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I’m no stranger to trying to make sense of tragedy.

I dealt with my father’s death and my first husband suddenly dying from cancer in the space of 8 months in 2014.

I’ve picked up the phone too often to hear the consequences of the mental health struggles of those around me.

I have explained tsunamis, recessions, pandemics, food banks, miscarriages, divorce, racist police forces, war, and school shootings to my son many times. 

As a youth worker, I have sat with teenagers as they try to make sense of pain and suffering, and how this could ever be reconciled with a loving God, or even a benign universe. 

I have been the empathetic voice of calm, of comfort, of support more times than I can count in my 39 years.

I may not know the answers, but I know how to be a parent when tragedy strikes. I know how to hold, and soothe, and distract, and explain. I know how to get them through.

And I know now, more than ever before, when to retreat from the world and lick my wounds, and when to get up, get dressed, and get on with things.

a 2 year old girl with brown hair and denim dungarees sits on a wooden bench in a garden. She is eating from a yellow box, and sitting next to a 10 year old blonde boy in black trousers and a blue and black top. He is holding a phone.

But I have never been a business owner at the same time. And that’s a whole different ball game.

I don’t know how you run a business and hold space for the shit that the world keeps dumping on us.

Because – and I mean this with the utmost respect and heartfelt sorrow for the most recent victims in Texas, Buffalo, and Ukraine – there is always something.

It doesn’t make any of the individual tragedies any less tragic. It doesn’t make my heart break any less.

But let’s be honest: We weren’t even 10 days on from the horrific shooting in Buffalo when the news from Texas broke.

There comes a point where we have to be realistic. 

If we’re going to take a break from our regular marketing out of respect for the victims and their families every time something like this happens, then we might as well pack up our Instagram passwords and go home.

Or we may have to admit that our regular marketing isn’t serving us in a world where we’re expected to always say the right thing about the next horrific news story. While selling our offers with energy and enthusiasm.

My business pays my bills. It provides for my family. It benefits my mental health.

And it helps support the businesses of all my clients so they can do the same things.

I don’t have the financial luxury of “taking time out” or “stepping back”.

And I have learned – through a childhood reliant on the welfare state, friendships with those whose sexuality was rejected by those around them, and a strong realisation that we are all responsible for each other as a human race – that politics cannot be separated from anything else in life.

So, bills or no bills, I also don’t have the ethical luxury of staying silent about the injustices around me.

So how to reconcile the two?

I think I may find part of the answer in the ethical marketing framework I’m exploring. 

I’m attempting to find a way to hold space for the reality of the world, while acknowledging that marketing is a necessity. 

And I think that, if your brand speaks in your authentic voice, then there is space to do both. Because your authenticity will draw your people around you. 

You will always find people who say: 

“Linked In isn’t Facebook.”

“I’m here for your soaps, not politics.”

And you will always find people who think you’re being insensitive running your business while people are suffering.

But here’s the thing…

Stopping every time something terrible happens implies that it’s out of the ordinary. 

It’s not.

So I’m going to try a more authentic approach. And I invite you to consider trying it with me. 

What would a more authentic marketing strategy look like?

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  • Less scheduling: Having a content strategy is an important part of running an intentional business (and staying sane!). But scheduling your posts too far in advance can sometimes mean your content is completely out of sync with the collective narrative. And you’ll end up seeming tone-deaf. 
  • A more holistic understanding: It’s easy to put our professional mask on when we’re out and about on the internet being our business. Focusing on sales and the specific topics that relate to your niche. But customers expect more now, and so they should. Your business is part of the world, and as such the state of the world should affect your content. 
  • Changing how you view selling: If you see selling as getting people to give you their money, then marketing during a tragedy probably feels icky. But if you see selling as serving your audience, making their lives better in some way, then why wouldn’t you continue doing that during sad times? 
  • Space for dialogue: Faceless companies changing their logos, or asking you to buy something where 5% is going to a random charity, feels exploitative. A business you know using their platform to address things you care about, doesn’t. So make connections with your audience. Get to know them, and let them get to know you. And then working out how to speak to them during a tragedy will be a hell of a lot easier. And more effective.

So, this is what it’s going to look like for me right now:

When terrible things happen in the world I’m not going to feel guilty talking about the new service I was going to launch. But I’m also going to mix that messaging with my thoughts on the terrible thing, what resources I can point people towards, what causes I can shine a light on, and what space I can hold for people to share their grief.

Because life has no clear boundaries. Everything we do leaks into everything else we do. I am a whole person in my business as much as I am when discussing climate policies around the kitchen table. 

I’d love to know what you think.