Cambodia ~ A Journey of Giving

Six years ago, I boarded a plane to Phnom Penh with a suitcase full of hairdressing tools and a quiet hope to make a difference.

It was August 2019. I’d signed up for a volunteer program that sent hairdressers overseas to teach practical skills to women and girls in vulnerable communities. I didn’t know much about what to expect only that we’d be split into groups and paired with local organisations in need of support. It sounded simple on paper: five days of teaching, skill-sharing, giving back.

At the time, I was seeking something I couldn’t quite name. Maybe purpose, maybe perspective ? I’d travelled before for work & leisure but this trip felt different. I wasn’t going to explore, I was going to contribute. I wanted to be useful & offer something of myself that might last longer than the time I was there.

We arrived in Phnom Penh a day early, before the official program began. That first afternoon, a group of us visited a local orphanage to offer haircuts to the children there. We walked through the streets in the heat, carrying our tools, unsure of what we’d find. When we arrived, dozens of kids greeted us with wide eyes and open hearts. They sat so patiently while we braided their hair, trimmed fringes, and gently worked through knots. It was a soft introduction, sweet, grounding, and full of joy. In that moment, I felt ready. Like maybe this was exactly where I was meant to be.

But the next day, everything shifted.

We were split into our assigned groups, and I was paired with another volunteer and sent by tuk tuk to a secret location on the outskirts of the city. Because of the nature of the organisation we were working with, we couldn’t be dropped off directly. Instead, we were met by someone from inside the program and escorted, on foot, the final few blocks. That’s when it really sank in, this wasn’t just a volunteer placement. It was something much deeper & much heavier.

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As you can understand, photos of the students, the organisation & our locations were prohibited due to safety of the rescued girls

The organisation I was assigned to was called Destiny Rescue. They work with young girls who have been rescued from sex trafficking and exploitation. Girls who have experienced more pain than I could ever comprehend. The house we arrived at was a safe space, a transition home, a place for these girls to heal and learn and begin again. I didn’t fully understand the kind of space I was walking into until I stepped through the gates.

It was quiet, a little hidden courtyard surrounded by simple walls, and in it, a group of girls. Most between ten and fifteen years old, some holding babies tight in their arms. Others sat close together, eyes down, unsure of us. I felt my throat tighten. All I could think about was what they had already been through in their short lives, what they were carrying, and how impossibly brave they were just to be standing there. I wanted to cry. And at the same time, I felt incredibly privileged to be there, to be trusted, even in a small way, with part of their healing.

I’d come to teach them hairdressing, but that moment was the first time I realised just how much bigger this was. This wasn’t just about skills. It was about rebuilding lives, building confidence & a change to change their path.

And the truth is, I didn’t feel prepared. The first session hit me hard.

Our first day at a local orphanage, giving the beautiful children trims & braids

It became clear almost immediately just how difficult this was going to be. The language barrier was massive, most of the girls didn’t speak English, and of course, many were shy and understandably guarded. A few had been in the program long enough to learn some basics from previous volunteers, but for most, it was the first time they’d even held a comb.

I’d been cutting hair for years, but I’d never taught it, especially not like this. Not with no shared language, with just gestures and demonstrations. And definitely not to a group of thirty-five girls, with only two of us trying to reach them all. It felt chaotic, overwhelming, and honestly... defeating.

By day two or three, I started to doubt myself. I felt frustrated. Not with them, but with the limitations of what I could offer. Five days wasn’t nearly enough time. The haircuts were far from good. The one-on-one time they really needed just wasn’t possible. I started to ask myself, Am I even helping? Is this making any difference at all?

It wasn’t until midway through the week that something in me shifted. I let go of the idea that we were there to produce perfect haircuts or create salon-ready stylists. That was never the point. Skills take time, practice & patience. And five days was never going to be enough for that.

Instead, I started focusing on the small things. Were they beginning to understand how to hold the scissors? Could they section the hair with some structure? Were they starting to feel less afraid of getting it wrong? More than anything, I wanted to help build their confidence. To show them that they were capable of learning something new. That they had value & they were seen.

I realised that my own frustration wasn’t helping, if anything it only created more pressure & tension. And that’s the last thing these girls needed. What they needed was encouragement, gentleness & understanding.

Once I let go of doing it “right,” everything felt lighter. I started to enjoy it more. I could see them open up a little, smile more often. The last couple of days were far from perfect, but they progressed & it felt far more meaningful. We laughed, we connected, and we tried. That, I realised, was more than enough.

Graduation Kits for all the students ~ their own scissors, comb & clips & a case to keep them in.

Looking back, I went to Cambodia thinking I would teach those girls something. And maybe, in a small way, I did. But what they gave me in return was so much more.

They taught me a kind of patience I didn’t know I had. They reminded me that you can show up without being perfect. That bravery looks like trying again, even when it’s hard. That connection doesn’t always need words. That even in the aftermath of deep pain, there can still be joy, softness, and hope. They showed me what resilience really looks like. What community looks like. Despite everything they’d been through, these girls looked after each other with such tenderness. There was laughter, playfulness & curiosity. I mean they were just kids, & they had a light in them I’ll never forget.

I came home changed, still emotional & very overwhelmed… But changed.

For a long time, I struggled to talk about the trip other then surface level. I didn’t know how to explain the depth of what I’d seen without feeling like I was minimising it, or that I didn’t enjoy it, or turning it into a story that made me the centre. And yet, it shaped me & continues to do so. When life feels heavy or overwhelming, I often find myself reflecting on that week. It brings me back to what matters. To how much we take for granted & much power there is in simply showing up with compassion.

Even now, six years later, I think about that trip often. It changed how I view purpose, how I approach service & how I understand privilege. Not just in the big, obvious ways, but in the quiet freedoms we forget we have. The freedom to choose a career, to rest when we’re tired & to say no.

That week in Cambodia gave me a deeper sense of what it means to live with intention. To slow down, give generously & to find meaning in the small, imperfect ways we show up for others. I often think how I’d love to go back and do another trip. Partly to give more, but also because I know now how to hold space better. I think I’d be a better version of myself there, a better leader, a little softer, a little more present, a little less focused on outcomes, and more focused on presence.

And maybe that’s what this was really all about. Not changing lives overnight, but creating space to learn, grow & feel seen…even just for a moment. If I gave them even a fraction of the light they gave me, then I know it was enough.

Now, as a mother, especially a mother of daughters, the weight of that trip feels even heavier. It’s hard not to imagine what if. What if my girls ever experienced what those girls had been through? What if their innocence was taken, their choices stripped away?

It’s terrifying. But maybe that’s also why this story matters so much. Because we can’t look away from what’s hard. Because every act of care, every piece of education, every small effort to lift someone else, it all matters.

And while I’ll never know the full impact of that week in Cambodia, I know this: it changed me. It softened me. It clarified what I want my life to be about. Not perfection, but purpose. Not waiting to have it all figured out, just showing up, and doing what I can.

If you’ve ever thought about giving back in any way, I encourage you to take that step. The gifts you receive in return will far outweigh what you give. It’s a journey of growth, connection, and meaning that stays with you long after you return.

With love,
Candice x
Founder, Posie Club