I spent the early years of my career working in government and nonprofit spaces, and if you had asked me back then, I wouldn’t have said “I’m a facilitator.” I was an attorney for a while, primarily focused on individual cases helping families avoid eviction in New York City.In that world, my responsibility was laser-focused on the people I represented and whatever issue needed to be solved in court. I worked mostly alone or with a manager, never really needing to mobilize a large group to accomplish goals. It was just the nature of legal work—you handle your caseload, and you figure things out case by case.

However, as I grew in my roles, I began noticing that so many of the challenges I faced demanded more than just one person’s expertise. My move into city government introduced me to the vast network of agencies, community advisory boards, and elected officials that intersect in the shelter system. Managing those relationships required a different set of skills. No longer could I just rely on the typical “put a meeting on the calendar” approach to get things done. Suddenly, I was juggling multi-stakeholder collaborations, trying to ensure that cross-communication happened smoothly, and noticing all the ways good—or bad—facilitation could make or break a gathering.

The turning point, though, was when I started attending events and convenings where facilitation was either spectacular or absolutely lackluster. A few years back, I was at a conference in Baltimore, and there was a woman who absolutely lit up the room with her ability to unify everyone. She pulled us into tough conversations about race and economic mobility yet somehow kept the atmosphere open, supportive, and even fun. The next day, I sat in another session with a different facilitator who hadn’t tapped into that same energy. The difference between a transformative gathering and a frustrating one was striking.

That was when I realized that this is a specialized craft. It’s not just about telling people to speak up or dividing us into breakout rooms. I saw how skilled facilitators build arcs in conversations, make space for people who might otherwise be overlooked, and draw people into a shared sense of purpose. Good facilitation, I came to learn, could amplify our collective intelligence and address systemic issues in a way that top-down decision-making never could.

At that moment, a spark went off in me. I reflected back on my earlier career steps—moments when I’d been the one urging my team to structure the conversation better or break down silos. I realized I had always gravitated toward that role, whether I called it facilitation or not. Yet, I also recognized I was mostly winging it. I was operating off my gut instincts. That conference in Baltimore showed me there was a name, a body of knowledge, and a whole set of practices behind this. That conference was also a stepping stone to something I never knew I’d become passionate about: a formalized, trained facilitator.

Embracing My Innate Facilitator 

When I look back on my journey, I realize I’ve been stepping into facilitator-like roles for quite some time—even when I didn’t have the vocabulary or the framework to define what I was doing. My transition into city government was the first moment I saw how vital real collaboration was. I went from running my own legal cases to being responsible for group initiatives involving all sorts of stakeholders—shelter operators, local politicians, and various agencies. I noticed that simply scheduling another meeting usually wasn’t enough to align all those different priorities.

Initially, I’ll admit, I was part of the problem. I’d call a meeting, show up without a clear strategy, and see the frustration on everyone’s faces as we left the room more confused than when we arrived. Then I’d revert to thinking, “Maybe I’ll fix this alone,” which never worked out well either. Eventually, it dawned on me that I needed to do a better job of designing these gatherings. I had to become more intentional about how people were introduced to each other and how their ideas could be harnessed. It was a mental shift from manager to facilitator, and it was a pivotal moment.

A lot of my initial learning came from observation and intuition. I saw what I didn’t like in other people’s facilitation styles, and I noticed the good moments that made me think, “Yes, that’s how it’s done!” I started looking for resources online, discovering that facilitation truly is a broad discipline. There were books, tools, and entire communities dedicated to guiding people through tough conversations. In my work at Robin Hood—where we focus on community-driven solutions to poverty—I started recognizing this skill as essential. We talk about trust-based philanthropy, but it dawned on me that fostering genuine trust and collaboration demands effective facilitation.

Just knowing that there was a whole methodology behind this was a huge breakthrough for me. It aligned perfectly with how I’d been approaching community-centered grantmaking: treat partners as collaborators rather than just recipients, and try to create space for everyone to shape the process. In other words, everything I wanted to do—driving collaboration, forging connections, addressing systemic issues—could be elevated if I learned the actual craft of facilitation. I had the passion for it; now I just needed the structure and technique.

Finding My Home at Voltage Control

The real turning point in my facilitation journey came when someone on my team handed me an article about collaboration. It was all about deconstructing top-down managerial structures and ushering in a more equitable approach to working together. When I finished reading, I felt both excited and a little daunted. Yes, I wanted to foster that co-created environment, but how? Where does one even begin?

I started scouring the internet, googling “facilitation training” because I realized that if I wanted to show up differently for my team, I needed a formal learning experience. That’s when I discovered Voltage Control. I remember seeing the program details and thinking, “This is comprehensive, but also feels accessible and fun.” A big selling point was the sense that they really embraced creativity and hands-on practice rather than just academic theory.

