Clark shares the story of two marketers who reached out for help - one who escaped and thrived, and another who disappeared entirely. This episode explores what happens when the marketing industry breaks people so completely that they choose erasure over participation. A haunting look at the cost of trying to help others in a broken system, the ghosts in our DMs, and why sometimes "zero anxiety attacks" still isn't enough.
Themes explored:
This episode serves as both therapy and warning about the real human cost of marketing's toxic culture.
REACH_Ep2_HER
Clark Barron I've been going through old DM's tonight, looking for stories to tell you, stories
about the people who reach out when they're drowning, the ones who send what they call
moonshot messages to a stranger like me because they don't know where else to turn. This is
how these usually go. Job hunting is awful, so I'm sending moonshot messages to people. I
look up to the ask. I'm not asking for a job. Just whatever you're able to do. Ideally, I'm just
seeking advice. Maybe that looks like a virtual coffee chat. Or maybe just keeping my name in
mind. Maybe just reading this message. Maybe nothing at all. Either way, I have a lot to thank
you for. That was from a marketer and editor who needed a job. They found burn it down and
felt like I spoke their language. But they were struggling with voice in a market that demanded
careful self-censorship. And hoo boy, do I know what that's like. What will recruiters think?
When they were a managing editor at a major industry publication, they wanted to put
something bold and honest on the front cover of the next book, something with actual
personality. And of course, the team censored it to death. They built impactful long form
projects, doubled product downloads in half the average time they'd created amazing content
that actually served their audience. Because this was not only a writer, but a marketer that
knew what they were doing. But they'd been let go and they had no idea why. I can't seem to
get anyone to care that I get it. 9:12 p.m.. I sent them a Google Meet link. Two words. Hop in.
We talked for over an hour about their work, their voice, their confidence. They walked me
through all the content they'd created, the metrics that proved their impact, the audience that
loved exactly what they were doing. I just don't understand why they let me go. I was doing
good work. Really good work. And that's when I asked about lead qualification. It was one of
those things that we had touched on earlier in the conversation, but I was starting to get an
idea of what was going on. There was a long pause. It's pretty garbage, honestly. They don't
really qualify leads. I stared another pause. Longer this time. If you're telling me that the
company was fine with all these garbage leads, regardless of where they come from, then why
do they need you? That's why you were let go. Not because you were bad at your job. I
watched their face change as they processed what I just said. I'll never forget the look on their
face. The realization that they weren't fired for incompetence. They were fired for competence,
for creating content that served the audience. Instead of covering up internal broken systems,
for refusing to pretend that their garbage lead qualification was some sophisticated strategy.
They were let go for telling the truth. But from there we were actually able to make a plan. We
were able to work on everything else. What to do next? Clarity. Confidence. Personal brand. I
helped them see that their conviction wasn't the problem. It was actually the solution. Hi, Clark.
Just wanted to thank you for jumping on that call with me and helping me. You packed so
much great info into a short time, and identified so many areas where my lack of clarity and
confidence is really holding me back. This week, I'm going to revamp my LinkedIn and build a
notion page for myself to complement my portfolio. And I'm going to practice how to answer
the questions you asked me so I don't come off as unsure. Your generosity means a great deal
to me. Hell yeah. That's how these usually go. That's how they should go. Someone reaches
out, I help, they get back on their feet. Everybody wins. April 25th, 2024 9:47 a.m.. I would like
to connect to better understand how you coped with the challenges in marketing that I'm
currently facing. I understand we haven't met, but I've just seen one of your post and never felt
so seen ever. This person was in an ABM role that got pivoted to business development
without warning, working for a company that didn't understand marketing at all in the slightest.
