How Seeing Your Marketing As Being Of Service Changes Everything
There are some mornings that feel a little hollow before anything has even happened, and on this particular Saturday, I woke up knowing something in me felt slightly off. I had been expecting to spend the weekend with my friends, who ended up cancelling last minute, and although I am someone who loves quiet afternoons spent crocheting or reading or simply hiding from the world under a blanket, their absence left a small but noticeable ache.
I found myself doing what many of us do when our feelings feel a little too present, I reached for my phone and opened Instagram. Among the stories was a friend dressed head to toe in waterproof clothing, reminding everyone watching that we live in England, which means if we wait for the perfect weather to go outside, we will barely leave our homes. She laughed about walking in the rain and encouraged people to do the same, and before I knew it I found myself pulling on my coat, leaving of the comfort of the sofa, for the quiet pull of nature.
That one piece of content changed my entire day.
In a twist of perfect timing, the moment I stepped outside, the rain disappeared, leaving patches of blue sky stretching themselves open. I had planned to visit a particular café, but halfway there I bumped into the owner of another local spot who told me she hadn’t seen me in ages, so I popped in there instead. I stepped inside and instantly felt that comforting hush of a small coffee shop where cups clink just quietly enough for people to eavesdrop with permission.
I ordered a slice of cake and a cappuccino, sat with my book, and exchanged small, gentle conversations with the owner and the strangers who wandered through the door. Each conversation added another thread to a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt when I first opened my eyes that morning.
After leaving the café, I walked to the bookshop by the coast, where I asked about a book I’d been searching for. They didn’t have it, but the woman behind the counter offered to order it and have it ready by Tuesday. My mind flicked to the online alternative, a single click, next-day arrival, no effort required, but the more time I spend writing, reading, and learning from authors who pour themselves into their work, the more I understand how profoundly these systems fail them. I chose to wait, not only to support a local bookshop whose story I know and love, but also to reclaim the experience of anticipation, something our world seems to be forgetting entirely. Waiting feels human. It feels like a small rebellion against the cold speed of convenience.
This theme of patience inspired me to take the long way home. I walked along the coast with the wind brushing my cheeks, listening to a podcast that felt like walking beside a friend. The creator spoke about feelings I had been quietly carrying myself, and again, the edges of loneliness slowly softened with every word.
By the time I arrived back at my front door, something inside me had shifted. The loneliness had dissolved into a sense of connection that couldn’t have happened had I stayed inside. And with that connection came a burst of creativity powerful enough to nudge me toward the microphone.
The real inspiration for this story wasn’t the walk, the café, or the bookshop, though they were the breadcrumbs that led me here. It was that single Instagram story, one simple reminder to put on waterproofs and go outside, that changed the entire course of my day. The ripple effect of that tiny moment made me realise something I had already known but hadn’t yet articulated clearly.
This is what marketing is meant to be.
Not the hard sell.
Not the “here’s why you should buy from me.”
Not the endless strategies telling us to gatekeep our best insights.
Real marketing is service.
It is the bridge between who we are and the people we are meant to help.
It is the story, the connection, the shift, the perspective, the resonance, the very things your actual work already creates.
When people tell me that an episode of my podcast helped them rewrite a sales page or gave them the courage to market their service or brought them a kind of clarity they hadn’t been able to find in months, they haven’t paid me a penny. They received the transformation anyway. And yet my business continues to grow, because true service attracts the people who are meant to walk with us, not because we convince them but because they have already experienced the power of what we do.
If your marketing were the only version of your work someone ever experienced, would it still change them a little? Would it give them something meaningful? Would it slow their breath or ignite an idea or soothe a fear or open a door?
If not, the answer is rarely “more strategy.”
Usually, it is simply: return to the essence of how you already serve.
You know how to hold space.
You know how to create transformation.
You know how to guide, nurture, inspire, or shift perspectives.
You do it effortlessly within your work.
And when you start to see marketing as an extension of your service, you realise that you already know exactly what to say to showcase how your work serves.
