Leading a volunteer-run organisation means balancing passion with practicality. 

What I didn’t fully appreciate when I joined as a director was just how much those two things depend on one another. Passion and purpose can light the way, but without the means to act on them, they don’t take you very far.

This is the core tension at the heart of nonprofit work. We exist to create impact, not to make money, yet we cannot create impact without money. That reality became clearer and more urgent with each year I spent as Chairperson, and it continues to shape how I think about leadership in the sector today.

Why funding matters more than we like to admit

For decades, AMBA has run on the smell of an oily rag. Volunteers have given thousands of hours, worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in real terms, and we’ve relied heavily on in-kind support and goodwill. That model is deeply ingrained in our culture, but it’s not sustainable on its own.

The reality is that everything we want to achieve from building awareness and influencing policy to supporting families directly, requires resources. Funding enables us to recruit skilled people, invest in research, commission data, build partnerships, and deliver programs that reflect our mission. It’s also what allows us to move from reactive work to strategic action.

Yet within our own community, there has long been a hesitancy around money. Many volunteers feel uncomfortable asking for it or view fundraising as a distraction from our “real work.” Others assume that staying small and frugal is a badge of honour. I understand that instinct, but I’ve also seen where it leads: a slow erosion of capacity, a shrinking of ambition, and eventually, irrelevance.

Shifting perceptions of money and mission

In 2017, the AMBA Board decided to tackle that discomfort head-on. We published a breakdown of how affiliation fees are used and where the money was going, hoping to demystify our budget and open up more honest conversations about spending. We explained that, like any registered company, the Board is charged with managing the organisation’s affairs and allocating funds to achieve its mission. Transparency was a first step, but the deeper work was cultural.

We needed to shift the way our volunteers thought about money. I wanted them to move from something uncomfortable and optional to something essential and enabling. We needed them to see that income is not the opposite of impact; it’s what makes impact possible.

That shift was slow, and it met resistance. Some clubs questioned the value they were receiving for their affiliation fees. Others argued that charging families for membership during hard times could damage trust. These were valid concerns, but they also reflected a deeper challenge: our model was built on a single income stream that hadn’t increased since 2006 (I wrote this in 2022), while expectations and costs kept rising.

The fragility of a single income stream

For years, affiliation fees were AMBA’s primary source of income. They funded everything from insurance to advocacy campaigns to awareness events. But they also limited us. Any change to the fee requires a vote by member-clubs, a very unusual and not best-practice model. The directors have very little control over our revenue, even as demand for services grew.

This leaves us vulnerable. If even a handful of clubs reduced their memberships or questioned their affiliation, the ripple effect could threaten the national organisation’s viability. That risk became more visible during moments of tension, like when large clubs considered de-affiliating or when debates arose over whether AMBA should fund events like convention, which can cost tens of thousands of dollars.

Diversifying our income wasn’t just about financial growth — it was about organisational resilience. Securing DGR status opened the door to grants and philanthropic funding for the first time, but that was just the beginning. Sponsorships, partnerships, merchandise, and fundraising all became critical tools in building a more sustainable future.

COVID-19 and the pressure to evolve

The arrival of the pandemic in 2020 made everything more urgent. Clubs were paralysed, unsure how to deliver services or whether to charge membership fees. Families were under pressure, and many expected reduced or free memberships. It was understandable, but it also raised difficult questions about how we would sustain ourselves if income fell away.

I found myself writing long, heartfelt messages to our volunteers, urging them to innovate rather than pause. Our mission hadn’t changed; if anything, it was more relevant than ever. Families still needed connection and support, even if we had to deliver it differently.

I encouraged clubs to rethink how they used their volunteer resources. If playgroups couldn’t meet in person, could we host virtual sessions? If social events were off the table, could we run online catch-ups or fundraisers instead? The work mattered just as much as before, and so did the funding that made it possible.

Investing in the future we want

Throughout this period, I often asked volunteers to reflect on the gap between our aspirations and our capacity. We all had ideas for programs and outcomes we wanted AMBA to deliver. But why weren’t they happening? The answers were usually the same: not enough time, not enough skilled people, not enough data, not enough resources.

The solutions, too, were consistent: recruit and pay for the expertise we need, invest in research and storytelling tools, build partnerships that expand our reach. And all of that required money.

Funding is not a distraction from purpose; it is what allows purpose to be realised. It lets us build infrastructure instead of patching holes, plan ahead instead of scrambling, and lead change instead of reacting to it.

The reality of volunteer leadership

One of the most sobering realities of leading a volunteer organisation is how fragile it can be. The same passion that drives people to step up can also burn them out. Expectations can be high, and the work, often 15 or more hours a week, is demanding. I saw that up close as Chairperson, not just in myself but in others. And I knew that unless we invested in building capacity beyond volunteer labour, we risked losing momentum altogether.

This is why funding isn’t just about programs or services. Fundamentally, it’s about people. It’s about creating conditions where volunteers can contribute meaningfully without sacrificing their wellbeing, and where the organisation can hire the skills it needs rather than relying on goodwill alone.

A story bigger than money

None of this is easy. Talking about money in a volunteer-driven organisation will always be uncomfortable. However, it’s a conversation we have to keep having, because the stakes are high. AMBA exists to improve the lives of multiple birth families — to advocate for their rights, educate the professionals who support them, and build communities where they can thrive.

That work is too important to risk by underfunding it. Passion and purpose brought us here, but it’s funding that will carry us forward.