. The federal government has implemented anti-DEI policies that threaten social justice frameworks, institutions, leaders, and activists working on DEI-centered missions to pursue a more equitable society. This onslaught against DEI has resulted in a forced mass exodus of 300,000+ Black women from the workforce, increased strain on community leaders working on the frontlines, and a volatile cross-sector effort to support and sustain populations hit hardest by these rollbacks.

Despite a political atmosphere of impending doom—where Black women are positioned at the center of bearing the brunt of systemic rollbacks—many Black women leaders are working around the clock to support communities and organizations during this vulnerable moment. Their labor not only helps sustain communities in the face of precarity; it shifts the narrative toward a more empowering one than the popular narratives surrounding Black women and the workforce.

I had the opportunity to interview two Black women leaders in philanthropy, President Lynn English and CEO Marlissa Hudson of English Hudson Consulting—an equity-centered Philanthropic Consulting Firm collaborating with mission-driven organizations to provide effective resource development and strategic consulting deeply rooted in racial justice. We discussed the personal and professional realities of navigating this climate, ways to maintain self-preservation while working on behalf of the community, and cultivating a sense of freedom despite working under constraints.

Hearing directly from these leaders supporting those on the frontlines re-centers Black women’s agency in a political moment that seeks to strip Black women of both agency and autonomy. Read our discussion here:

Dominique Young: Could you share what interested you in philanthropy initially, and why you remain committed to this work today, even in this precarious social and political moment

Lynn English: Well, thank you for doing this, and thank you for framing it in this way, because it’s hard right now to not get sort of sucked into the vortex of doom, as we call it. Going back to the origin story, why I started in this work is really important. There was so much going on in my D.C. community where I grew up, particularly with young people and youth violence, and I wanted to find some way to be an antidote or to be part of the problem-solving. I was a writer, and the way I found to do it was through development, through fundraising for a youth violence prevention nonprofit organization. So that’s how I started.

And why am I still in it today? I mean, in some ways it’s the same simple reason that I do believe people can create change in their communities. I think there are some really interesting things happening in philanthropy that allow people to claim power. There are a lot of challenges with it as well, and as long as I’m in it, I’m gonna try to be a counterbalance to those challenges.

Marlissa Hudson: [Originally], no part of me was interested in philanthropy, no part of me thought, “this will be a great way to change the world” but I met Lynn, really fell in love with her energy, how she approached the work, and what I thought was possible through it. So I really got interested in philanthropy through Lynn. Even though she and everybody else in it were like, “Girl, don’t do it. Reconsider. Read some literature” [we laugh at the André 3000 rap reference]. I really saw this work as a way to both help my family live a better life, to help my community live a better life, and to frankly take full advantage of my skill sets.

DY: Your work at English Hudson spans strategic communications, funding, and helping cross-sector clients navigate this volatile environment. With the massive exodus of Black women from traditional workforces and the systemic attacks on DEI frameworks, how are you advising organizations to structurally adapt right now?

MH: My answer is pretty simple: Be in better community. Leverage each other, collaborate better, not in the way [some of] philanthropy’s saying, which is, like, just apply for more money together and save us the work of doing it. I mean, really learn what each other does well, and leverage that. One thing Black women have ingrained in all of us is that we have to be everything to everybody, and that’s frankly a lie that capitalism and white supremacy sold. If we just lean on each other in formal and informal ways, things will be a lot better.

Two, ego has to be taken out of it to a certain extent. I always think about how a village and community are supposed to work, which means if somebody is leading an organization and you know they’re doing it better than you, merge or acquire. But don’t just sit there flailing. Three, stop thinking of your nonprofit status as anything besides a tax designation. You should not be allergic to making your own money, which includes: how are you spending your money, and who are you spending it with? Are you creating the donors and investment that you’re trying to generate for your larger community? That’s it for me.

LE: I think for Black women leading organizations, the expectation cannot be for us to work 24/7. Enough. Yes, over 300,000 Black women have been pushed out of jobs—but let’s not push ourselves into spaces that are even more harmful. Maybe this is our moment to restructure and dismantle some things as leaders because, let’s be honest, this sector cannot survive without us. It can’t and it won’t. It’s built on our backs. Let’s claim our power in this moment, support one another, and stop being so hard on each other. Let’s invest in ourselves, put time into who we are as people, and ask for what we deserve.

