The Quiet Guilt of Selling Things People Don’t Need

I wrote a campaign once for a SaaS product. It was fine. Functional. But deep down, I knew this tool wasn't changing anyone's life. It was just… another dashboard.

And yet, I wrote urgency copy. “Don’t miss out.” “Limited spots.” “Your competitors are already using this.”

That night I couldn’t sleep.

Not because the copy was bad. Because somewhere between “solving pain points” and “driving conversions,” I’d stopped asking one question: Should someone actually buy this?

Here’s the serious take: As marketers, we’re not just writers. We’re architects of desire. And with that comes a real responsibility.

I’m not saying every product must save the world. But I am saying: if you feel icky promoting something, listen to that. It’s not weakness. It’s your compass.

You can absolutely make a living without making people feel small first. Write for solutions, not insecurities. It’s slower. But you’ll sleep better.

3. The Loneliness of Being a "Growth Driver"

No one warns you about this.

You’re supposed to be the strategist. The word wizard. The person who understands the algorithm, the funnel, the psychology.

But who gets your psychology?

I’ve sat through countless client calls where I hyped up their brand, absorbed their anxiety, and then ended the meeting with a smile. Then I sat alone in a coffee shop, realizing no one was asking if I was okay.

Freelancers feel this. In-house writers feel this. Even agency owners feel this.

We talk about community in marketing. But real community isn’t a LinkedIn comment or a Twitter thread. It’s someone texting you “rough day?” without wanting anything back.

So here’s my serious advice for 2026: Stop treating your network like a lead gen list. Text a fellow writer just to check in. Admit when you’re overwhelmed. Ask for help before you’re desperate.

This job can be isolating. But it doesn’t have to be lonely.