“You can hear the smiles.” George’s story of volunteering and connection

“Just generally speaking, when you hear the people… you hear them laughing together—you can hear the smiles—and knowing that I’m contributing.”

George came to RNIB because his vision was deteriorating due to a hereditary retinal condition. “Your sight starts to fail from the middle out,” he explains. He’d known about it since his mid‑20s, but it was later—when everyday tasks became harder—that he started actively looking for support and information: “I was looking for help. So I wanted to know what RNIB could and couldn’t do.”

Volunteering didn’t arrive as a sudden calling—it arrived as a practical next step. George spotted a request for telephone facilitators and immediately recognised something familiar.

“For my job I was a project manager so much of my time was spent managing conference calls,” he says. “So I figured—telephone facilitator—I can do that.”

Those skills transferred—but the heart of the role surprised him. This wasn’t chairing a business meeting with an agenda and outcomes. It was something gentler, and in many ways, harder: creating space for others to speak.

George describes the best sessions as the ones where the group carries itself—and the facilitator knows when to step back.

“I’ve learned to keep quiet a bit more often,” he admits. “There are times when I think, ‘oh, I could contribute to that’—and I think, ‘no… it’s not my call. They’re doing fine without me.’”

Ask George about highlights and he doesn’t point to awards or big milestones. He talks about confidence growing in real time.

One participant was “really nervous” about going to a social event, until the group encouraged her to try. Later, she returned with an update: she was going regularly and enjoying it. “I consider that… it’s a little thing,” George says, “but… when people take learning from other people.”

The calls are also full of practical, everyday problem-solving: from comparing experiences of stairlifts, to sharing the “little things” that make life easier. George lists tips he’s picked up—using tape to tell identical containers apart, or learning there’s a tactile rotating cone under some pedestrian crossing buttons. “I used to walk half a mile further down to cross the road,” he says.

But the impact can also be profound. George recalls one woman on the calls who told the group plainly: “These calls are like my lifeline.”

For someone who is isolated, or who feels misunderstood, having a regular space where people “just get it” matters. “Lots of them say, ‘I’ll share things on this call’ they can’t discuss with other people because other people just don’t understand,” he explains.

It’s this mix of laughter, honesty, and shared understanding that keeps George coming back—and makes the time feel worthwhile.

George doesn’t hesitate when asked what he’d say to someone thinking about volunteering: “Yes—do it. It can be so rewarding.”

For him, it’s been rewarding in two directions: learning how to navigate his own sight loss journey, and helping create a place where others can connect, swap tips, and feel less alone.

Because sometimes, volunteering starts with simply being there—listening closely—and making room for someone else’s voice.