Finding my Place in Orange

This June marks 20 years in SES, and over 20 years as a JP. Somewhere along the way, volunteering stopped being something I did and became part of who I am.

It wasn’t always the plan.

The JP role started because we needed it at work. Someone had to witness documents, so I put my hand up. It stuck. Now I spend a few hours each week helping people in the community, witnessing signatures, explaining processes, just being there. It gets me out, keeps me connected. I’ve never been someone who can sit still and do nothing.

SES came from a more personal space. I used to live in Townsville and had seen what cyclones can do to communities. I saw the volunteers and thought, I want to do that one day. But at the time, netball was my world, four nights a week, weekends, coaching, umpiring, playing. It filled everything.

It wasn’t until my knees gave up and the doctor said, you need to stop, that I realised I needed something else. I thought that this is my chance to join SES and give back to the community. And honestly, it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

When I first joined, it wasn’t easy. It was pretty “old school”, a bit clique-y, and mostly men. As a woman, you had to fight to belong. I remember trying to decide which group to join, as I lived between two depots. In the end, I chose the group that would become my home for nearly 20 years, because I saw another girl there struggling and thought, I want to go there and support her.

For a while, I felt like an outsider, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I was going to prove I could be part of the team. Once I got some courses under my belt and a newer, more relaxed group leader came in, things started to shift. Over time, I found a place where I was respected and felt that sense of belonging.

I didn’t have any practical skills when I started, but I remember thinking, I’m going to learn it. And I did. I developed skills in chainsaw, working at heights, and search, and over time I built confidence I didn’t know I had. Eventually, I became a trainer.

I went from someone who was terrified of speaking in front of people to standing up and training others.

Now I’m the one helping new recruits find their feet. That’s one of the things I value most, seeing someone walk in unsure, just like I was, and then watching them grow.

The Jobs That Stay with You

You see a lot over 20 years. Storms, floods, searches, deployments. Most jobs blend into each other, but some stay with you.

One of those was a high-profile missing person search.

It was the first time I’d been made a team leader. There was no real build-up or training. I turned up ready to help, and before I knew it, I’d been appointed team leader, thrown straight into it.

We were working near a dam. Years of rain had left everything covered in thick silt. We were lying on our stomachs, shoulder to shoulder, moving slowly through it with our hands and small tools. It was quiet. Focused. Everyone concentrating on the ground in front of them.

Then one of my team called me over.

What they found turned out to be the first forearm bone of a missing boy.

It was one of those moments where your brain is trying to catch up with what your gut already knows. At first, you think, it’s nothing. But in my heart, I knew.

I called the police officer over behind me. The moment he saw it and asked the team to step back, I knew it was significant.

I pulled my team back and gave them a break while police did what they needed to do. You could feel the mood shift immediately, the seriousness of it.

It turned out to be the first bone of many.

Later that day, the Commissioner came. As he climbed out of the pit, he reached out to shake my hand. There I was, covered in dirt, shaking hands with the Commissioner.

The emotions that day were complex. On one hand, I felt proud, as a first-time team leader, your team finding something is what you’re there for. But as time passed, and the reality sank in, it became less about the task and more about the people.

Your mind goes straight to the family.

Two of my team had young kids, and once they realised what we’d found, it hit them hard. Back then, we didn’t talk about things the way we do now. You just got on with it.

I spoke to the Field Commander and raised my concerns, trusting there’d be follow-up support.

Looking back, I’d handle that differently now. I’d talk more. Encourage them to talk more.

At the time, everyone just went home and dealt with it alone.

Cyclone Yasi - The Reality of It

Cyclone Yasi is another one that’s stayed with me.

We were deployed out of Cairns, working around Tully each day. The damage was significant, trees down everywhere, roofs torn apart, debris across the streets. It was hot, humid, heavy. Everything felt harder in that humidity.

I worked across both chainsaw and heights teams, depending on what was needed. You just go where you’re useful.

What stood out most wasn’t just the damage; it was the people.

In some streets, everyone was out helping each other. Clearing debris, checking on neighbours, doing what they could. You could feel that sense of community.

Then you’d turn into another street, and it was completely different.

People sitting in deck chairs, waiting, for SES, for the army, for someone else to fix it.

That contrast stayed with me.

Then there were the moments that made it personal.

We came across a young mum with a newborn baby. She’d just been sent home from hospital, and her house was badly damaged, roof partly gone, no power, no water. One room was slightly drier, but even that had water coming through the ceiling.

She was trying to care for a newborn in that environment.

That’s when it hits you. This isn’t just about tarping a roof. This is someone’s life.

We did what we could, gave her water for formula and washing the baby, but it didn’t feel like enough. It was upsetting. A new mum and baby shouldn’t be living like that.

So, we got family services involved, and they helped move them into safer accommodation.

It was a good outcome.

It reinforced that what we do goes beyond tools and tasks. Sometimes we’re stepping into people’s lives at their most vulnerable.

The Bits You Carry

Over the years, there are moments that stay, jobs where people are found deceased, or where you’re dealing with people at their worst.

Sometimes people are just relieved to see you.

Other times, they’re angry. You become the first person they can direct everything toward: grief, frustration, fear.

You learn to stay calm, absorb it, and keep going.

But you still carry parts of it.

And it’s not always the big jobs. Sometimes it’s the small things: a look, a moment, something you couldn’t fix.

Then there’s the organisational side. Sometimes volunteers are dismissed by paid roles, and that can weigh on you too.

Most of the time, I stand up for myself and the team. But there have been times I’ve driven home and cried the whole way.

You don’t realise it at the time, but it adds up.

I’ve always seen myself as strong and independent. But being strong doesn’t mean you’re unaffected. It just means you keep going.

The Orange Family

That’s where SES comes in.

We call it the “orange family”, and it really is that. There’s a shared understanding you don’t always get outside it. You can talk to someone who’s been through it, and they just get it.

At work, people don’t always understand. In SES, they do.

And that connection is what keeps you coming back.

Moving Forward

These days, things are shifting a bit.

I’ve spent years doing the physical side: the mud, debris, rain, long deployments. I’ll still do it, but I’m moving more into planning and operations.

It feels like the right next step.

You pass on what you’ve learned, support the bigger picture, and make space for newer members to step into frontline roles.

I don’t know exactly how many years I’ve got left, maybe five, maybe ten. As long as I can do the job safely and properly, I’ll keep going.

Because at the end of the day, it comes back to the same thing: Helping people. Being part of something bigger. And knowing that when things go wrong, you’re one of the people who shows up.

Well Deserved Recognition

Jenny was awarded the Emergency Services Medal (ESM) as part of the 2026 Australia Day Awards in recognition of her contribution to the community through SES.