A Coming of Age in Philanthropy

By: Sevetri Wilson, Founder and CEO, Resilia

Today, on my birthday, I sat down to share reflections on the journey that has brought me to this moment in time, and to my work with Resilia. 

People have often asked me, “how”? “How does someone who comes from where you come from get here?” One man went as far as to ask, “Who told you you could do that?” 

That being: building a SaaS technology company, tech for good, that powers over 15,000 nonprofit organizations and some of the largest grantmakers in the world while raising close to $50M in venture capital to scale. Some would say it’s an almost impossible feat for this solo, non-technical, Black woman founder from the South. 

So, his question is a reasonable one. After all, I had no blueprint or model. My response? No one. No one told me I could do it, but no one told me I couldn’t, either. So I did.

My proximity to philanthropy, and my commitment to service, have always been present and palpable but became that much more apparent as I was preparing for college. 

My mother, Shirley, one of the hardest working women I have ever known, was an assistant manager at a local Kmart, where she worked full-time, earning roughly $27,000 as a single mother. 

My father passed away when I was six, leaving my mother as the sole breadwinner in our home, raising four children, with me as the youngest.

I remember the first time I got a glimpse of my mother’s pay stub. At that moment, in real-time, I knew she would not have the means to send me to college. Kmart would later file for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection in early 2002 before shuttering 250 stores two years before I graduated high school.

My story isn’t one of charity and sorrow but rather one of perseverance and triumph. It speaks to the power that philanthropy, when done right, can have on me – a little girl from rural Louisiana – and so many others.

My journey in philanthropy started long before my career as a tech-for-good founder. It started when I realized that my mother couldn’t afford to send me to college. Immediately, I began applying for dozens of scholarships. I wasn’t a 4.0 student, but I was very involved in high-school extracurriculars, serving as an active student council member and band captain. My band teacher, Ms. Weatherly, spent hours writing the most thoughtful and compelling letters to the likes of Ronald McDonald House Charities, UNCF, and Bill and Melinda Gates Millennium Scholarship Fund. With her help, I was awarded nearly $1M in scholarships. 

The Gates Millennium scholarship changed the course and trajectory of my life. It relieved the fear of graduating college with tremendous debt and gave me the freedom to devote myself solely to my studies. At 18, I met other fresh-eyed and hopeful Gates Scholars who matriculated at various universities nationwide. Unfortunately, I have not been able to keep in touch with them, but I often wonder where their paths have led them and if my story has as deeply impacted them as I was by theirs.

Fast-forward to last week when I had the opportunity to sit on a panel with someone I greatly admire in philanthropy, Darren Walker, president of the Ford Foundation. In his book, From Generosity to Justice, set to publish on March 28th, Walker draws many parallels between Generosity, the input, and Justice (if philanthropy is done right), the output. He also weaves the theme of “hope” throughout the book, beginning with the words “Hope is hard work.” 

These words are a testament to my life. 

My path has been a combination of hope, resilience, determination, a bit of luck, and a lot of hard work. It was carved by persevering until someone opened a door that was previously closed, not giving up until I received an invitation to a table I’d never sat at before, a simple “yes” instead of “no” even when it required courage, an introduction, or a simple note of encouragement. 

But “hope is hard work,” as Darren Walker says. 

I felt the need to continuously deliver because people took a chance on me – someone with no connections, tech background, or blueprint. They believed that I could do it. Most of all, I believed I could do it (hope) and have (hard work). 

That’s why the photo below is symbolic to me. It was taken on the day of my grandmother’s funeral outside her home. Still, there is the faded tin roof I grew up under, a symbol of my perseverance. And it is because of my experience that I have so much respect and honor for the nonprofits Resilia works with on a daily basis. They are highly capable but under-resourced. They have the desire and the dedication, and the outcomes of their work fuel them.

I see myself in the people who have dedicated their lives to empowering their communities, from the grassroots organizations run by just a few people to those who have grown by leaps and bounds, all persevering through challenges to scale impact. 

Photo: Hammond, Louisiana /January 9, 2016