Someone's Listening

Geoff, a Lifeline Queensland Crisis Support Volunteer is smiling warmly. Geoff is wearing a Lifeline layard while on site at the Brisbane Crisis Support call centre.

Late at night, when most of Queensland is asleep, someone like Geoff is awake. Listening.

After losing his father and two close friends to suicide, Geoff felt he needed to do something to help people in crisis. He became a Lifeline Crisis Support Volunteer.

The training you make possible—up to 10 months of preparation, supervision, ongoing support—gives volunteers like Geoff what they need to be there when someone reaches out in their darkest moment. When a father types out a message, convinced his kids would be better off without him. When a man sits alone at 2am, certain no one cares and opens a chat window.

A Lifeline Queensland team member recently said, “There are profound moments of connection in even the shortest calls.”

Because what happens in those moments isn’t just crisis intervention. It’s not just de-escalation or risk assessment, though those matter too.

It’s the moment when someone who’s been drowning in their own thoughts suddenly has somewhere to put them down.

When the spiral of “I can’t do this anymore” meets a voice—or words on a screen—that says: Tell me more. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

It’s the shift that happens when isolation breaks. When shame loosens its grip just enough for someone to say the thing they’ve never said out loud. When a person who came to Lifeline convinced they were a burden discovers they’re worthy of care.

That’s what you make possible. Not just the infrastructure or the technology or the Crisis Support Centres. You make possible those moments when someone who felt utterly alone realises they’re not. When presence—calm, trained, unwavering—meets pain and says: You matter.

Volunteers like Geoff are there, shift after shift. Answering calls. Responding to texts. Being present in online chats. Because you believed this work matters.

And somewhere in Queensland today, someone will reach out. They’ll connect with a voice or see words appear on their screen—calm, trained, present. They won’t know about the months of preparation. They won’t know about the ongoing supervision and support. They won’t know about the supporters like you who made it all possible.

They’ll just know someone answered. Someone was there. Someone cared enough to listen. Because of you, someone always is.