Should We Bring Our “Whole Selves” to Conferences?

The past few months have been some of the hardest of my life. Within the span of three weeks, I lost two close family members. But this isn't a post about grief. It's about what happens when life doesn't pause...and neither does leadership.

A few weeks ago, I traveled straight from the East Africa Philanthropy Network Conference in Ethiopia right into preparing for the Segal Annual Conference. If you've ever been to a gathering like this, you know the energy. Friends reuniting, new connections, warm hugs, plenty of smiles. Conversations that could lead to the next partnership, the next grant or the next breakthrough.

"Grace, how are you?"

I lost count of how many times I heard that question. Every single time I did, I wondered: Can I really tell them how I am?The honest answers was "I'm devastated”.

Instead, I smiled.

Because there was another session to attend. Another funder to meet, another conversation to have. Another opportunity that I just couldn't afford to miss.

After all, I'm the Founder and Executive Director. This is where I'm supposed to be. This is my job. Fundraising doesn't stop because your heart is broken. Leadership just doesn't come with a pause button.

I found myself crying between sessions. Sleeping whenever I could because emotional exhaustion had taken over. More than once, I wondered whether I should even be there.

Then something unexpected happened. I found Rosie.

Rosie has been my coach since I became an African Visionary Fellow. She is one of those women I deeply admire; brilliant, compassionate, effortlessly stylish and someone who always seems to carry both wisdom and warmth wherever she goes.

When we sat down, I looked at her and said, "For this next hour, I don't need coaching. I don't need strategy or work. I just need you. I need someone to listen." And she did.

She held space for me. No rushing to fix things, no advice before understanding. Just presence. For the first time in days, I didn't have to be the Executive Director. I didn't have to have the answers. I could simply be Grace, a grieving human being trying to make sense of life, and without planning to, I just poured everything out. The grief, the exhaustion and the immense guilt. The feeling that I was failing because I wasn't showing up as the energetic, optimistic founder that everyone expected. I walked away feeling lighter. Not because the grief had disappeared, but because someone had reminded me that I didn't have to carry it alone.

Later, I had a wonderful conversation with Robert from Imaginable Futures. He had apparently been looking for me over the previous two days, and when we finally sat down, it wasn't just another networking meeting. It was calm and grounding. Real humans.

A conversation that reminded me that I didn't have to perform. It made me wonder, how many people walk into conferences carrying invisible burdens?

Think of the founder worrying about payroll, the nonprofit leader caring for a sick parent, the entrepreneur going through a divorce, the executive battling burnout, the person smiling through unimaginable grief.

In our sector, we celebrate resilience. We celebrate perseverance. But sometimes I wonder if we've unintentionally created environments where vulnerability feels like a luxury that we can't afford. I was fortunate. I had people I trusted, friends who checked in and conversations that gave me space to simply be human.

But I also realized something about myself; I didn't know how to be the emotionally drained or the struggling version of Grace at a work conference. I only knew how to be the Executive Director. The fundraiser, the founder, the networker. The person with all the answers.

Maybe what we need isn't fewer conferences, but more humanity within them.

More conversations that begin with, "How are you?" and leave enough space to hear the real answer. More permission to step away when we need to. More leaders reminding each other that we are people first and professionals second. Because behind every name badge is a life that no conference agenda can fully capture.

So I leave you with this question:

Have you ever attended a conference while carrying something heavy that had nothing to do with the conference itself?

I'd love to hear your story. Maybe the greatest gift we can give one another isn't another business card or another introduction. Perhaps it's simply creating the space for someone to be human.