Loss is a stinging reminder that life is short — especially for a dog. Waking up for the first morning in fifteen years without my best friend by my side, I realized how little I had to lean on. 

That week, the agency I had been working with for over six years went from saying they would never endorse AI to quietly releasing a full-fledged model — trained on years’ worth of work submitted by myself and my colleagues.

Every writer I knew was suddenly wearing the “Open to Work” badge on LinkedIn. Passionate, talented people who had literally shaped and inspired my career were stationing themselves in coffee shops and office roles to see how things shook out. I wasn’t spared; I took on a part-time job as a marketing assistant while I tried to figure out where to go next. 

I spent a lot of time sitting in silence. Without the tippy-taps of Krissi’s paws on the floor, my little house felt empty. I felt empty.

People who know dogs get it. She was a source of boundless energy and unconditional love. She had been by my side through every major milestone of my life: My first car, roadtrips galore, graduation, moving out, countless midnight brainstorms and nerve-wracking Zoom calls…

I found myself facing a whole new scale of uncertainty in life. And, for the first time in forever, I was without my confidante.  

I contemplated opening a bakery. I thought long and hard about pursuing my childhood dream of becoming a veterinarian. I was desperate to find opportunity in any glimmer of passion I’d ever felt — or god forbid I’d find myself falling away from another career in the not-so-distant future.

Looking back, I acknowledge that it wasn’t all that sudden. I had tracked generative AI through beta-testing and early release; I had many heated dinner debates about the ethics, the limitations, and people’s readiness to adopt it.

When it comes to difficult, inescapable change, we have a tendency to believe it’s much farther off. It’s a way of stopping our worries from completely paralyzing us. 

Then when it rains, it pours. 

As uncomfortable as those quiet winter months were, I slowly came out of them realizing that I was long overdue for a career change. I just hadn’t been ready to take the risk. 

I had turned into a broken record speaking against the overemphasis on short-lived social media content and vanity metrics. And the fact that the SEO team was always pushing back against thought leadership initiatives because they didn’t revolve around strong keywords. 

But I was never able to make lasting change, at least not for the big agencies I was working under. 

Still, introspection revealed there were many aspects of my work I never stopped loving: Working one-on-one with leaders. Telling their stories. Taking the rare opportunities to get them meaningful attention. Watching as a few amazing founders got recognition that their work so desperately deserved. 

So, I asked myself: Why don’t I lean into those things?

I won’t lie. I didn’t know if there’d be lasting demand for a humanized service that emphasizes slow, intentional, hands-on growth. But after piloting and refining my new framework with my executive clients, I’m proud to say I have reinvested myself into content marketing — and I am back with my whole heart.