Throughout my childhood, the YMCA was more than just a place—it was a source of joy, belonging, and unforgettable memories. I remember the excitement of a school lock-in where we spent the night at the Y, the adventures of overnight camp through school and the Girl Scouts, and the stories my dad often told about learning to swim as a young boy at the Y. Even then, the Y felt like a place I could trust—where I was safe, seen, and supported.

Years later, life would bring me back to the YMCA, not as a camper or a visitor, but as someone in need of support. In 2013, I was between jobs when I learned that my mother had a terminal illness. In the middle of this personal storm, I saw a job opening in the YMCA’s marketing and communications department. Something inside me said, this is where you need to be. I wasn’t just looking for a job—I was looking for a place where people truly cared.

For almost twelve years, the YMCA has been that place for me. It’s where I’ve had the honor of using my creativity to tell the stories of others—stories of resilience, hope, and healing.

Like Tom, who told me through tears that the Y saved his life after losing his wife of 46 years.

Like Joella, who found strength and healing here during her cancer journey.

Like Jennifer, a young mother who found light in the darkness of postpartum depression.

And like me—who found community, healing, and a renewed sense of purpose.

This is why I give to the YMCA every year. It’s not just a donation—it’s a lifeline. It’s a way to say, you are not alone. It’s a way to help others like Tom, Joella, and Jennifer find the support they so deeply need.

When you give to the YMCA, you're not just supporting a place. You're investing in people and helping build a community where everyone belongs.