Struggle is no longer a “badge of honour”
I have been doing a lot of internal reflection lately. With the Year of the Snake coming to an end and the year of the Fire Horse soon to begin, I’ve been looking deeply into our foundations, our ways of being, our policies, and more importantly, our future.
The Snake asks us to shed what no longer fits. The Fire Horse asks us to move forward with courage, clarity, and momentum. Together, they don’t invite destruction—they invite refinement. An honest reassessment around what we’ve been carrying, and a conscious choice about what we are no longer willing to drag forward with us.
And in that reflection, one truth has become impossible to ignore: much of what weighs us down in rescue doesn’t come from the work itself—it comes from the narratives we’ve inherited. Stories about what it means to be “legitimate.” Stories about sacrifice equating to worth. Stories that quietly suggest that if you aren’t struggling, you must be doing something wrong.
But what if that no longer feels in alignment or true for us?
What if the next evolution of rescue isn’t about doing more, but about doing differently? What if sustainability, joy, and financial stability aren’t signs of corruption—but signs of maturity?
This season has asked us to be honest about what kind of future we are building—not just for the animals in our care, but for the humans who show up for them every single day. And for humanity as a whole. And the decision we have been led to is simple: we are no longer available for a version of rescue rooted in depletion.
Rescues do not have to live in a space of lack.
They do not have to exist in “barely enough,” or wear struggle like a badge of honor.
They do not have to suffer in order to be legitimate.
That narrative is old. And tired. And no longer serves the animals—or the humans who care for them.
I understand that society has a very specific image of what a rescue is supposed to look like: overwhelmed, exhausted, perpetually behind, scraping by. To many people, struggle has become proof of authenticity. But we are choosing not to participate in that story anymore.
Rescue can thrive.
Rescue can be joyful.
Rescue can be grounded, resourced, and forward-moving.
A thriving rescue is not a scam.
A rescue is not a scam because the people running it smile.
A rescue is not a scam because there is money in the bank.
A rescue is not a scam because bills are paid on time—or even early.
What it means is this: the organization has found a way to function sustainably. It means they have chosen systems, boundaries, and support that allow the work to continue without destroying the people doing it. It means they are honoring longevity over martyrdom.
We do not help animals better by burning ourselves alive for them.
We do not serve the mission by normalizing emotional depletion, physical exhaustion, and constant crisis.
Rescues—nonprofits—have the ability to thrive.
They have the right to thrive.
They have the right to experience peace, community, support, joy, and rest alongside responsibility.
And no one has the right to label them a scam simply because their way of being challenges an outdated belief that goodness must come wrapped in suffering.
This is a new model.
One rooted in sustainability, transparency, trust, and wholeness.
One that understands that when the humans are supported, the animals are too.
We are not abandoning the heart of rescue—we are expanding it.
And there is nothing wrong with choosing lightness over heaviness when the work itself already carries so much weight.
