When life changes everything
Mine started when my son was nearly five months old. We went from coffee mornings and baby yoga to endless appointments, scans, and operations. Hip dysplasia - DDH - a condition I'd never heard of that would change our family forever.
When I searched for information, I found horrific images and worst-case scenarios that compounded my fears rather than offering hope. I felt totally out of my depth and alone.
My son had his first operation at eight months old. Then another at two. Then, when he was six and we thought we were in the clear, we were told things weren't looking good once again. He needed his fourth operation - the biggest yet.
The irony? We had the launch party for my book 'Cast Life' two days before he was wheeled into theatre for that fourth surgery.
Life doesn't wait for convenient timing. Neither does legacy work.
From personal pain to global change
That book started as desperate late-night research sessions, trying to understand what was happening to my child. I cobbled together information as we went along, but never found one solid resource that offered comfort and hope.
So I wrote it. The book I wished I could have read during those lonely, uncertain early days.
Professor Clarke, the consultant orthopaedic surgeon who wrote the foreword, said something that stopped me cold: "DDH is one of the most common congenital abnormalities and it is remarkable that there is so little information out there."
One of the most common conditions. Remarkably little information.
That gap wasn't just affecting my family. It was affecting thousands of families worldwide.
Today, that book sells globally. I founded DDH UK, a charity offering information and support. But more than that - it changed medical protocols, connected families across continents, and yes, saved at least one life that I know of.
That's legacy. Built one desperate night, one confused parent, one impossible situation at a time.
The difference between noise and signal
I watch people chase viral moments every day. The trending hashtag. The algorithm hack. The growth guru promising 10K followers in 30 days.
And I think about Amazon.
They didn't build their empire by chasing retail trends. They played a longer game. They saw beyond the bookstore to something bigger. They were willing to lose money for years to build something that would change everything.
That's not viral strategy. That's legacy strategy.
When my son was in his fourth cast, unable to run around with his friends, I wasn't thinking about building a brand or growing a following. I was thinking about the next mum, sitting in a hospital corridor at midnight, googling a condition she'd never heard of, finding nothing but fear.
The vulnerability of real work
Here's what three decades in this industry has taught me: the work that matters most is often the work that scares you most.
The book you're afraid isn't good enough. The campaign that feels too personal. The story that makes you vulnerable.
I've helped get James Cameron into the press. I've launched global entertainment brands. I've worked red carpets and CNN studios.
But my real work? The work that changed lives? That happened when I stopped trying to be the perfect PR professional and started being the imperfect human with something important to say.
When I wrote about hip dysplasia, I wasn't writing as the PR expert with the enviable contact book. I was writing as a terrified mother who'd discovered that thousands of families were going through the same nightmare, with no support, no information, and no hope.
That vulnerability became my strength. That personal pain became a global solution.
The Press Club and the question of worth
This week, I'm offering something I've never offered before. The Press Club membership for £111 for the rest of the year. It's a fraction of what people pay for my one-to-one work, a tiny percentage of what most PR agencies charge for a month.
But here's the thing I keep coming back to: What's building your legacy actually worth to you?
Is it worth £111? Is it worth showing up consistently even when the inbox is quiet? Is it worth doing the vulnerable work that might not trend but might change everything?
Because here's what I've learned through seven years of surgeries, two books, and a global charity: the people who build lasting legacies aren't the ones who wait for permission or perfect conditions or guaranteed results.
They're the ones who decide their story matters enough to tell it properly. Who decide their mission is worth more than their fear. Who understand that legacy isn't built overnight, but it is built night after night, in hospital waiting rooms and at kitchen tables when no one is watching.
The real question
Amazon Prime's legacy is convenience. Netflix's is storytelling. Nike's is self-belief.
What's yours going to be?
Not your Instagram aesthetic or your follower count or your engagement rate. Your actual legacy. The thing that will matter in twenty years when the algorithm has changed and the platforms have evolved and the viral moments are forgotten.
The lives you changed. The problems you solved. The families you helped when they needed it most. The world you left a little bit different than you found it.
My son's journey with DDH isn't over. It's part of our family now, part of our story. But what started as our worst nightmare became the foundation for helping thousands of other families navigate theirs.
That transformation didn't happen because I had a perfect plan or a marketing strategy. It happened because I decided that our pain could become someone else's path forward.
Legacy doesn't wait
The question isn't whether you're ready. The question is whether you believe your story is worth telling properly.
If the answer is yes, I'll see you in The Press Club. If not, that's okay too. But don't let the answer be "maybe later" or "when I'm ready" or "after I figure it all out."
Because legacy doesn't wait for perfect timing. It starts with the decision that your story matters. That your experience - even the painful parts, especially the painful parts - could be exactly what someone else needs to hear.
It starts when you stop waiting for permission and start using your voice.
Even if it starts in a hospital corridor at midnight. Especially then.
Ready to build something that lasts?
Join here
https://natalietrice.kit.com/products/the-press-club-at-111
Natalie
