We always say that Happy Hive is a place for growth. We believe in messy beginnings, warm middles, and endings that (hopefully) lead to better beginnings again.
But here’s the truth: sometimes, the growth hurts a little. Or a lot. Especially when it means letting go of someone you deeply admire—not because they’ve changed, but because they’ve bloomed too well in a garden that can’t quite afford fertilizer in bulk just yet.
We’ll be saying goodbye to our Marketing Assistant—who, by all accounts, was already being primed to become our Marketing Officer. That’s right. She wasn’t just doing the job; she was owning it. Strategy? Check. Grit? Check. The rare ability to turn vague instructions like “make it less cringe” into a real campaign? Check na check.
She was everything we needed and more. The kind of teammate who could lord over confused, chaotic interns and somehow make minions out of them—with deadlines met and Google Drives in order. She worked closely with our Creative Content Officer, forming a duo that kept our brand voice and visuals aligned, even when life got noisy (or Wi-Fi got moody).
But—and there’s always a “but” in stories like these—life costs money. And adulting? She’s got goals, bills, and a growing list of real-world needs that, no matter how magical our workplace is, we still can’t compete with.
You see, we built Happy Hive with heart and purpose, and the dream of a gentle life: one where work respects boundaries, kids can nap under coworking desks, and nobody gets rewarded for being a burned-out overachiever. It’s peaceful. It’s warm. It’s human.
But it’s not yet the kind of life that comes with premium paychecks or—let’s be real—life insurance.
And this isn’t the first time we’ve had to say goodbye like this. A few others came before, with the same heartbreak, the same impossible choice: the kind that weighs passion and purpose on one side, and daily survival on the other. Spoiler: survival wins. Every. Time.
So when she told us she needed to resign, it wasn’t a shock. It was just that kind of heartbreak you expect but still hits different—like when someone says kind things with a tight voice and almost-tears on a resignation Google Meet. She said it with grace. We responded with grace (and memes). And silence. And a little longing stare at the ceiling.
She reminded us how much she loved the people, the purpose, the culture. But love alone can’t swipe a debit card, and loyalty doesn’t come with free Jet2 Holiday! And for that, we cannot fault her.
We’re proud, actually. Because when someone leaves us for growth, it means we were part of their journey. We helped them build enough confidence, skill, and clarity to move forward—even if that forward is away from us.
Still, we’re not going to pretend we’re okay.
We are not okay.
(But we will be. Eventually. After three to five business days of emotional processing, some carbs, and after we’ve hired someone as equally brilliant as them to soften the blow and fill the void—a.k.a. our professional rebound.)
Here’s what we know for sure:
✨ Our dream of fair pay and gentle lives is still alive.
✨ We will get there—bit by bit, client by client, pay raise by pay raise.
✨ And when we do, we hope the people we lost along the way will find their way back to us.
Because once a bee, always a bee. 🐝
To our almost-officer:
Thank you for believing in us. For showing us how marketing can be strategic, sincere, chaotic, heartfelt, and still funny enough to make people click ‘Share’. Go chase that abundance. Build the life you deserve. And know you always have a hive to come home to.
We’ll keep your seat warm. Your Discord emoji reactions in memoriam. And your Google Drive access? …Well. You’ll know when it happens. 😢