The fine line between volunteering and paid work – Shelley Loader
A few weeks back, I attended the Citizens Advice Bureau Whanganui annual meeting to talk about Community House and what we are seeing across our community.
I spoke plainly about significant challenges: increasing complexity, cost-of-living pressures, housing and homelessness, mental health, isolation, digital exclusion, and the strain on community organisations.
Afterwards, I was asked what, given all of that, gave me hope. My answer was simple. Our community.
People exactly like those sitting in that room. People giving time, energy and expertise.
People being neighbourly, supporting local businesses, sharing resources or noticing somebody struggling and helping because they can.
Businesses offering sponsorship, donations or practical help.
I have written about collective hope before.
More than believing things will get better, it grows through shared purpose, mutual care and people acting together.
I see that in Whanganui, and Citizens Advice Bureau (CAB) volunteers are a prime example.
This made another part of the conversation that day particularly interesting.
While discussing workload, I was asked whether Community House uses volunteers. We do.
Our board members and handyman are volunteers. Many organisations based here also rely heavily on volunteers.
An office volunteer is something we have discussed many times. There is certainly enough work.
With Volunteer Whanganui here at Community House, people regularly come in looking to volunteer.
Hearing what motivates them to contribute is something I love about my job.
Like many small community teams, we balance operational work with being available to people.
Everyday interactions – the person walking through the door, phone calls, hallway conversations – help us understand our community.
Finding more capacity while keeping that connection matters.
But we can’t simply keep doing more. There has to be room for life beyond work.
So, the volunteer question was entirely reasonable.
I explained that somebody working regularly in our office would need set hours and training, deal with the public and handle confidential information. It felt like a role that should be paid.
And as the words came out, I suddenly realised who I was speaking to.
A room full of CAB volunteers. People committing to set hours, bringing training and experience, helping others navigate difficult or deeply personal situations.
People for whom privacy and confidentiality absolutely matter.
CAB Whanganui operates with 18 volunteers and one paid part-time staff member.
Its model of trained, supported volunteers demonstrates how skilled, responsible and valuable freely given work can be.
I hugely respect what it makes possible.
Almost every reason I had given applied equally to CAB volunteers.
Perhaps I had been looking for the distinction in the wrong place. Set hours aren’t it. Training isn’t it. Responsibility certainly isn’t it.
Volunteer work is real work, and the absence of a wage doesn’t make it worth less.
Experience brings expertise in navigating systems and understanding what helps.
We should question arrangements that pay for professional expertise while assuming lived expertise will be freely given.
Perhaps it comes back to values.
Freely choosing to give time, feeling valued and supported, and having generosity appreciated rather than assumed.
Volunteering offers connection, purpose, belonging and the chance to contribute skills to something that matters.
At its best, it is participation, people actively building their community.
That is central to community-led development.
Working with people, sharing influence and valuing their knowledge as they shape decisions affecting them, rather than simply finding willing hands.
And perhaps that is why the line is so difficult to draw. For volunteers and paid community staff alike, walking away doesn’t feel neutral when you can see what happens if you don’t keep giving.
But caring deeply shouldn’t mean giving without limits.
When people become exhausted, we need to look beyond whether they are good at setting boundaries.
Working alongside distress and hardship can make stepping back difficult.
Supporting those who care means looking at what they are carrying and the conditions they work in, as well as their well-being.
Our communities are incredibly good at bridging gaps.
That deserves celebration but shouldn’t hide systemic failures.
We celebrate resilience without always asking what people are being forced to be resilient against.
Too often, community organisations face growing need without adequate funding.
Austerity doesn’t remove need. It shifts the cost on to communities already stretched and can leave people needing more help.
Society’s everyday choices matter too.
How we treat others, what we expect from public services and the policies we support.
Collective wellbeing cannot be left to whoever keeps stepping up.
Caring includes taking responsibility for pressures we create, tolerate or leave others to carry.
There is a profound difference between something freely given and something quietly expected.
From the outside, they look remarkably similar: the same desk, the same roster, the same work.
Coming back to our own office, I keep asking myself: would we be creating an opportunity for somebody to contribute skills to something they value, or filling an operational need that should be properly funded?
Maybe even that is too simple. Both can be true.
The question is whether the opportunity is freely chosen and supported, or whether generosity has become an expectation.
People working long hours, raising children, caring for whānau or keeping their own heads above water may care just as much as somebody able to volunteer.
Volunteering should never be a measure of how much somebody cares, nor should a community’s willingness to give be taken for granted.
Organisations need adequate funding for paid roles, and people should be supported to freely give their time.
Underfunding does not entitle us to people’s unpaid time. We mustn’t let generosity become something we expect rather than value.
Before tying myself in knots over where volunteering ends and paid work begins, I had already answered the easiest question.
What gives me hope?
Our community.