So I applied. I wasn’t sure how I’d afford it, so I also submitted a scholarship application. Given the focus of my work on marginalized communities, I wanted to make a case for why I needed these skills—not just for my nine-to-five job, but to bring facilitation to spaces that couldn’t otherwise afford professional facilitators. When I got accepted and sorted out the financial piece, it felt like a validation of everything I’d experienced: “Yes, this is the place to learn. Yes, these are the skills that will help me be a better leader, manager, and collaborator.” It was time to get formal training for what I’d been doing on instinct for so long.

My Hogwarts of Collaboration

Stepping into the certification program felt a bit like getting a welcome letter to Hogwarts. I was excited but also super nervous. The pace was brisk; there were frameworks, readings, and practice sessions on top of my full-time job. But it was also exhilarating. Every session kicked off or closed with a fun activity, and we got to see so many practical techniques in action. For instance, when my turn came to lead an opener, I improvised a simple activity. To my surprise, it landed so well that people asked if it was from a resource or a book. In that moment, I realized that creativity and intuition truly flourish when backed by a strong foundation of theory and technique.

One of my favorite parts of the program was discovering how to structure an entire session or convening. We learned about the critical “pre-work” that Priya Parker advocates for in her book—ensuring participants know each other, understand the purpose, and feel prepared for the topic. Suddenly, I saw how even a simple team meeting could transform into a powerful collaboration tool if we gave some advance thought to design. That blew my mind because in workplaces, especially nonprofits, we often talk about big, lofty goals but skip the fundamental steps that ensure everyone is aligned.

The elective sessions were another highlight. I did workshop design and “cascades,” which focuses on navigating transition and organizational change. That second one was eye-opening because I’ve navigated countless transitions—new CEOs, staff turnover, evolving missions—and never had a structured approach to carrying people along for the ride. Seeing a facilitator’s framework for transitions made me realize how essential these skills are. We often pay huge sums to consultants to handle “change management,” yet many still overlook the real nuance of facilitation. Now I’m confident in wearing the “facilitator hat” whether or not I explicitly announce it in a meeting. And that confidence was forged in the program’s practice labs, reading, and peer feedback.

Leading with a Mindset of Inclusion

One of the biggest transformations for me is how I now approach leadership itself. In my earlier years, I thought the manager’s job was to be the “shiny, brightest thing” in the room, the one who calls the shots and directs people. But going through this certification process taught me the power of stepping back—of focusing on how to create a context where everyone shines. In facilitation, we often talk about making sure people know they belong in the conversation. That’s become a guiding principle for me: If I’m leading a meeting, how am I ensuring that each person feels like their experience and ideas are needed?

It’s also changed the dynamic in my team. I’ve always said I value collaboration, but now I have a concrete sense of how to structure it. I use practices like ensuring we allow space for those who are new to the team or who might have a quieter voice. I look at the agenda and ask, “Does this format reinforce participation or does it shut down dialogue?” Instead of calling a standard meeting and winging it, I might embed an interactive activity or a time for reflection. I make sure to consider who hasn’t spoken, and I directly invite them into the conversation. That shift has created deeper buy-in for our projects and, I believe, a healthier team culture.

Another big game changer is that I can now articulate my method. Before, I just leaned on gut feeling; now, I can point to frameworks and best practices. That’s helped me advocate for changes in how we host events or build consensus within my organization. I can say, “Here is why we need a round-robin format,” or “Let’s try a divergent-convergent technique.” I’ve discovered that many managers and directors appreciate seeing these approaches spelled out clearly. It’s not just me being a people person—it’s a disciplined approach that helps everyone do their best work and fosters a sense of belonging.

Catalyzing Conversations for Change

As I look ahead, I’m excited to integrate these facilitation skills into the next stage of my career—wherever that might be. I’m interviewing for new roles, but no matter where I land, I know I’ll keep championing co-creation and collaborative leadership. I’m determined to spread the word that if we truly want to address social issues like economic mobility or health equity, we can’t afford to ignore the power of skillful facilitation. Whether it’s in the philanthropic sector or with smaller grassroots movements, I intend to use these tools to make sure every voice is heard.

I’m especially drawn to supporting conversations around race, class, and the systemic issues that undergird the work I do. I’ve always been willing to lean into these topics, but I realize that many people are hesitant, especially now, given the political climate. Being a facilitator gives me “armor,” in a sense. It’s a structured framework that makes hard conversations more approachable for everyone. The dream is to combine narrative-change work, storytelling, and facilitation to create spaces where we can have honest, constructive dialogues about the challenges we face and how we want to move forward together. Idealistic? Maybe. But every new project is a chance to bring us one step closer to that vision.

If there’s one thing I’d like prospective students to know, it’s that facilitation is a gateway skill. It sharpens your communication, strengthens your leadership, and provides you with a toolkit you can apply to any environment—professional, personal, or community-based. It’s not just for people who want to run big conferences. It’s for anyone who wants to transform a group’s energy and purpose into real results.

So if you’re thinking about the certification, I’d say: jump in. Don’t be afraid to learn, experiment, and find your unique facilitation style. The payoff goes far beyond the classroom. It expands your capacity to create meaningful connections and lead in a way that truly honors every voice. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the future of work—and the future of our communities. And trust me, we need as many people as possible stepping into that space.

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