DY: On the topic of narrative, we exist in a digital media environment that often over-indexes on the victimization of Black women. How can journalists and leaders effectively tell stories of strategic triumph and autonomy without flattening or downplaying the very real vulnerabilities they face?

LE: Well, first of all, I think we have to tell our own stories. [We have to] be really selective about who we share our stories with and who we allow to tell them. Because not all press is good press, just like not all money is good money.

MH: I see a lot of folks who want to just admire the problem when they’re telling the story, [whereas] I am very much solutions-oriented. We have to understand the problem to fix it, but at this point, you can’t look a Black woman in the face and say, “You don’t know what the problem is.” As you tell the story, share at least one thing that’s making it better. There’s a reason the whole U.S. is built on our backs—because we’re problem solvers. Why would we eschew that at this moment?

Also, we’ve been deeply inculcated in a concept of productivity and time that leaves no room for innovation or creativity when you’re cranking 24/7. When we tell our stories, how can we center less on the struggle and more on the joy and creativity we use?

DY: Given that you are both working around the clock to support these organizations, holding up others in a crisis takes an immense physical and emotional toll. How do you protect your own peace while leading through this atmospheric anxiety, and how can the broader sector better sustain the Black women leaders who are constantly sustaining everyone else?

LE: You know, Marlissa and I both really try to care for our bodies—and it’s not a vanity project. I am making sure I have time to work out and get rest. What ultimately sustains me is relationships—knowing Marlissa is there and she has my back, and surrounding myself with friends and people who are about community and care.

MH: I used to think about working out as being cute; now it’s a survival technique. Having a strong community is so hypercritical. Beyond that, it’s about learning your edge, figuring out what works for you, and feeling like every day you’re a little bit better.

LE: The other thing is mental health. Our community doesn’t always do our best about taking care of that stuff and there’s just so much stigma that continues. People are struggling and there’s stuff out there that helps other than antidepressants—all kinds of things that can help people. And we just don’t always have access or the time to take advantage of those things. Just being outside in nature breathing fresh air helps. We want freedom. Give us our “free.”

DY: And what does freedom look like for you both at this moment? We know what freedom looks like in the long haul for Black people collectively. But on a personal level, what does it mean for the two of you right now, or in the near future?

LE: For me, it’s freedom from anxiety, to be perfectly honest. I have a lot of freedom in many ways. When people feel unfree, it’s because they don’t feel like they have control of their lives, and I feel like I have a lot of control over things that are really important. What makes me feel shackled is anxiety, and it stems from the lack of grace from people or the unrealistic expectations.

MH: Freedom, to me, looks like having “freedom” money. Like, having the means to walk away from anything and anyone at any time. Knowing that we have enough power to walk away or walk towards whatever we want. We’re both caring for moms who have dementia and we need to just say, “I have to go today and tomorrow and the next day.” Freedom is also being able to bring folks with us.

DY: In a moment of so much anxiety and uncertainty happening across the nonprofit sector, what encouraging messaging would you leave with other Black women and BIPOC nonprofit leaders who are actively navigating this political moment?

MH: So let’s get some therapy—yesterday. That’d be my number one. This whole system is designed to make you ill. We are a glitch in the system. Joyous, healthy Black women are a literal glitch in the system. So if you’re feeling downtrodden, ill, depressed, anxious—that is what you’re supposed to feel. Understanding that changes [how you see this moment]. And once you see—this whole system is created so you feel that way, at least for me, it shifts things.

LE: Yeah, I would say find the language to articulate what you are experiencing. A couple of months ago, I was telling Marlissa something, and she said, “Oh, you’re burnt out.” I had not thought of it that way, but once I had the words, I realized, “Oh yes, this is exactly what I’m feeling right now.” So find the language, find a community of people, and lean into that community. I don’t want people to leave their jobs, but this is not worth sacrificing your life over. It just is not. You know, sometimes you have to make tough choices—and the tough choice may be the thing that saves your life.

Ultimately, English and Hudson’s insights serve as an urgent reminder that true institutional longevity cannot rest on continuous personal sacrifice. In an unpredictable landscape, survival for mission-driven organizations requires shifting from siloed endurance to explicit collective support, reminding the wider industry that protecting the well-being of the leaders on the frontlines is an absolute necessity to preserve the work itself.