We’re looking forward to introducing you to Shannon Parkhurst . Check out our conversation below.
Hi Shannon , thank you for taking the time to reflect back on your journey with us. I think our readers are in for a real treat. There is so much we can all learn from each other and so thank you again for opening up with us. Let’s get into it: What are you chasing, and what would happen if you stopped?
am chasing the feeling of knowing that even one person feels less alone because of something I helped build. The Lemon Aide Project didn’t start as an organization. It started as a response to pain and to watching people fall through the cracks. I am chasing the belief that communities can still show up for one another in real, tangible ways.
If I stopped, the work would not just pause. People who reach out in moments of crisis, hunger, or grief might not have someone to answer that message. A mother might not get Narcan in time. A teenager might not feel safe enough to ask for help. A family might go through the holidays without a meal. The systems in place are not enough on their own, and I know that because I hear from the people who are living that reality every day.
What I’m chasing is not recognition or accomplishment. It’s impact, trust, and connection. Stopping isn’t really an option, because this isn’t something I do, it’s something I believe in at the core of who I am. And I know the work matters because I’ve seen the way it changes lives, one person and one moment at a time.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Shannon Parkhurst and I am the Co-Founder of The Lemon Aide Project, a grassroots nonprofit focused on disaster relief, community resilience, and harm reduction. Our organization began after the 2017 California wildfires when we saw firsthand how many families were left to navigate crisis alone. What started as neighbors helping neighbors has grown into a statewide support network that shows up during the moments when people need community the most.
One of our most impactful efforts is our Narcan Host Box Program, which installs handcrafted, public access boxes stocked with free Narcan and fentanyl test strips across California. The goal is simple. Make lifesaving resources easy to reach, judgment free, and always available. Each box represents care, compassion, and the belief that everyone deserves to live long enough to have a second chance.
What makes our work special is the heart behind it. We do not wait for perfect systems, funding, or conditions. We move when the need is there. We listen to real people, real stories, and real struggles. We respond in real time. Our mission is about dignity, safety, community, and the reminder that when people come together, we are stronger than any crisis we face.
Amazing, so let’s take a moment to go back in time. What breaks the bonds between people—and what restores them?
I think what breaks the bonds between people most often is hurt that never had the chance to be spoken out loud. When people don’t feel seen, heard, or understood, they start to pull away. We all carry experiences that shape how we protect ourselves, and sometimes those protections look like distance, silence, or judgment. A lot of broken connection comes from fear, fear of being rejected, fear of being too much, fear of needing help.
What restores those bonds is presence. Real, patient, non performative presence. When someone feels safe enough to tell the truth of what they’ve been through, and they are met with compassion instead of criticism, something opens back up. Trust comes back slowly, relationship by relationship.
In my work, I have seen people who believed they were alone find their way back through community. A warm meal delivered when someone is struggling, Narcan offered without judgment, a conversation where someone is listened to instead of talked over, these are the things that rebuild connection. The bond is restored when we remember that every one of us is human, and every one of us deserves to be cared for, especially in our hardest moments.
Was there ever a time you almost gave up?
Yes. There was a point where the weight of the need around me felt bigger than anything I could hold. We were getting messages every day from people who were hungry, unhoused, grieving, or afraid. I remember sitting with my phone in my hand, reading a message from a parent who lost their child to overdose. I felt completely overwhelmed. I questioned if what I was doing mattered. I wondered if I was actually making a difference or just watching the world fall apart one story at a time.
For a moment, I thought about stepping back. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared so much that it hurt. The grief in this work is real. The emotional labor is real. The exhaustion is real.
What kept me going was remembering that if I gave up, someone else might not get help in time. Someone might not have a Thanksgiving meal. Someone might not find Narcan when they needed it. Someone might feel like there was truly no one left who would show up for them.
So I took a breath. I leaned on my team. I allowed myself to rest, but not to quit. And when I stood back up, I did it with the understanding that resilience is not about being strong all the time. It’s about refusing to let the hardest moments define the story.
I keep going because people are worth it. Every life is worth it.
Alright, so if you are open to it, let’s explore some philosophical questions that touch on your values and worldview. Whom do you admire for their character, not their power?
I admire people who lead quietly, without needing recognition or authority to validate their impact. One person who comes to mind is our Narcan Host Box builder, Joe. He shows up before the cameras, before the headlines, before the applause. He builds every box by hand, with care, with intention, and with the belief that each one might save a life he will never personally know.
What I admire is not power, but consistency. A person’s character is revealed in the moments no one sees. It’s in how they treat others when there is nothing to gain. It’s in the compassion they choose when they could choose convenience. It’s in the willingness to keep going simply because they know it matters.
Joe is someone who does the work without asking to be thanked. He shows me that real change is built piece by piece, overtime, by ordinary people who refuse to look away from suffering. That is the kind of character I admire: steady, humble, and driven by love rather than reward.
Okay, so let’s keep going with one more question that means a lot to us: If immortality were real, what would you build?
If immortality were real, I wouldn’t spend it trying to build something grand. I would spend it building something that lasts because of the way it cares for people. I would build a network of community support centers in every town, places where anyone could walk in without shame and say, “I need help,” and be met with care instead of judgment.
These spaces would feed people, equip them, hold them through crisis, and remind them they still belong. They would be centers for harm reduction, healing, disaster support, and community meals. They’d run on dignity. On trust. On humanity.
Immortality, to me, would simply mean more time to love people better.
Because the legacy I want to leave is not my name. It is the feeling someone gets when they realize they were never alone. If that could exist everywhere, in every community, then that is what I would build, whether I had 80 years or forever.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.lemonaideproject.org
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lemon_aide_project_?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ%3D%3D&utm_source=qr
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/lemon-aide-project-68b4711a6?utm_source=share&utm_campaign=share_via&utm_content=profile&utm_medium=ios_app
- Twitter: @lemonaideproject
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LemonAideProject?mibextid=wwXIfr&mibextid=wwXIfr
Image Credits
All image rights directly from Lemon Aide Project
so if you or someone you know deserves recognition please let us know here.
