Tattooed, Tested, and Needing to share a little PSA?

Photo taken from David after Bonnaroo cancelled due to all the rain and the grounds being unsafe. The team went through a lot to be there onsite for just one real day of operation.

Working in the nonprofit sector isn’t a calling... it’s a kind of combustion. It’s setting yourself on fire to keep everyone else warm. And before you come at me with, “but it’s so rewarding,” or “you get to travel and see so much music,” let me stop you right there. Yes, this work can be beautiful. But this is not a cute Instagram story. This is not a movie montage. This is real, messy, exhausting, soul-shaking work—and it doesn’t look how I imagined it would.

People love to romanticize nonprofit life.“You’re helping people, that must feel so good.” “You’re on tour! You get to see bands every night!” And hey, you know what, sometimes, it is magical. Sometimes I get to geek out being at a certain venue or have a day where I can frolic in an amazing city.

But that magic happens while I’m living in a van, sorting swabs in parking lots, juggling burnout with broken Wi-Fi, and trying to stretch money between gas, oil changes, KOAs, dinners, hotels.... My inbox is a battlefield. My anxiety is humming under every interaction. I’m answering messages about mental health between setting up tables. And yeah, sometimes, I forget the last time I ate a full meal. It does feel good when someone says, “I’m still here because of this booth.”But even that can’t undo the unraveling behind the scenes.The pressure. The guilt. The financial wreckage.The constant scramble to be everywhere, do everything, save everyone—with an empty tank and no backup plan.

Then throw in the punk scene - the scene I fell head over heels with during my time at Love Hope Strength, the scene that I learned was always READY to say YES to helping - and the pressure turns up to eleven.When you fly a banner that says Punk Rock Saves Lives, you’re not just running a nonprofit. You’re living under a microscope. Every decision is dissected. Every venue. Every band. Every partnership.You're expected to be DIY enough, pure enough, broke enough, transparent enough—but also professional, strategic, and tireless.

Oh, and never tired of being judged.

You’re held accountable not just for what you do, but for what everyone around you does, too. People ask why we set up in that city. Why we didn’t speak out about that band, that promoter, that global incident. Why we didn’t do that thing - something wildly outside our scope or mission.

Even when I’m literally just trying to keep people alive, the noise never stops.What might seem like harmless comments from the outside? They hit like a tidal wave in my inbox—constant, sharp, unrelenting. I’m not out here looking for applause. I don’t need a thank-you parade. But damn…Some silence would be nice. Because the constant battering of critiques? It wears you down faster than the work ever could. It makes you start to wonder if there is actual good being done. It makes you start to question....EVERYTHING.

Punk is supposed to be about community. About lifting each other up. But sometimes, it feels more like a purity contest.Where one misstep erases a hundred hours of good.Where vulnerability is weakness.Where burnout is expected.Where if you say, “I’m struggling,” the response is, “Well, maybe you’re not cut out for this.”

And the thing is—I love punk. It gave me purpose. It shaped how I fight.But when the scene becomes a court instead of a community—when it polices more than it protects—it makes this already impossible job feel unbearable.

There are days I feel like I’m not just burning out—I’m burning down.

But I stay. Because I believe in the why. And that “why” was never about the bands or the backstages. We’re not here for clout. We’re here for the person in the crowd who needs Narcan.The one who’s grieving.The one who never thought they mattered until we looked them in the eye and said, “You do.”

This work is rewarding. But it’s also relentless. And it costs more than most people will ever see. I’ve given real pieces of myself to this. Pieces I don’t know how to get back. I watch friends pick up hobbies, take trips, build lives outside their jobs—have something that reflects them. And honestly, what reflects me? When you hear the name Tina Rushing… what do you think of? Be honest.Because I know the answer. You think of the nonprofit. The tour. The hustle. The cause.

So when people ask, “How are you doing?” Do they actually want to know? Or are they just wanting to hear about what is happening within Punk Rock Saves Lives?

There are days I look in the mirror and see nothing but exhaustion staring back.I’ve missed birthdays. I’ve skipped meals. I’ve sacrificed my health, my relationships, my sense of self—all in the name of the mission. And still... it never feels like enough. There’s always another crisis. Another email asking why we aren’t doing something we never claimed we did. Another comment critiquing where we are, who we work with, how we operate. It’s never-ending. And when you’re already running on fumes, that kind of noise doesn’t just sting—it guts you.

This isn’t a resignation letter. I’m still here. I’ll keep showing up. But you need to know: the people doing this work aren’t unbreakable.

We’re not saints. We’re not machines. We’re not saviors. We're not robots.

We’re just humans trying our damn best in a world that keeps asking for more. And in a scene that sometimes forgets that punk isn’t about perfection - it’s about showing the fuck up, raw and real.

So if you know someone in nonprofit work, check on them. Offer help without expecting a polished reply. And if you are that person... I see you. I get it. I’m standing in the fire with you.

XOXO,

Tina

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Here is a list of some songs that I am feeling HARD right now as I am HEAVY in my feelings about everything above. Thank you for reading.

"This Year" – The Mountain Goats

"The Idiots Are Taking Over" – NOFX

"Work" – Jimmy Eat World

“Tolerate It” - Taylor Swift

“Masterpiece” – Big Thief