A Journey of Growth and Compassion: My Experience as a Helpline Manager at WE CARE

March 2025

Perspectives: Volunteer

"To those supporting WE CARE: You should know that our callers look like everyone and no one in particular."

 

I came to WE CARE carrying my own experiences of loss within my family, where addiction and mental health struggles had left their mark. As a beginning mental health practitioner, I saw this as an opportunity to deepen my understanding and contribute to a cause that is deeply personal to me. 

Initially, I expected my role to be largely administrative—registering new clients over the phone. However, I quickly realised that the role is not just about paperwork; it is about holding space for individuals at some of their most vulnerable moments. 

"Could you call my son but not tell him I reached out?" A mother once asked me, her voice raw with worry. "He'll hang up if he knows." When I finally connected with her son and he cautiously agreed to hear me out, I felt the weight of what we do here. It wasn't just about adding another name to our system—it was about offering a lifeline to a family drowning in helplessness. 

Not every call goes as planned. The man who spoke in urgent whispers about being watched left me rattled. His reality was so different from mine, yet his fear was palpably real. We never got to discussing services; he wasn't ready. But as he thanked me for believing him when "no one else would," I realized that sometimes just being truly heard is its own form of help. I still wonder how he's doing. 

Then there are the calls that break your heart in quiet ways. "Actually, I've already been struggling with this for many years," an elderly man told me after we'd discussed treatment options. "I'm just hoping someone can hear me out." We spoke for nearly an hour. His addiction was real, but so was his isolation—each making the other more unbearable. Sometimes loneliness amplifies addiction in a cycle that's hard to break. When he thanked me simply for listening, I was reminded that beneath the clinical terms and intake forms are people desperate for connection. These moments of genuine human contact can be as therapeutic as any formal intervention we offer. 

What keeps me coming back is watching shame dissolve, even if just for a moment. When someone shares their narrative construct of failure and self-blame, I get to remind them that their addiction began as an attempt to solve unbearable pain, not create it. The relief in their voice when they feel seen as a whole person—not just their struggle—reminds me why this work matters. 

To those supporting WE CARE: You should know that our callers look like everyone and no one in particular. They are your neighbours, your family members, your colleagues. They call from corner offices and homeless shelters. From college dorms and retirement communities. What unites them isn't their circumstances but their courage to reach out when everything in them wants to hide. 

What we offer isn't just services. It's a moment of dignity in a world that too often looks away. And for me, it's the privilege of saying, "I hear you. You matter. And you're not alone in this." 

 

By Colin Toh 

Colin is a newly practicing therapist whose appreciation for the richness and complexity of the human experience inspires his curiosity for integrative therapeutic approaches to support personalised healing and growth.