Since being diagnosed at 12 years of age with a rare form of aggressive bone cancer, Molly has given her time to raise over $2 million for children’s charities, including $1 million for cancer research as co-founder of The Tie Dye Project. She is a strong public speaker, championing awareness and funding for sarcoma research and mental health resilience.
In December, Molly was named the 2025 NSW Volunteer of the Year. She continues to embrace opportunities to engage with audiences and with the media to drive cancer awareness.
At The Centre for Volunteering’s National Volunteer Week Forum, Molly spoke powerfully about the importance of volunteering:
Never underestimate the power of showing up. You might think what you are doing is small. You might think it’s just one hour, one event, one conversation, one act of kindness. But to someone else, it might be the thing that reminds them they are not alone. And sometimes, that reminder can change everything.
Read Molly’s full speech below.
Good morning everyone,
Firstly, I just want to say how genuinely grateful I am to be here today. It is a real privilege to be in a room full of people who understand volunteering, not just as a word or a week on the calendar, but as something that genuinely changes lives.
I think sometimes volunteering is spoken about as something extra. Something people do when they have time left over. Something kind and generous, but maybe not essential.
But I do not think volunteering is extra.
I think volunteers are often the people who hold communities together in the moments where people need it most. They are the people who notice when something is missing, who care enough to step in, and who remind others that they are not alone.
And that is why National Volunteer Week matters. It gives us a chance to stop and properly recognise the people who give so much of themselves to others, often quietly, consistently, and without ever expecting anything in return.
When I was named the 2025 NSW Volunteer of the Year, I was incredibly honoured. I still feel very grateful, and honestly, a little overwhelmed by it. Because when you receive an award like that, you know your name may be the one called out, but the story behind it belongs to so many people.
No one volunteers alone. No one creates change alone. And no one gets to stand in a room like this without a whole community of people who have supported them, believed in them, and shown up beside them.
So today, I carry this recognition with a lot of gratitude. Gratitude for Kids with Cancer Foundation, who nominated me and whose work sits so close to my heart. Gratitude for The Tie Dye Project community. Gratitude for the volunteers and finalists in this room.
And gratitude for every person who has shown me, in my own life, what it means to show up.
Because the truth is, my understanding of volunteering did not begin with me giving back.
It began with me needing people.
I grew up in Dubbo as a very sporty, very busy kid. I was always running around, playing netball, hockey, basketball, doing athletics, and saying yes to probably too many things. Sport was such a huge part of my life, not just because I loved competing, but because I loved being part of a team. I loved that feeling of belonging to something.
Like a lot of kids, I had a pretty clear idea of who I was. I was the sporty one. The busy one. The one who wanted to be involved in everything. My world was school, training, friends, games on the weekend, and all the normal things that feel so big when you are young.
And then, when I was 12, I was diagnosed with osteosarcoma, a rare and aggressive form of bone cancer.
Very quickly, the life I knew changed.
Instead of school, sport, training and weekends with friends, my world became hospitals, scans, chemotherapy, surgeries, appointments, and a whole lot of uncertainty. It is hard to explain what it feels like to have your childhood interrupted by cancer. One minute your body is the thing that lets you run, compete, play, and feel free. Then suddenly, your body becomes the thing everyone is worried about.
I had intense chemotherapy. I had major surgery on my leg, where most of my right leg bone was replaced with an internal prosthesis. Later, after complications and infection, I had to go through more surgery and more recovery. Then in 2021, I relapsed, and part of my lung was removed.
I do not say that for sympathy. I say it because it shaped the way I see the world.
Cancer changes the practical parts of life, but it also changes the emotional parts. It changes your family. It changes your confidence. It changes the way you see time, health, friendship, and community.
And when you are young, it can make you feel different at the exact age where all you really want is to feel the same.
One of the hardest parts for me was losing the life I thought I was going to have. I had always been sporty and active, and suddenly I had to accept that some things were going to look different. I had to grieve parts of my old life before I was ready. I had to learn how to live in a body that had been through so much, while still trying to be a normal young person.