This person was struggling bad. Hey there, tell me what I can help with. Have time for a call in
30 minutes. That's what I said. Back nine minutes later. They said yes, So I sent them a
Google Meet link. We talked for almost two solid hours. To preface, here's what exactly this
company did to this person. They hired them for an ABM role then while they were on holiday,
rewrote their entire job description, and they added all bound marketing, a term that even they
could not define. When this person asked them what it was, they gave them SQL targets. They
extended their probation period because they had changed their role. They wanted this
marketer to create content for major enterprise accounts. And I mean, the biggest tech
companies that you know, by themselves and with a tiny, tiny quarterly budget. They told this
marketer that the board had given these objectives that they needed to grow tier one accounts,
that this is why they were hired, that they needed to take ownership and put, quote, put their all
into it because they wanted to give this person more responsibility and when they expressed
that they felt like they were being set up for failure. The powers that be told this person, give it
your best. Let me make this very clear. I've seen this before. It is the impossible mandate. The
budget? That's a joke. Moving targets. The gaslighting wrapped in opportunity language. So I
gave this person the playbook. Document everything from here on out. You request formal
meetings with receipts. You get clarity on expectations in writing. No exceptions. And finally,
you need to start job hunting immediately. We went through the job spec line by line. I told this
person what they were looking at was work for a team of six people, plus possible help from an
external agency or two. I helped them draft an email to their manager, connected them with
recruiters, or reviewed their resume. Month after month, we stayed in touch. I kept checking on
them. Kept checking on them. June, getting confused about what all bound marketing is, and
I'll explain it to you, just like I did with them. The term all bound is yet another bullshit term
created by people that know nothing about marketing but come into this industry trying to make
up new terms for things that already have names. Not because they want to make marketing
better in any way whatsoever, but because they want to be the person known for coming up
with the next big trend. All bound near bound, inbound lead, outbound. All terms you have
heard all terms created by careless, manipulative people inventing disorienting language to
deflect accountability. Fuck them. August. Our protagonist finally gets a verbal offer. We
celebrate like you would not believe, as much as any two people could on LinkedIn in a Google
Meet call. September, they resigned from the current job and they start at a major tech
company doing field marketing. They were finally getting to escape one weekend. I've had
absolutely zero anxiety attacks since I started. Those are the kind of words that makes this
worth it. April 13th, 2025. 4:12 a.m. GMT. I am, and there's going to be things about every job
that are less than ideal. But I've had zero anxiety attacks since I started, although I'm not
planning to retire. Here I am rushing to leave. Wait. No. What? That's not a statement that's
supposed to be coming out of this person's mouth. What happened? That should say. I'm not
rushing to leave. But it doesn't. Why? Even at this new company, let me tell you. A good
company, a very stable role. They were already planning their exit. This is what they don't tell
you about the long term effects of being in toxic work environments. This person didn't just
burn out. They were broken and they had been broken down with people that did not care.
Intentionally, slowly by people who smiled while asking them to lie. For them to smile through
the rewrite. To smile through the all bound bullshit. To smile through the board's mandate and
smile while they move the finish line yet again. And when the smile finally cracks, they call it
not a culture fit. When someone's been broken. In a system like this, even safety feels like
waiting for the floor to collapse again. They're already looking for another escape route. The
industry had broken this person so completely that yet again, even the safety of a stable
environment felt temporary. Sometimes all escape does is change the wallpaper on the
trauma. I, um, I went back to find our conversation. I didn't know that I wouldn't even be able to
find them. They were gone. They're gone. It seems like they are. Every trace. Even now. Like
as I'm recording this. I've been at this for four hours. It is now 3 a.m., and I am still desperately
looking for them. They don't exist anymore. Five months of conversations, hundreds of
messages. Job coaching, interview prep, celebrating wins, checking in during the hard times.
All of it now shows as coming from no one. It's like it's a scorched earth rejection of every
expectation, every betrayal, every lie wrapped in opportunity. This person didn't quit their job.
They didn't change careers. They erased themselves from professional existence entirely.
Maybe. Maybe it wasn't surrender. Maybe it was refusal. Like a way of saying you don't get to
keep this version of me. Them. That's what I keep thinking about them. Not the dozens of
people I've helped over the years. Not the success stories. Not the ones who escaped and
thrived. Just them. The one who vanished. Because when someone trusts you enough to
reach out. When they start with. Never felt so seen. When you invest months into their survival,
just them feels like everyone. One disappearance can make you question every single hop in
moment, every Google Meet link, every late night DM where someone's falling apart and just
needs to hear that they're not crazy. Did I actually help them or did I just prolong their suffering
before they inevitably chose erasure over participation. There's something haunting about
scrolling through a conversation where one person no longer exists. All my responses are
there. Just hanging in space, talking to no one. Hey there, tell me how I can help. Have time
for a call in 30 minutes. Send me your resume right now. This is bullshit. You got this.
