Light in the face of darkness: The path to becoming a Samaritan

Source: The Samaritans

Listening beside John
Last night, I sat listening to calls beside a man named John. He has been a listening volunteer at the Samaritans for 41 years. In that time, he’s likely supported more than 10,000 people in their moment of need, often when they were feeling suicidal. It’s a privilege to have John as my mentor.

John told me he volunteers because he enjoys it, likes talking to people, and gets a good feeling from helping. “There’s no altruism in it,” he said with a smile.

I’d often thought about applying for the Samaritans but never made the leap. Then last year, one of the most precious people in my life died by suicide. It felt even more brutal because he was such a beautiful person, giving so much of himself to others, including me. He left behind his wife and three children. I will call him Daniel.

Beginnings
Daniel and I met at university. I was a fresher, he was a finalist. We didn’t spend much time together in the chaos of student life, but when we did, it always felt significant.

He was always smiling. Kind, wise, sincere. With a great sense of humour and a gift for self-deprecation, he had a way of lighting up any room.

After he left university in 2004, we kept in touch only occasionally - a message, a call, an exchange on social media. Even so, our connection always felt important.

At the beginning of 2017, my life collapsed. I won’t go into detail, but I was in a profoundly low place, meticulously planning to end my life. I’ve never shared this publicly, and I don’t seek any response to it. I only share it to show the miracle of what Daniel did, and the importance of the Samaritans.

No one knew how much pain I was in. I hid it from my mum, my brother, my closest friends. Pride can be a powerful mask. Then, out of the blue, Daniel called me.

He said he’d been following the work of our charity and wanted to tell me how beautiful and essential it was. His kindness and generosity poured through the phone. It’s hard to put into words how significant that moment was.

Over the next few months, we met several times. I never told Daniel what was happening. I didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

About a year later, I told him how his call had been pivotal in pulling me back from the brink. He smiled, put his hand on my shoulder, and told me he was glad, and that he was always there if I needed him. That was Daniel. Humble was Daniel.

A few years later, Daniel ended his life.

How can we explain why someone who poured so much love into others would feel they couldn’t go on?

How can we explain why anyone reaches that point, or why some step back from it?

I don’t have the answer. Life is often a great mystery. But I do know this: when someone is hurting, another human being showing them love may be the most beautiful gift we can give.

First calls
Last night, I heard John take four calls. Each was different, but all carried the weight of pain.

A 33-year-old woman living with an alcoholic father who had abused her all her life, and from whom she couldn’t escape. A young man lost in emotional turmoil and broken relationships. A 20-year-old woman carrying shame for stealing a £3.50 meal from her employer, and losing her job. A lonely woman who “wants God to take her” because she can no longer bear the pain of ME.

In every call, John’s empathy, non-judgment, and quiet warmth became a pillar of love, kindness, an, I believe, hope.

Self-determination
One of the most striking principles in the Samaritans’ training is their belief in self-determination.

People have the right to make their own choices. Our role is not to advise, persuade, or judge, but to listen, to empathise, to care.

Sometimes it’s unbearable to think of Daniel, and so many others, finding no other path than ending their life. It’s hard to hear such raw pain in those calls.

But I’ve come to believe the way we build a better world isn’t by erasing all suffering, it’s by choosing to be a light in the face of darkness.

And it’s beautiful to know that 22,000 Samaritan volunteers hope to be that light. It’s a privilege to now be one of them.

Pressing on
Next week, I’ll take my first calls. I don’t know how good I’ll be, but it won’t be for lack of training or support. In all my years of volunteering, I’ve never been part of a more exceptional organisation.

I hope I can do for someone what Daniel did for me. We lost him from this world, but his presence and light shine on. He was the definition of a good Samaritan. Not a day passes that I don’t think of the beautiful traces he left behind.

Thank you for reading, take care, and good luck with everything you’re focused on.

Benjamin

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