Loving the Sea, Questioning the System
Pre‑launch notes on my new book
There’s a particular kind of exhaustion I see over and over again in our field.
It shows up in people who are brilliant, values‑driven, and deeply committed to their communities. People who have built something real from almost nothing: youth programmes, citizen science, coastal walks, after‑school clubs, tiny research hubs, small consultancies, purpose‑driven guesthouses and studios.
On the outside, it looks like success. On the inside, it feels like constantly trying to hold the roof up with your own body.
We tell ourselves: “It’s meaningful work. It’s worth it. One more grant, one more workshop, one more speaking engagement, and then it will all add up.”
But what if the problem isn’t your strategy, or your marketing, or your productivity?
What if the problem is that the business model of “do important work, get paid last (or not at all)” was never ethical or sustainable in the first place?
The lie that money doesn’t matter (especially if you care)
In conservation, social impact, and community work, we’re taught, sometimes directly, often implicitly, that if the work really matters, money should come second.
You know the lines:
“We don’t have a budget for fees, but it’s a great opportunity for visibility.”
“We can cover your travel, but we can’t pay for your time.”
“We’d love your community insight, but we only have stipends.”
“We’re a non‑profit, too.”
If you resist this, you’re made to feel like you’re the one bringing “money energy” into a sacred space.
But here’s the truth I had to learn the hard way: refusing to talk honestly about money doesn’t protect the work. It just hides where the costs are landing.
On your nervous system. On your kids. On your future.
And usually, those costs land hardest on the people and places that already have the least.
The pre‑season problem: all marketing, no actual selling
In this field, we have a strange pre‑season that never ends.
We’re constantly:
Refining our “story”
Updating our pitch decks
Posting impact photos
Designing the next pilot
Sitting in “partnership conversations”
…without ever being allowed to ask the most basic business questions:
Who is paying, and for what?
At what rate?
On what timeline?
With what protections for me and my team?
It’s like we’re stuck in an eternal warm‑up match where the stadium is full, everyone is cheering, the cameras are rolling—but nobody ever actually pays for a ticket.
We call it “awareness‑raising,” “movement‑building,” “stakeholder engagement.”
Sometimes it’s just unpaid labour with better branding.
What if “ethical” and “equitable”also means properly resourced?
I’ve come to believe something that I wish someone had told me ten years ago:
If your work is about justice, then how you are resourced is part of that justice.
Ethical work is not just about:
what you advocate for,
who you include,
or what your mission statement says.
It’s also about:
whether your rent is paid,
whether your caregivers are supported,
whether your collaborators can say “no” without punishment,
whether your body and mind are allowed to rest.
If a model relies on your self‑sacrifice to function, it is not ethical—no matter how beautiful the language around it.
That’s the heart of the book I’m about to release.
About the book I’m pre‑launching soon…
“ Loving the Sea, Questioning the System”, is written out of my own experience as a Black woman building Fish ‘n Fins and other work in a context where:
Funding flows in, but often not to the people doing the frontline labour.
Partnerships sound collaborative, but the power and pay sit elsewhere.
The narrative is “global leadership,” while local people are still waiting for steady, fairly paid roles.
It’s part field diary, part blueprint.
In it, I share:
What it actually cost to “make it work” the first time.
The grief and burnout that followed.
The decision to stop pretending that money doesn’t matter.
The checklists and minimum conditions I now use before saying yes to any “opportunity.”
Practical tools for funders and partners who genuinely want to do better.
If you’ve ever felt like you are the shock absorber between a beautiful mission and a brutal budget, this book is for you.
If you would like to join the preorder invite list for the book, JOIN HERE .
From “be grateful” to “be resourced”
The shift I’m inviting—first in myself, and now in this book—is simple, but not easy:
From: “I’m lucky to be here; I shouldn’t ask for more.”
To: “This work is needed. I am needed. It must be resourced like that is true.”
From: “We’ll make it work somehow.”
To: “If the conditions are not fair, we don’t do it like this.”
From: “I’ll just stretch myself one more time.”
To: “No project is worth my health, my child’s stability, or my community’s dignity.”
This isn’t about becoming transactional or cynical. It’s about aligning our money, our time, and our bodies with the values we claim to hold.
What you can expect from the book
If you’re a funder, programme manager, or technical partner, the book will help you:
See where your “community engagement” depends on unpaid or underpaid labour.
Budget for fair pay, unseen labour, and wellbeing as core costs—not nice‑to‑haves.
Shift who holds power, authorship, and decision‑making in your programmes.
If you’re a local practitioner, small‑business owner, or tiny‑island leader, it will offer:
Language and checklists to set boundaries without burning bridges.
A “viability checklist” to decide when to say yes, no, or “not like this.”
Permission to stop sacrificing your body and bank account to keep everyone else’s project alive.
Maybe this is how you can be resourced ethically
I don’t believe any book can fix the system on its own.
But I do believe that:
clear language,
honest numbers,
and practical tools
can help us stop gaslighting ourselves.
They can help us see where the harm is, make different choices sooner, and demand different terms with a little less apology.
If you’ve been working in a meaningful, values‑driven business or organisation that still leaves you chronically tired, underpaid, or on the edge of burnout, I wrote this for you.
Over the next few weeks I’ll be sharing:
snippets from the chapters,
pieces of the checklists,
and some behind‑the‑scenes on how I’m applying this method to my own work now.
If you want to be the first to know when the book drops—and get access to those tools early—make sure you’re subscribed and share this with one person who you know is quietly carrying too much.
Because the work deserves better.
And so do you.
If you or your network are working on environmental art, sustainability, creative communications, or community-based conservation, you can ask me anything!
Go Veta go!! Preach!!! 💖✊🏾
Looking forward to your book. This is something that seriously needs to be addressed and it's great that you are sharing your experience and thoughts. Many full time artists and craftspeople also complain about this.