Awesome. This is so great. Five months of trying to help someone who is already
disappearing. And maybe that's the most honest thing about this kind of work. About trying to
help people in a system that's designed to break them. Sometimes you lose them anyway,
sometimes zero. Anxiety attacks is still one too many. Sometimes the damage runs so deep
that even freedom stability feels like a trap. Like you're being tricked. Like it's just gonna
happen again. They don't tell you about the ghosts when you start doing this kind of work.
They don't tell you that some people you try to help will choose not to exist rather than
continue playing the game. They don't tell you that success stories sometimes turn into
disappearances, and that celebrations sometimes become silence. How can I help?
Sometimes leads to places that you can't follow. They don't tell you that the bravest thing
someone can do is delete their professional identity entirely. They don't tell you what it feels
like when you're the one who thought you were helping them find their way back, because they
don't exist. What happens when someone chooses nonexistence over participation in a broken
system. Most people change jobs, take breaks, pivot careers. They don't delete themselves
from professional existence entirely. You know that that single 404 error that I saw is, is just the
ultimate indictment of what this industry has become. Someone literally chose not to exist
professionally rather than continue playing this stupid game. The question isn't whether I
helped them or failed them. The question is, what kind of industry creates people so broken
that even escape instability doesn't feel possible? What kind of system damages people so
completely that they choose erasure over participation? Kind of machine are we all feeding
that produces these ghosts in our DMs? They didn't just walk away from a toxic company.
They walked away from the entire concept of having a professional identity. It's kind of when I
realized that maybe I'm not haunted by them. Maybe I'm haunted by who I'd have to become to
do the same because their disappearance wasn't just rejection, it was prophecy. A version of
me. If I stopped pretending, I could still survive this. Maybe that's the most honest response to
what marketing has become. Because they saw something the rest of us are still too afraid to
admit. And what does that make me? I stayed. I'm still here writing posts, answering DMs,
hopping on Google meets like it's going to matter in the end. I tell myself I'm helping, that I'm
building something better than I'm different. But what if I'm just further along from my breaking
point? What if surviving in this system isn't a sign of strength, but a symptom of compliance?
What if they saw the truth before I did that? Making it here doesn't mean you're safe. It just
means you've built a thicker mask. Maybe that's why their silence hurts so much. Because it's
not just absence. It's a mirror. Did I help them survive or just delay their exit? Am I saving
people from the system, or recruiting them into a fight that they're not prepared to fight? Maybe
even one that they can't win. And does that mean that good intentions can still cause harm
when they give those that believe in me false hope about their own strengths? Is there a price
for instilling confidence in people that may be the most dangerous thing you can do is help
someone believe in themselves again. Not because it's wrong, but because it might convince
them to stay a little longer in a place that doesn't deserve them. Surviving in this system
actually a success? Or is it just prolonged suffering in a system that seemingly has no intention
whatsoever of changing? I keep telling myself that I'm built different, that I can carry the weight
that they couldn't. That I'm here to fix the system, not get swallowed by it. But on nights like
this, I. I wonder. Maybe they weren't weak. Maybe they didn't need help. Maybe they were first
out of all of us. I can tell you this if you're listening right now, and you're dealing with some of
the same crap that so many other marketers are right now. I can't promise I'll save you. I can't
promise that reaching out will fix everything or anything at all. I can't promise that the Google
Meet links and late night strategy sessions and job spec reviews will help you in any way, but I
can promise you this if you reach out, I'll respond. If you need to talk, I'll hop in. If you're
drowning, I'll throw you a rope. Even if I can't guarantee you'll grab it. Because maybe that's all
any of us can do in a system that is this broken. Show up. Stay present. Answer the DMs and
give a shit. And hope that never felt so seen. Is enough to keep someone here long enough to
find their own way out. Even if you choose a way that I can't follow. Wherever you are now,
whatever life you're building away from all this. I hope you found what you're looking for. I hope
the silence is peaceful. I hope the absence of all the slack messages feels like freedom. I hope
you're poor in coffee somewhere happier than the rest of us could ever be. And I hope you
know that for five months you mattered to someone. Even if. Even if that someone couldn't
save you. Even if the help wasn't enough. You were seen.