Hopeline, the 24/7 suicide prevention and emotional crisis hotline, has been running since 2012, but had never seen a deluge of calls like it did during the pandemic.
Milagros Rollinas, Hopeline’s program head, told Inquirer: “Nag-peak kami talaga. There was a 300-percent increase in calls. Ang dami kasing nagpa-panic, natatakot. People really needed someone to talk to.”
The usual eight to 10 calls that a Hopeline responder would answer during a shift multiplied, with people calling for all sorts of reasons: they lost their jobs, they were having difficulty adjusting to blended learning, they were struggling with isolation.
High-risk calls
Hopeline is the flagship program of the nonprofit organization NGF Mindstrong, formerly the Natasha Goulbourn Foundation, which Jeannie Goulbourn put up after she lost her beloved daughter Natasha to suicide in 2002. The fashion designer has since devoted her life to saving others similarly struggling with their mental health. Hopeline is a big part of that.
Hopeline responders go through rigorous training before they are allowed to answer calls. They learn about mental health, counseling, crisis response, crisis intervention, depression and suicide. They also study counseling techniques, go through simulation activities, and answer mock calls before spending weeks seated beside senior responders who will then coach them through the process.
These steps are essential especially because in high-risk calls, the way one handles the caller can mean the difference between life and death.
Hopeline’s responders are a mix of social workers, psychologists, psychiatric nurses and teachers. Each responder’s shift typically lasts for eight hours but can extend up to 12 hours when there are a lot of calls. Sometimes, a responder would get three to four high-risk calls in a day. The hotline can get over 800 calls for help in one week from people of all ages—from kids as young as 10, to seniors who are 95. The service is completely free.
There are calls from children suffering because their parents won’t stop fighting; from battered wives who can’t get away from their husbands; from lonely old people who feel their families have abandoned them.
Being a Hopeline responder is exhausting work. “It’s very tiring psychologically,” said Rollinas, adding that some calls can feel like a battle. “You have to be alert. You have to be three, five steps ahead.”
More than a job
But it’s more than just a job, it’s a mission. Rollinas added. “It’s really fulfilling, knowing that you’re helping other people. People tell you, ‘Thank you for saving my life, thank you for giving me another chance.’”
You’d think a foundation doing such important work would have an abundance of donors, but Goulbourn said getting funds could be a struggle. Funds are crucial to keep Hopeline going. Aside from operational costs, purchasing equipment, and hiring more responders, given the increase in the number of calls, the funds are also being used for the care of Hopeline responders. They go through debriefing sessions and continue training to be equipped to handle difficult calls.
To raise much-needed funds, NGF Mindstrong has become more creative, holding virtual events during the pandemic, including an online fundraising concert. It has also held webinars dedicated to teachers and to overseas Filipino workers.
Last year, the hotline partnered with fans of the K-pop group BTS in the country to spread mental health awareness. It launched the 10 Piso Mula Sa Puso Campaign as well, encouraging people to donate even just P10 to the foundation through GCash. “Your 10 pesos can save a life,” Rollinas said.
Businesses that want to donate are welcome, too, Goulbourn said. “We hope companies will see the value of Hopeline. It is important that we break the walls of stigma and build bridges of hope and compassion in our society.” INQ
