How I Came to Work at Stupid Cancer

I was sitting in Diane Bachor’s grant writing class during my fifth year of undergrad at Farmingdale State College — not exactly expecting a career-defining moment. One of the guest speakers that day was Cyndy S., a chapter leader from an organization with a name that immediately grabbed me: the I’m Too Young For This! Cancer Foundation, also known as i[2]y.

As Cyndy spoke about the mission and the work they were doing to support young adults affected by cancer, something clicked. I didn’t wait. While she was still presenting, I opened my laptop and sent a cold email to the founder and CEO, Matthew Zachary.

It probably said something like:
“I love what you’re doing. I want to help.”

Professor Bachor noticed. I got called out. I might’ve lost participation points.
But that email changed my life.

A Call Before Graduation

Two weeks before graduation, I got a phone call from Matthew.

His wife was pregnant with twins. His first intern had just accepted a position with President Obama’s advance team. He needed someone fast — someone who could jump in, learn quickly, and help carry the mission forward.

He asked if I wanted the job.

I said yes.

Getting in the Door

When I joined, the organization was still known as i[2]y. It was raw, scrappy, and full of heart. We were running events out of tiny spaces, managing big dreams with limited resources, and connecting with a generation that had been overlooked by traditional cancer organizations.

In 2011, we rebranded as Stupid Cancer — a bold, unapologetic name that captured the frustration, the community, and the movement we were building. It wasn’t just about awareness. It was about identity, empowerment, and giving young adults a voice in the cancer conversation.

More Than a Job

Over the years, I grew with the organization — from intern to COO, helping scale programs, launch national campaigns, and build a platform that resonated with hundreds of thousands of people. We ran the Stupid Cancer Road Trip, created the Stupid Cancer Store, launched tech like Instapeer, and held conferences that felt more like festivals than fundraisers.

We proved that a nonprofit could be innovative, direct, and deeply human — without sacrificing impact.

Looking Back

That moment in Diane Bachor’s class was impulsive. I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. But I knew I wanted to be part of something that mattered. Cancer had hit my family in 2005, and it was time to go on the offensive and hit back.

What started as a cold email in a classroom turned into a decade-long journey that shaped my career, my values, and my perspective on leadership.

Sometimes you get points deducted for jumping ahead.
Sometimes that’s precisely what it takes to change your life.