I first got into volunteering a few years back, though the idea had been in the back of my mind for a long time. I’d worked in the city for years, in finance, and every so often we were sent out on volunteering days. Once, I went to a home for the homeless, and it really hit me.
You go in with all these assumptions — “why are they homeless, what went wrong?” — but then you start listening. The stories you hear are nothing like what you imagined. There was a marine, a highly intelligent man, another with a successful career behind him. Circumstances had knocked them off their feet. And it made me realise just how close any of us are to being in the same position. A few missed rent payments, redundancy, a health scare — it doesn’t take much. That really stuck with me.
At the same time, I’d been through my own challenges. Working in the city, I’d been a heavy drinker — it was almost part of the culture, that endless cycle of pressure and socialising. When I heard the stories of people who’d slipped into homelessness, parts of it rang a bit too close to home. I thought, “That could have been me.”
So when the local homeless shelter put out a call for volunteers at Christmas — this was three years ago now — I signed up. I went along on Christmas Day, and I just kept coming back. It became part of my life.
The shelter does so much more than most people realise. It’s not just a hot meal. There are showers, laundry facilities, even a hairdresser who comes in once a week. Little things that mean the world when you’re living rough. Volunteers and staff help people with benefits, filling out forms, getting housing sorted. It’s all about giving people the tools to get back on their feet, while also giving them a bit of dignity and comfort along the way.
When I’m there, I’m usually out on the floor — chatting with people, taking orders, bringing food to the tables. Sometimes it’s non-stop and hectic, especially when we’re short on volunteers. People don’t always realise we’re not staff, we’re just giving our time, so occasionally they can be demanding. But honestly, the vast majority are polite and grateful. Ninety-nine out of a hundred say thank you. It’s that one in a hundred who doesn’t that you just have to let go over your head.
What keeps me coming back are the people. I’ve seen some amazing changes. There was one man, Stan, who barely spoke a word when he first came in. Head down, completely closed off. Over time, with consistency and kindness, he started to come out of his shell. Now he’s talkative, confident, even encouraging others. That sort of transformation — mental, emotional, physical — is a privilege to see.
Volunteering has changed me, too. It’s taught me not to judge, not to look down on people. Life can change overnight, and you never know when it might be your turn. I’ve had my own struggles — big debts at one stage, cancer more recently. That fear never really leaves you. I keep myself fit now, just in case, because I want to be ready to fight it if it ever comes back. Those experiences keep me grounded, and they make me even more aware of how fragile things are.
Faith plays a part, yes — I’m a Christian — but it’s not the only reason I do it. It’s more about knowing there’s a need and being in a position to help. My financial background means I can sit with people, help them make sense of paperwork, benefits, budgets. For me, it’s simple, but for them, it can be overwhelming. And if I can lift even a small weight off someone’s shoulders, then I feel I’ve done something worthwhile.
The shelter is also about community. It’s not just volunteers helping “service users.” It’s people working together. Some who were once homeless now come back as volunteers. They want to give back, and that says everything about what the place stands for.
Why do I keep coming back? Because I care. I worry about people. If someone I usually see doesn’t turn up, I find myself thinking about them, wondering if they’re okay. Sometimes I see them out in town and we have a chat. Other times I hear good news — someone’s got housing, someone’s found work, someone’s turned a corner. Those moments are worth every early morning and every hard day.
For me, volunteering at the homeless shelter is about giving people back their dignity. Saying hello instead of looking away. Stopping to talk instead of crossing the street. No one wants to feel invisible.
If I had to give advice to anyone thinking about volunteering, it would be this: just do it. You’ll get back far more than you give. It’s not always easy, but it’s always worthwhile.
