“And for you, ma’am?”
That was me, standing in my living room holding a little whiteboard.
On it, a menu. Three items: spaghetti, meat and cheese, and chicken nuggets. Next to each one, a drawing. I am not the best drawer. The spaghetti looked a little like a ball of yarn and the nuggets looked like tiny rocks. But the girls understood.
They were sitting inside a fort we’d built out of couch cushions and every blanket in the house, at a tiny table with two chairs. Two very serious customers.
And I was taking their order.
What they didn’t know is that about twenty minutes earlier, I was done. It had been a full day of client calls, and the snack requests hadn’t stopped since pickup. I knew that if I didn’t change my mood, the rest of the night was going to be a struggle.
So I figured, well. I’m already running around meeting everybody’s needs. I might as well lean all the way in.
But the reason I was even thinking about it that way started with something a friend said.
The sentence that made me scream yes
A few days ago, I was talking to my friend, and out of nowhere she said, “Parenting is the ultimate service job.”
I screamed. Out loud. “YES.”
Because that’s exactly it. Running around. Taking orders. Meeting needs. And then I launched right into the story about the whiteboard menu and calling my kids ma’am.
Here’s what I keep coming back to.
She wasn’t talking about me. She wasn’t even really talking to me. She was just telling me about her own life.
And I did the rest myself.
Why it landed
Now picture the other version.
Same idea, but it comes from an account I don’t know, scrolling past on a Tuesday night: “Mama, you’re exhausted. You give and give, and nobody sees you.”
It might even be true. But something in me goes a little stiff. My first thought isn’t yes. It’s, hmm. You don’t know my life.
When someone tells you who you are, you have to check their work. Is that right? Is that me? Is she just saying that? You’re evaluating, and nobody can evaluate and relax at the same time.
When someone tells on herself, there’s nothing to check. You just recognize it. And because you found it, it’s yours.
It also did something else. It didn’t just make me feel understood. It made me jump in. I didn’t nod politely and say “totally.” I brought out the menus.
Being told who you are makes you defend. Recognizing yourself makes you join in.
That “YES” is a comment. It’s a DM. It’s her sending your post to her best friend with “this is literally us.” And you can’t get it by describing her perfectly. You only get it by letting her find herself.
The one question to ask before you post
Here’s the whole test:
Could she say “that’s me”? Or did I already say it for her?
What it catches
The obvious ones: “You’re the woman who…” “If you’re tired of…” “I see you.”
And then the sneaky one, my favorite: “Sound familiar?”
At the end of a caption, that one looks like an invitation. Like you’re asking. But you’re really asking her to confirm what you already decided about her.
What it doesn’t catch
“You” isn’t the problem. You can absolutely talk to her. “Here’s what I’d try this week” passes the test just fine.
It only trips when you name what’s happening inside her. Her feelings. Her frustrations. Who she is.
How to fix a post that fails
Flip it to you.
Instead of telling her she’s exhausted from posting, tell her about the night you rewrote the same caption four times and then posted the first one.
Instead of “I see you, mama,” tell her about the whiteboard.
It doesn’t have to be a perfect picture, either. My nuggets looked like rocks, and the girls still knew exactly what they were. Give her something specific and a little imperfect, and she’ll fill in the rest herself, faster than if you’d spelled it out.
The part underneath
Here’s what I think makes this so hard.
“You’re the woman who…” is the safest line in marketing. It lets you sound relatable without revealing a single thing about yourself. The spotlight stays on her, so you never have to stand in it.
So I don’t think this is really a copywriting problem. I think it’s a decision you haven’t made yet.
When you run a founder-led business, your brand needs your personality, your stories, and your voice. That’s the part no one else has. But that doesn’t mean you share everything. It means you decide what you’re willing to share, ahead of time and on purpose.
If you haven’t decided, every post is a brand new gamble. Is this too much? Too personal? Will anyone care? And when it feels like a gamble every time, of course you point the spotlight back at her. It’s the safer bet.
Decide once, and telling on yourself stops feeling like a risk. It just feels like talking.
✨ YOUR ACTION STEP:
Two parts this week.
First, look. Pull up your last five posts, especially the ones meant for people who don’t know you yet. For each one, ask the question: could she say “that’s me,” or did I already say it for her? No judgment. You’re not grading yourself. You’re just noticing where you reached for the safe line.
Then decide. Which parts of yourself are open?
I’ll go first. I talk about my girls, my health and fitness journey, and the real, messy parts of running a business. I don’t talk about my marriage, my faith, or what I’m doing on the weekends.
That’s my list.
Two founders will land in completely different places, and both can be right. You might never mention your kids but happily tell the whole internet about the client call you bombed. That works.
You also get to draw lines around time, not just topics. My weekends are mine. That’s a boundary too.
The point isn’t what’s on your list. It’s that you have one, so you’re not negotiating with yourself every time you open the app. That fort story? I could tell it without a second thought, because I’d already decided the girls are open.
Final Thoughts
The night went better. A lot better.
And then something happened that I didn’t see coming. The girls stayed in character. The whole night.
They kept calling each other ma’am. In the bath. At bedtime. Handing each other the toothpaste. “Thank you, ma’am.” “You’re welcome, ma’am.” Doing little things for each other.
Nobody told them to do that. I definitely didn’t. I just played the waiter, and they picked it up, made it theirs, and carried it somewhere I never would have taken it.
That’s what happens when you let her find herself in your story. It doesn’t stay your idea. It becomes hers, and she takes it places you’ll never even see.
So before you post this week, ask the one question.
And then let her say “that’s me.”
Want the longer version? Listen to Episode 32 of the From Scratch Podcast.
Your Coach,
Kary ♡