And I think that is something people do not always understand about childhood and adolescent cancer. Survival is not just about finishing treatment. It is also about rebuilding afterwards. It is going back to school. It is trying to be with friends who cannot fully understand what has happened. It is learning how to feel confident again. It is trying to work out who you are now, after something has changed you so deeply.
Treatment became something my whole family had to move through together. Although I was the one physically going through it, cancer affected all of us. My parents, my sister Maddi, my whole family, everyone had to carry it in their own way. My parents had to be strong in moments no parent should ever have to face, and Maddi had to watch her little sister go through something that changed all of us.
Something I have brought with me today is my Beads of Courage.
For those who have not seen them before, Beads of Courage are beads that children receive during treatment. Each bead represents something they have been through. A needle. A scan. A surgery. A round of chemotherapy. A blood transfusion. A night in hospital. A moment where you had to be brave, even if you did not feel brave at all.
And when you look at them all together, they tell a story that words sometimes cannot.
They show the reality of treatment in a way that is hard to explain. Because when I say, “I had cancer,” that is one sentence. But these beads show what that sentence actually meant. They show the days, the procedures, the fear, the waiting, the pain, the courage, and the thousands of little moments that a child and their family have to get through.
But to me, these beads do not only represent what I went through. They also represent the people who helped me get through it: my family, my doctors and nurses, the organisations, the volunteers, and the community that wrapped around us when life felt impossible.
And I think that is why I care so much about volunteering.
Because I know what it feels like to be the person who needs people. I know what it feels like when your life is scary and uncertain, and someone shows up in whatever way they can.
Support does not always take away the hard thing. It does not make cancer fair. It does not make treatment easy. But it reminds you that you are not forgotten. It reminds you that you are still part of a community. And sometimes, that reminder gives you the strength to keep going.
That is where volunteering became real to me. Not as an idea, but as something I had felt.
I had been on the receiving end of kindness, and I learnt very quickly that kindness is not small. It can change the way someone survives the hardest chapter of their life.
And I think once you have been given that kind of support, it is very hard not to want to give it back.
For me, that became a huge part of my life. It became advocacy. It became fundraising. It became sharing my story, even when that was not always easy. It became trying to turn something incredibly painful into something that could help someone else.
Because I never wanted my story to just be a sad story. I wanted it to mean something. I wanted it to open conversations. I wanted it to raise awareness. I wanted it to help fund research. I wanted it to make other families and young people feel less alone. And I wanted it to honour the people who did not get to stand here and tell their own stories.
One of the first ways I tried to give that kindness back was through my very first fundraiser, Molly’s Mission.
Molly’s Mission began because Ronald McDonald House Westmead had been such an important part of my family’s story. When you live regionally and your treatment is hours away from home, having somewhere close to the hospital is not just convenient. It is everything.
It means your family can stay together. It means your parents can be close when you need them. It means that in the middle of treatment, when so much feels unfamiliar, there is somewhere that feels a little bit more like home.
For my family, Ronald McDonald House was part of how we got through. So when I started thinking about giving back, it made sense that my first fundraiser would be for them.
Through Molly’s Mission, my community helped raise over $190,000 for Ronald McDonald House Westmead.
And I think that was one of the first times I really understood what can happen when a community turns care into action.
It was not just about raising money, although that money mattered so much. It was about a whole community saying, “We see what this family has been through, and we want to help the next one.”
That fundraiser taught me something I have carried into everything I have done since.
You do not need to have all the answers to start making a difference. You just need to care enough to begin, and then invite other people to care with you.
That feeling became a big part of the work I continued to do. It shaped the way I saw volunteering, fundraising, advocacy and community. And it is also a big part of why The Tie Dye Project means so much to me.
The Tie Dye Project began with my beautiful friend Amy Parmenter, and what started as something full of colour and connection has grown into something much bigger than we could have imagined.
At its heart, The Tie Dye Project is about using colour, community and hope to raise awareness and funds for cancer research and support. But to me, it has always been more than tie dye.
