Asking for help is not something that comes naturally to me.

For more than twenty-five years, my life's work has been guided by a simple belief: every human being deserves to be treated with dignity.

That belief has shaped my career in international development and organizational leadership, my philosophy on human rights, and, more recently, the work I have begun through Humanessence - a project exploring what it truly means to create more human-centered workplaces and communities.

Throughout my career, I have had the privilege of working alongside extraordinary people committed to improving lives around the world. Together, we designed programs, strengthened institutions, supported communities, and tried - however imperfectly - to build systems that recognize the humanity in every person.

I never imagined that one day my own family would find itself needing that same sense of community.

Nearly a decade ago, after the birth of our daughter, I began confronting a reality familiar to many working parents. At the time, I was traveling internationally while commuting three hours each day to San Francisco. I loved my work, but somewhere along the way I realized I could no longer be the professional I wanted to be and the mother I wanted to become.

Rather than continue sacrificing my health and my family, I made the difficult decision to leave a secure position and begin consulting. It wasn't about working less. It was about reclaiming agency over how I wanted to contribute to the world while still being present for my daughter.

It was a decision I have never regretted.

Like many consultants, I accepted uncertainty as part of that choice. What none of us could have anticipated were the cascading challenges that followed.

In 2022, we sold our home and moved to Berkeley so our daughter could attend Berkeley Unified School District. Shortly after moving into our rental home, we discovered extensive black mold following heavy rains. We lost much of our furniture and many of our belongings and had to begin again.

At the same time, I have been living with ME/CFS, an invisible illness that has profoundly changed what my body is capable of doing. Some days, even routine tasks require extraordinary effort.

Then came the dramatic contraction across the international development sector. Like so many talented colleagues, I watched opportunities disappear almost overnight as funding shifted and organizations contracted.

None of these events, by themselves, would have broken us.

Together, they slowly exhausted the financial stability our family had spent decades building.

Today, our most immediate need is something wonderfully ordinary: a stable place to call home.

This fundraiser will help us secure housing, cover move-in costs, and provide our family with the stability we need while I continue pursuing employment and building Humanessence.

If you've known me professionally, you know that asking for help is deeply uncomfortable.

I've spent most of my life trying to be the person who helps. But this chapter has taught me something unexpected.

Community is not only about giving. It is also about allowing others the opportunity to care for us when we need it most.

Over the past few years, I've thought a great deal about what makes a community truly compassionate. I've learned that compassion is not measured by the values we proclaim, but by how we respond when someone in front of us is struggling. It begins with something remarkably simple: acknowledging another person's reality, even when it is different from our own.

Many individuals have shown our family extraordinary kindness during this difficult season. Their generosity has reminded me that humanity is not found in institutions alone. It lives in people. In the quiet decisions we make every day to notice one another, to listen, to believe, and to help when we are able.

If our story resonates with you and you are in a position to contribute, our family would be profoundly grateful.

If you are unable to give, sharing our story with others would mean just as much.

Every contribution - financial or otherwise - helps restore something that extends beyond housing. It restores stability. Hope. And the reminder that none of us are meant to carry life's hardest chapters alone. And on a more practical note, my nervous system sure could use the reprieve.

My deepest hope is that this season remains just that, a season.

I look forward to returning to the work that has always inspired me: helping organizations and communities become more deeply human.

Until then, thank you for walking alongside our family.

With gratitude,

Nidia