Dear Readers,
This is a very sad turn of events, and my spirit feels a bit broken.
As many of you know, I’ve been training to become a death doula through the Going With Grace program—thankfully on a scholarship, as I couldn’t afford the tuition. As part of the program, we’re strongly encouraged to volunteer at a hospice in order to gain meaningful insight into the course material and to commune with those in the final stages of life.
On May 14th, I received word from the hospice in Amsterdam where I had enrolled to volunteer. They informed me that they had received approximately five emails attacking my character and suggesting my intentions were somehow malicious. A week later, I had a meeting with the directors, who were fully open to hearing my perspective. While they acknowledged I had done nothing wrong, I took accountability for not making them fully aware that I planned to publicly journal my experience working with their incredible team. They expressed sincere sympathy for the vitriol I was experiencing and were visibly shocked by the extent to which strangers were going to undermine the work I was doing. Still, I was informed that while they decided on next steps, my service would need to be paused.
Unfortunately, I was officially notified earlier this week that the board of the hospice had decided not to continue my role as a volunteer.
While I completely respect their decision, I’ve been left with a sense of emptiness, shame, and self-loathing that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I’ve felt like disappearing. I’ve felt like a failure. This experience has triggered a deep depression, the depths of which I am still navigating—and this may be the closest I’ve come in recent weeks to truly feeling suicidal. But I’m lucky to have the support system that I do and will be seeing my psychologist in a few days.
To those who sent the emails that triggered this chain of events—now what?
I understand that you may feel you’re on some kind of righteous mission to “uncover” a “mastermind”. But behind these words is a 28-year-old immigrant just trying to do the best he can. And yes, sometimes he brings his silly iPhone camera along while doing so. I’m an artist. Maybe not a very good one. But all I do on my page is express myself and my perspective through a visual medium. And while it may often be reduced to “content” for an algorithm — its more than that to me.
I understand if you find me insufferably pretentious. I understand if you’ve reduced me to a caricature in black designer clothes, someone you believe lacks integrity or originality. Maybe you even hate that I come from money. But to set into motion a campaign to prevent me from helping make chicken broth for elderly people with terminal cancer or wash aluminium dishes? For what? What does that accomplish?
Still, let me be clear: Though my time at the hospice was cut short, I found great fulfillment in every hour I was there. Beyond what I learned, it felt so good—so grounding—to be categorically useful. To bring comfort, and perhaps even a bit of joy, to people in their final stage of life. Especially while working in the kitchen.
There was something deeply sacred in the simple act of washing the bowl of a person I wasn’t sure would be alive to use it again the next day. And even more beautiful in discovering they still were. I loved the camaraderie with fellow volunteers—and the fact that there was another Ghanaian volunteer I could speak Twi with, which felt like a tiny slice of home. I’ll genuinely cherish the memories, the quiet moments, and the warm, earnest smiles that greeted me at the door.
All I can do now is keep showing up—in ways that are meaningful, and comforting. Perhaps the first thing I’ll do after finishing this letter is cuddle my best friend’s dog, Yuzu. Because, honestly, I need it now more than ever.
With love,
Joseph
