So, you’ve decided to work at camp this summer? First of all, thank you. We need people just like you. Whatever brought you to this place — a love of kids, a return to a place that shaped you, or a wild idea on a Tuesday afternoon — I’m glad you said “Yes.”

Because unless you live under a rock, I’m almost positive that you know the world can be an ugly place right now. Regardless of who you are or where you come from, you are likely aware of the rapid rise in disconnection, dehumanization, and loneliness that can only grow from social systems that seek to divide us. In fact, I’m convinced that this phenomenon has become so pervasive that it has indeed reached even those of us who do, in fact, live under rocks.

You (yes, you!) have chosen to take on the staff T-shirt and walkie-talkie of a summer camp staff member. Congratulations, and welcome to the best — and hardest — job on earth. Especially now. You are stepping into leadership at a time when it feels like the world is on fire, and, at times, you may feel that the weight of what you are doing is heavier than you can bear. Maybe you just got out of school. Maybe you are figuring out who you are in this world, and someone just handed you a clipboard — and if you’re lucky, a new water bottle — and told you to go lead campers through a world that many of us didn’t choose and never signed off on.

Here’s the good news: Almost everything you need to have a successful summer already exists inside you. Even if the world is falling apart. Even if our campers are bringing their big feelings about the world falling apart. Even if you are feeling injustice fatigue while trying to make sense of power structures that don’t seem built to protect most of us.

Because camp somehow still remains one of the few places intentionally designed to center joy, community, and tenderness.

It’s one of the only places where strangers arrive, unsure of what they’ve gotten themselves into, and leave crying tears of happiness and longing during that last round of “Linger” as the campfire burns down to coals. That is not an accident. That is not magic. That is design. That is practice. And that practice is now up to you.

But in order to lead others through this experience — especially in a time like this — you’re going to need some survival skills.

Not just first aid and swimming checks (although I and your camp’s insurance provider ask that you please don’t skip out on those). I mean the soft tools that help you to lead bravely, gently, and support your campers in getting the kind of break their hearts and bodies deserve. The following four survival skills are key to leading in challenging times.

1. Nervous System Awareness

Leadership starts with knowing what’s happening inside you.

Camp will push your body and brain. There will be noise. There will be chaos. There will be 11-year-olds doing shriek-chanting at 7:00 a.m. and co-staff who leave wet towels on your bunk. Add to that your own full life outside of camp — personal situations, identity exploration, mental health, world events — and it makes sense that you might feel overwhelmed sometimes.

That doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you. It means you have a nervous system — which is good, because humans wouldn’t have made it this long without them!

Your nervous system is not a problem; it’s a compass. Learn to notice when you’re flooded. Learn what helps you come back to center. You don’t need to be calm all the time; you just need to recognize what’s happening and take a breath before you react.

At camp, nervous system awareness might look like:

• Taking a five-minute walk before you talk to your camper who just had a meltdown
• Asking your co-staff, “Hey, can I tag out for a sec?”
• Saying no to a night-off plan because your body is asking for rest
• You can’t regulate if you’re disconnected from yourself. Awareness is the first tool of leadership.

2. Fierce Gentleness

Protect the things that matter, and lead with your whole heart.

Fierce gentleness is not softness without boundaries. It’s not people-pleasing. It’s saying, “I will care for this space, for these campers, this team, and myself, with love and intention.” Sometimes that means saying no. Sometimes it means standing firm. And sometimes it means choosing to be kind when it would be easier to be clever.

It might even mean stopping the gossip bus (even though, yes, it can be fun to talk about what Hailey did on her night out), and realizing that no one wants people speculating about their intentions when they’re not there to speak for themselves.

You don’t have to yell to be powerful. You don’t have to be “chill” to be respected. You just have to lead with clarity, compassion, and follow-through.

At camp, fierce gentleness might sound like:

• “I sense that you’re upset. I still need you to take a break before we talk.”
• “I care about you, but that comment wasn’t OK.”
• “This isn’t a punishment; it’s a boundary.”

You don’t have to choose between strength and care. You lead best when you bring both.

3. Repair

Mistakes will happen. What matters is what you do next.

You will mess up. Someone will get hurt. You’ll lose your temper. You’ll misread the moment. You’ll forget that one camper’s unique pick-up situation that was sprung on you at the last minute. You’ll snap at your coworker. You’ll wish you could take something back.