It has been a way of making hard conversations a little easier to enter. A way of bringing people together around something that can feel really heavy. A way of saying that even in the middle of illness, grief and uncertainty, there can still be colour, joy, connection and hope.
Over the years, The Tie Dye Project has become a community of people choosing to show up. People have supported campaigns, attended events, shared stories, donated, volunteered their time, and believed in the mission.
And because of that community, we have been able to raise significant funds for cancer research and support, helping contribute to projects and organisations working to change outcomes for children and young people facing cancer.
That part matters deeply to me.
Because I know what research means when you are the person in the hospital bed. Research is not just something that happens in a lab far away from real life. Research is hope. Research is time. Research is options. Research is the reason a child diagnosed tomorrow may have a better chance than a child diagnosed yesterday.
And when you have lost friends to cancer, when you have sat with families who are grieving, when you know how brutal these diseases can be, you understand that funding research is not abstract. It is urgent. It is personal.
The Tie Dye Project has also shown me the incredible power of community volunteering. There are so many people who have given their time to this work. People have helped at events, supported campaigns, shared posts, connected us with partners, donated, told their stories, and believed in the mission.
And again, I do not think any of that is small.
Because movements do not happen because one or two people care. They happen because care becomes shared. They happen because people see a cause and decide that they want to be part of it.
That is the beautiful thing about volunteering. It turns “I care” into “we can do something.”
I have seen that in cancer research spaces. I have seen it in youth leadership spaces. I have seen it through Stand Tall, where I have had the privilege of speaking to thousands of young people about resilience, hope, and the importance of sharing your story. I have seen it through The Kids’ Cancer Project, the Cooper Rice-Brading Foundation, Ronald McDonald House, local community groups, schools, sporting clubs, and so many people who have given their time and heart to causes bigger than themselves.
I have also seen it through Kids with Cancer Foundation, who nominated me for this award. That nomination means so much to me because their work sits so close to my heart.
When a child is diagnosed with cancer, families are thrown into a world they did not choose and could never fully prepare for. There are emotional pressures, financial pressures, travel, treatment, siblings, work, school, and the daily reality of trying to hold everything together while your child is unwell.
Organisations like Kids with Cancer Foundation step into that space with practical support and care. And from lived experience, I can say that practical support is never just practical. It is deeply emotional.
It tells a family, “You are not forgotten.” It tells them, “There are people who care.” It tells them, “You do not have to carry every part of this alone.”
That is why I am so proud to be connected to organisations that understand support in a real way. Not as a nice idea, but as something families can actually feel.
And that is why volunteering matters so much.
Because volunteers are often the people who make that support possible.
They are the reason organisations can reach further, stories are shared, families are supported, and communities feel connected.
And I think that is important to remember today, especially in a room full of finalists and people who have given so much. Volunteering is not one-size-fits-all. It does not always look the same. It does not always have the same title.
Some people volunteer through charities. Some through schools. Some through hospitals, sporting clubs, emergency services, cultural groups, disability advocacy, mental health support, aged care, community events, or simply by being the person others can rely on.
Some people come to volunteering because of lived experience. Some because they have lost someone they love. Some because they saw a need and could not ignore it. Some because they have skills, time, energy or compassion they want to share.
And some people do not even call themselves volunteers. They just say, “I help out.”
But there is no “just” about that.
Because the small things are often the things people remember. The quiet things are often the things that make people feel safe. And the consistent things, the things people keep doing week after week, year after year, are often what build the strongest communities.
I grew up in Dubbo, and one thing I have always loved about regional communities is that people show up. Sometimes they know your whole life story before you have even introduced yourself properly, which can be a little bit much sometimes. But they show up.
When something happens, people know. And when people know, they act. They do not always wait for a perfect plan. They do not wait until they have all the answers. They just start with what they have.
And I think that spirit exists all across Australia. In big cities and small towns. In formal organisations and informal networks. In places where people are hurting, hoping, rebuilding, or simply needing someone to care.
