Everywhere I go, people are talking about youth mental health. We repeat the statistics, wear the ribbons, attend the panels, and share the hashtags. We say all the right words, and we say them often. We say it matters. And yet this fall, as I read another grant rejection and watched donations dip lower than they have in years, a quiet question rose in my heart that I could not ignore: If youth mental health truly matters, why is it becoming harder than ever to fund the programs that actually strengthen it?

Girls on the Run Piedmont just completed our Fall 2025 season, and the results from our end-of-season surveys were extraordinary. These responses came from dozens of caregivers, girls, and coaches across our region, giving us a reliable picture of our impact. The data told a story of deep and meaningful change. Ninety-nine percent of girls reported feeling included and supported. Ninety-six percent of caregivers said their child’s confidence grew. Ninety-nine percent of girls said they liked physical activity because of the program. Eighty-five percent of families said GOTR led to important conversations at home. Ninety-three percent of caregivers gave us a world-class ten out of ten rating. These are not small numbers. They show a program that works. And yet the financial support to keep doing this work is becoming harder and harder to find.

This leads to a hard but honest question. If everyone agrees youth mental health matters, why is prevention so difficult to support? Part of the answer lies in the nature of the work itself. Prevention is quiet and unseen. It does not show up in a gift bag, cannot be wrapped with tissue paper, and does not photograph easily. It is far simpler to fund a backpack than belonging, a coat than confidence, a meal than emotional regulation. But what we do at Girls on the Run changes the things that cannot be boxed, wrapped, or displayed on a table.

You cannot hold belonging in your hands. You cannot photograph the moment a girl finally stops saying mean things about herself. You cannot tie a ribbon around emotional regulation. And yet these are the changes that alter the direction of a girl’s life. A girl raises her hand in class for the first time. A girl takes a deep breath instead of exploding. A girl learns she can do hard things. A girl crosses a finish line and sees herself in a new way. These moments are invisible until suddenly they are not. By the time you notice them, they have already begun shaping who she is becoming.

Another struggle is that the world tends to fund urgency more easily than prevention. Crisis pulls attention. Prevention asks for patience. But Girls on the Run is prevention in motion. We build safety before crisis. We strengthen girls before they break. We teach resilience before it is needed. This work is gentle and consistent. It shows up in small conversations, thoughtful lessons, and steady relationships. And because it is quiet, it is often overlooked. Yet it is exactly this work that keeps girls emotionally healthy and helps them grow.

There is also a common misunderstanding about how missions like ours are sustained. Many people assume large grants or major donors keep us going. The truth is far humbler and far more beautiful. Our work is carried by small donors and simple acts of generosity. It is carried by the grandmother who gives ten dollars because she believes girls matter. It is carried by the dad who shares our post with his entire Facebook feed. It is carried by the teacher who forwards our program information to her principal. It is carried by the small business that chooses to use its marketing dollars to lift girls up instead of simply selling to them. These small acts are the beams that hold up the house. They reinforce what I often call our big comfy couch, the dependable, well-loved place that quietly supports everyone but rarely gets maintained.

Some people might argue that if the program is so impactful, fundraising should be easier. But the difficulty in raising support does not reflect a lack of value. It reflects how challenging it is to communicate the worth of invisible work. Others might feel that a small gift does not matter. Yet this entire program is built on small, consistent actions: a word of encouragement, a high-five from a coach, a conversation on the ride home, a girl choosing positive self-talk, a teammate cheering another girl across the track. Small actions change lives. Small gifts sustain missions.

Teaching Abby The Lost Tools of Writing this year has reminded me that small reasons build strong arguments, just like small acts build strong girls. And maybe that is the real lesson here. Invisible work is still essential work. What you cannot hold in your hands is often the very thing that holds everything else together.

If youth mental health truly matters, we must learn to value the invisible as much as the things we can touch. Confidence is invisible until a girl stands taller. Belonging is invisible until she stops eating lunch alone. Resilience is invisible until she finishes a 5K she never believed she could run. Hope is invisible until we help her find it. And when the invisible work is done well, the entire future of a girl shifts by a few crucial degrees, just enough to change the direction of her life.

As we enter this season of gratitude, generosity, and yes, even Giving Tuesday, I offer a simple invitation. Give ten dollars. Share our message. Tell your workplace about us. Invite a friend to join you. Because while the world debates awareness and crisis response, we will continue doing what we have always done: teaching girls how to breathe, connect, run, and rise.

And with your help, no matter how small, we can continue shaping girls who feel seen, safe, strong, and supported.  Join me today www.gotrpiedmont.org/giving/team-possible