‘Caregivers should care about anything else’: Working so diapers aren’t a luxury item

Sade Chapman works with four people and hundreds of volunteers to make childcare items more accessible for 25,000 Chicagoland children and neighbors.

BY BELLA VRY
October 20, 2025 

Yearlong, the Chicago nonprofit Share Our Spare (SOS) directs hundreds of social service agencies and volunteers to donate, pack, and deliver diapers or other essentials to families in need, promoting healthy childhood development.

One tale touched the staff at the SOS warehouse last autumn: a veteran father of two was dreading Thanksgiving evening—rather, the suit he doesn’t own, the job he doesn’t have, and the essentials he can’t afford for his newborn children.

“What people need,” Sade Chapman (they/them) says, “is to be treated with dignity and basic resources so that they can focus on anything else.”

Sade Chapman, Operations Manager at SOS, oversees the millions of free diapers arriving at Chicagoland families’ doorsteps since 2011. The goal? “Next level this shit,” Chapman exclaims, and be of utmost service to the youth.

Working with four walls, four coworkers, and a devotion to invest in tiny futures, SOS donated 6 million diapers to 120 Chicagoland zip codes in Chapman’s past year. For participating families, that’s 60 of the 270 diapers needed per month.

“With SOS and other resource support,” Chapman says, “the veteran got a suit, a turkey for Thanksgiving, some diapers, diaper rash cream, and other essentials.”

“He was crying, saying how having diapers made him feel like a man,” their voice shaking. “That’s the least you can do.”

Growing up around Kansas City’s medical campus, Chapman was neighbors with both wealthy and poor households—Chapman resonated with the latter. Their formerly incarcerated father cared for them while struggling with mental health and unpacking his lower socioeconomic origins. Onward, Chapman resolved that “the greatest thing you could be is to be of service to people in your community.”

They went on to study anthropology and international studies before completing their Master of Arts in Museum Studies at the University of Illinois Chicago. Working at the university for Gallery 400 and exploring disability activist exhibitions, they unpacked what made us think of divergent people as “other”.

This formative experience made their purpose at SOS clear: “I don’t care who referred you here, how you got here, I just want to make sure you get the things you need,” Chapman declared.

“Everybody’s trying to reinvent the wheel,” Chapman argues, “even when there are gaps.” By gaps, Chapman means families in financial crisis without resources like diapers, baby care items, clothing, and books.

Rather than reinventing it, Chapman approaches the nonprofit sector sympathetically. When time, resources, and capacities are allocated one way in the nation, “Nonprofits are often just a band-aid,” Chapman comments. However, with a mission to do right for the Chicagoland people in the present, SOS means something a lot less cynical to its workers, volunteers, and families.

“Who knows if everyone at Kimberly-Clark Corporation really values the same thing?” Chapman jokes, “They’re trying to be the highest seller of Depends at Walgreens.” 

“You get to see healthcare, social work, community action, mutual aid,” Chapman exemplifies about their experience at SOS. They’ve been excited about working with youth since Kansas City, volunteering for food banks and youth services while in high school. What does their unrequited commitment to this sector boil down to? “These are normal-ass kids who need some normal-ass experiences. Some of that comes with unpacking certain things, right?” Chapman proposes.

Beyond the material impact of their work at SOS, Chapman is about guiding thousands of volunteers at the warehouse. They saw 8,077 volunteer hours in 2024—that’s just 28 days short of a calendar year.

“I’m a stuff mover. That’s my primary job. I try and harness the volunteer energy to move massive loads of stuff in a really crazy way.”

Last year, a cohort from an underfunded public high school on the West Side of Chicago came for a volunteering shift. Chapman sounded off the typical questions: How many diapers does a baby need in a day? Who has younger siblings? All was typical—the rattle of pallets and low buzz of chatter echoing off the concrete. 

Beneath the fluorescent lights, students moved between stacks of diapers and cleaning supplies, laughter breaking through the rhythm of work. Then—pop. The detergent pod a student was fiddling with bursts, slick color bleeding across the table. One lead volunteer of 11 years, Julie, shrieks, slicing through the air. “My kids wouldn’t behave like this!”

The student stares down at their shoes, hands still, face unreadable. The woman’s frustration fills the silence, heavy and sour. As Chapman understands the student, this remark carries questions larger than any spilled soap—Am I going to college? Do people like you believe I can? 

Transforming service experiences into reflection and learning is a practice studied in the service learning field. For students, this means building creative and critical thinking skills to help prepare for, succeed in, and learn from the service.

Chapman’s efforts for service learning experiences emphasize the invisible distance between privilege and struggle. Beyond counting diapers or sorting donations, it’s about unlearning the quiet expectations that divide care from compassion.

“The more we let go of that need to be hierarchical and the person in charge, the better,” Chapman says.

Chapman sees a lot of work to be done, especially with navigating the capacities of the nonprofit industry and hiring more staff to allow time for knowledge building and workplace reflection. 

“Your coworker with breast pump expertise wants you to bring all the accoutrements, all the valves and the tubes,” Chapman says with a laugh. “It’s nice to go into a job where you know you’re going to learn or do something new every day.”

When one person shares their spare and delivers it to the warehouse, it’s not just a gesture of giving; it’s one of connecting with people.

“It’s about someone actually giving a fuck.”