That is why I believe volunteers are the backbone of Australia. Not because it sounds nice, but because when you look closely at almost any strong community, you will find volunteers holding it together.
Not always loudly. Not always publicly. But consistently. And that consistency is powerful.
It is easy to be inspired for one day. It is much harder to keep showing up. To keep giving. To keep caring. To keep believing that your contribution matters, even when the problems feel huge.
And I have had to learn that too.
Because advocacy and volunteering can be beautiful, but it can also be tiring. When you care deeply about something, especially something connected to your own story, it is hard to switch it off.
There is always more to do. More families to support. More awareness to raise. More research to fund. More conversations to have. More young people who need to feel seen.
Sometimes the need can feel bigger than you.
But what I have learnt is that volunteering was never meant to be carried by one person.
That is the whole point of community.
We each carry a piece. And when enough people carry their piece, something extraordinary happens.
A small idea becomes a movement. A conversation becomes awareness. A donation becomes research. A few hours of someone’s time becomes relief for a family. One person showing up can give someone else the strength to keep going.
That is the power of volunteering.
It is not always glamorous. It is not always easy. And it definitely does not always fit neatly into a calendar. But it matters because people matter.
And I think that is the heart of why so many people in this room do what they do. Not for recognition. Not for applause. Not because it is convenient. But because somewhere along the way, you saw a need, you saw a person, you saw a community, and you decided that doing nothing was not an option.
Today, as we celebrate National Volunteer Week, I hope every finalist and every volunteer in this room really takes a moment to feel proud.
Because I know that for many volunteers, that does not always come naturally. We are often very good at brushing things off. Saying, “Oh, it was nothing.”
But it was not nothing.
The hours were not nothing. The emotional energy was not nothing. The effort was not nothing. The care was not nothing.
It was everything to someone.
You may never fully know the impact you have had. You may never meet every person who was helped because of your work. You may never hear every story. But that does not mean the impact is not there.
Somewhere, there is a child who felt less scared because of support that volunteers helped make possible. Somewhere, there is a parent who felt less alone. Somewhere, there is a young person who felt believed in. Somewhere, there is a family who felt held by their community. Somewhere, there is a person who kept going because someone showed up at the right time.
That is impact.
And that is why this week matters.
Because volunteers deserve to be celebrated, not just with awards, although awards are beautiful and deeply appreciated, but with real recognition of the role volunteers play in shaping the kind of country we want to live in.
A country where people do not fall through the cracks unnoticed. A country where young people are encouraged to care. A country where lived experience is valued. A country where community is not just a word, but something we practise.
A country where we understand that hope is not passive. Hope is something we build.
And often, volunteers are the builders.
They build hope quietly. They build it in families that are tired. They build it in communities that are grieving. They build it in young people who need to know their story matters. They build it through organisations, events, conversations, fundraising, mentoring, listening, advocating, and simply showing up again and again.
So if I could leave you with anything today, it would be this: please never underestimate the power of showing up.
You might think what you are doing is small. You might think it is just one hour, one event, one conversation, one act of kindness. But to someone else, it might be the thing that reminds them they are not alone.
And sometimes, that reminder can change everything.
To every volunteer in this room, thank you. Thank you for the work you do when people are watching, and especially for the work you do when they are not. Thank you for the time you give, the care you show, and the communities you continue to strengthen.
To Kids with Cancer Foundation, thank you for nominating me, for believing in me, and for the work you continue to do for families facing childhood cancer.
To everyone who has been part of The Tie Dye Project, Molly’s Mission, Ronald McDonald House, and every organisation, community and person who has supported my journey in any way, thank you.
I am so grateful to have been recognised as the 2025 NSW Volunteer of the Year. But more than anything, I am grateful to be part of a community of people who believe in showing up.
Because if my life has taught me anything, it is that we do not get through hard things alone.
We get through them because people care. We get through them because people act. We get through them because people show up.
And that is the heart of volunteering.
Thank you for listening to me, my name is Molly Croft. I am 19 years old and I am very proud to say that I am still standing.
Molly with her parents Angela and John Croft at NSW Parliament House.