When the Strongest Person I Know Started Chemo

Last Tuesday, I pitched a $3M brand strategy while fielding Slack messages from someone whose favorite emoji is the mushroom. I also learned that my mentor—my compass, my coffee date, my “don’t wear that to the pitch” person—was starting chemo.

There was no announcement. No dramatic music cue. Just a text:

“It’s breast cancer. Starting treatment Friday. Let’s still get lunch?”

And just like that, the algorithm of my brain went dark. Every open tab in my head—budgets, benchmarks, backlink audits—just stopped refreshing.

We say we’re “resilient,” don’t we? Like it’s a skill set. Like it belongs in the LinkedIn headline between “growth strategist” and “cross-functional collaborator.” But there’s nothing linear about watching someone you admire swap her blazer for a hospital gown.

I went to lunch. She showed up in red lipstick. She said she’d keep working “because strategy is a distraction.” I nodded. Pretended I didn’t feel 14 again. Pretended I hadn’t spent the subway ride there Googling “best socks for chemo wards.”

She ordered the Niçoise salad.

I ordered a glass of wine. At noon.

We talked about The Bear. And about whether Instagram’s death is greatly exaggerated. And then she said this:

“Everyone wants me to fight. I just want to feel”

That sentence did something to me.

Because maybe that’s what this whole industry is missing. Not more calls to arms. But space.

To feel. To reflect. To not collapse into performance—just because that’s the KPI of modern womanhood.

I used to think marketing was about telling stories.

Now I think it’s about making room for the real ones. The ones that hurt. The ones without a CTA.

So I’m lighting a candle tonight for the woman who made me brave enough to launch my first campaign—and strong enough to pause this week, just to write this.

And just like that, I remembered:

Not all heroes wear capes.

Some wear lipstick to chemo.

#RealOnesOnly #MarketingAndMortality #BrandTherapy #WhenYourMentorIsMagic