That doesn’t make you a bad leader. It makes you human.

But here’s what often happens. We put our feelings of failure ahead of doing the work of repair. And that comes from fear. Fear that if we admit we were wrong, we’ll lose credibility. Fear that making a mistake means we are the mistake. Fear that others will stop trusting us, or that we’ll stop trusting ourselves.

So we protect our own discomfort instead of addressing the harm. We rush to defend our intentions instead of recognizing our impact. We tell ourselves, “It wasn’t that bad,” when it really mattered to someone.

But not taking it personally and leaning into what you can do to make it better is exactly what sets real leaders apart. Leaders take accountability. They put the impact of unintentional harm ahead of their own fear of being seen as a failure.

Repair is what builds trust over time. It’s the difference between pretending it didn’t happen and showing up to own it. It’s not, “I’m sorry you felt that way.” It’s, “I see the impact, and I’m working to do better.”

At camp, repair might look like:

• Apologizing to a camper for misjudging their intentions
• Asking your co-staff how they experienced something you said
• Letting go of defensiveness long enough to really hear feedback

Repair is an act of love. Your campers and co-staff don’t need perfect leaders. They need accountable ones.

4. Hope

Not optimism. Not delusion. Hope.

Hope doesn’t mean pretending everything is fine. It doesn’t mean being cheerful when you’re actually exhausted. It doesn’t mean ignoring the grief, the injustice, or the heaviness that so many of us are carrying. Hope is not about faking light. It’s about refusing to give up on the idea that something better is still possible.

Hope says:

• This is hard, and we’re still here.
• The system is broken, and people still matter.
• I can’t do everything, but I can do something.

At camp, hope might sound like:

• “Let’s try again tomorrow.”
• “That camper is struggling, and I still believe they are trying their hardest.”
• “Even if this didn’t go the way I planned, it’s still worth doing.”
• “I can be the kind of leader I needed when I was younger.”

Hope is not passive. It’s a decision. It is what allows us to keep making joy, even when joy is rare. It is what fuels gentleness, compassion, and repair. It is what enables us to keep showing up for each other, even when the world tells us to give up on others and turn inward.

You don’t have to feel hopeful every minute of every day. You just have to believe that better is possible and that your leadership might help everyone get there. Hoping for something better — next activity block, next session, or next summer — builds the resilience needed to step through the hard moments and still have the energy to sing “Baby Shark” for the billionth time that week. And that hope is what makes camp feel like magic.

When the weight of the world tells us to give in or go numb, hope is what stirs us gently back to life — reminding us that we still have power, we still have choice, and we still have time to build what we have not yet seen.

Buckle Up, the Campers Are Ready

So, yes, the world is broken. And it will not be fixed by accident.

But here’s the wild, beautiful, and slightly terrifying truth: you might be the ones who can fix it.

Not all at once. Not alone. Not without rest, mistakes, or years of figuring it out as you go. But the way you choose to lead right now, with presence, with care, and with joy, matters more than you know.

Because every time you regulate instead of reacting, every time you protect someone’s dignity, and every time you repair a moment of harm or choose hope on a hard day, you are practicing the kind of leadership the world needs more of.

Camp may only last a season, but what you learn here — about yourself, about each other, and about how to build something better — will go with you.

And maybe, just maybe, the future gets a little less broken because you chose to spend your summer shepherding the sacred space between your campers’ parental dependence and the adults that they will one day become. And you can do it with love. With understanding. With that kind of care that gives us a counternarrative to our currently standardized division.

You can be part of the world that builds a community in a different way — one that reminds all of us: this is how we were always meant to live with one another.

Discussion Questions What would you say is your best survival skill, and what might you need to work on? A fellow staff member points out in front of your campers that you neglected to take a final head count before heading to the next activity. What should you do to model taking accountability and reacting with kindness? What does it mean to you to lead with clarity, compassion, and follow-through?

 

Photos courtesy of The Aloha Foundation (Aloha, Hive, Lanakila, Ohana, Horizons), Fairlee, VT; Memphis JCC Day Camp, Memphis, TN; Club U Camp — University of Utah; South Jordan, UT.

Chris Rehs-Dupin is the cofounder and co-executive director of TQAMP, an organization that supports camps and youth-focused organizations to become spaces of belonging for people of all genders and sexualities.