From Hope to Hard Work: My Journey from Co-Founding a Nonprofit to Creating Pauir Athletic Apparel

The Visual Clash and Personal Stakes

I can't be the only one who finds the visual clash we see every October—the pink ribbon of awareness set against the macabre dualities of Halloween decor—serves as a striking, and often overlooked, reminder of the very real stakes involved in the fight for life itself.

This collision of hope and mortality is not abstract to me; it is the very reason I, one of the three co-founders of the Pink Ribbon Girls, had to step away from the organization. I was too vulnerable, having just been diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer myself at the age of 33, and while I was pregnant.

The Birth of a Movement

But before the vulnerability, there was the drive. It's crucial to understand that the Pink Ribbon Girls, recently rebranded as 'Pink Ribbon Good,'  was born out of a desperate need. My own diagnosis came just six months after my childhood friend and co-founder received hers. We were both in our early thirties, young mothers, and along with our third co-founder, we were searching for a space to share our collective, unique stories. At the time, support groups for young women—under 40, juggling motherhood with a breast cancer diagnosis—did not exist, at least not here in Cincinnati.

Despite the physical and emotional toll of our own treatments, we formed this grassroots organization. It was tough—juggling treatment, motherhood, and the intense media attention that came with starting something so new—but the response was immediate. Oncologists took notice, the media amplified our message, and critically, young women came out of the woodwork. We had found our people and our people found us, and together, we created the support system we were all looking for.

The Turning Point: Life Meets Diagnosis

The diagnosis that drives someone to start a non-profit is never expected, especially not at such a young age. For me, life was all that I had planned. My firstborn was three, I was loving my job as a personal trainer and group exercise instructor at a swanky Cincinnati health club, and I was 22 weeks pregnant with our son, Jack. I felt, and I thought I looked, great. When I received that devastating diagnosis, the swift and dramatic turn of events was felt not just by me, but by my family and everyone in my entire sphere.

Stepping Away for Survival

As the Pink Ribbon Girls, gained momentum, and the number of young women seeking support grew, so too did the sadness. While we were undeniably providing a much-needed outlet, the experience was far from pretty pink ribbon gifts. Within the first 18 months of our organization, I attended six funerals for young women who had been part of our group. This experience terrified me—and I say 'terrified' with no pun intended. I began to realize: This is not for me. I was not mentally equipped to help guide others through this breast cancer world when it was all so new and so frightening to me.

It was this intense, personal vulnerability that led me to step away from the Pink Ribbon Girls for approximately fifteen years. During those years, Dr Cody, my oncologist, would ask me at every checkup why I wasn't personal training women with breast cancer. After all, I had survived, I had thrived, and my life was moving forward again. I told him, and anyone else who asked, that I did not want to have anything to do with breast cancer. That time in my life was horrific, and it was a reality I did not wish to revisit or be associated with.

The Scar Project and Pauir

That changed dramatically in 2013. My friend Dr. Kelly McLean, a surgical oncologist, gave me tickets to a photo exhibit called The Scar Project. Stepping into that exhibit was like finding solid ground after years of hating everything breast cancer-related. The photographs of these young women were raw, beautiful, and haunting. Crucially, there was not a single pink ribbon in sight. I finally thought, ‘I can relate to this.’ To me, breast cancer isn't about waving a cheerful ribbon; it’s about grit, sweat, and difficult decisions. I see it as steel, sweat, and tears—a real fight. Quite frankly, the sight of those overly optimistic pink ribbons had always made me sick to my stomach. But the unflinching pictures in The Scar Project resonated with my experience. I saw the truth of the battle reflected in those images, and that recognition is precisely when my idea for Pauir Athletic Apparel was born.

The Next Chapter

Today, the original co-founders of the Pink Ribbon Good (Girls) —myself, Tracie, and Dawn—have all moved on. The non-profit organization my father, a lawyer, helped set up so many years ago continues to grow, providing essential services to thousands of women. Its success has inspired others, leading to fantastic organizations focused on survivorship, like Move Beyond Surviving and the Karen Wellington Foundation, to name just a few. As for me, I am happy to be firmly in my own space. With Pauir Athletic Apparel, my goal is to provide activewear opposite of the medicinal aesthetic—clothing designed to empower women to get into the gym and feel amazing. It’s about grit, strength, and confidence, entirely minus the pink ribbon.

The ribbon is a symbol of awareness, but the reality is that survival requires far more than passive recognition. Survival requires the courage, sweat, and tears I spoke of earlier. It requires the courage to face your mortality and the resilience to keep pushing forward. True strength is not found in a cheerful symbol; it is found in the physical and mental effort of showing up for your own life, especially after it has been shattered. Whether you are facing a diagnosis, supporting a loved one, or simply striving for wellness, remember that your grit is your armor, and your effort is your truest ribbon.