I terminated my startup. Here's the real deal

I am announcing the closure of Zencape Health today. We have reached the conclusion of our journey after four years, two significant pivots, innumerable tests, tens of thousands of dollars in annual income, one app launch, thousands of patient encounters, and a multi-million dollar relationship with a prestigious hospital.

Starting a business isn't for the weak of heart; starting a women's health organization, particularly one that addresses challenges impacting underserved populations, may simply call for a little bit of insanity. And I was definitely crazy enough to give it a shot.

I had been fighting for the care I sorely needed for almost ten years when I founded Zencape Health. As a child, I spent a lot of time in the nurse's office due to crippling menstrual discomfort. I saw many doctors throughout the years.

I went through a number of hormonal medications after being placed on birth control at the age of 13. Not all frustration led to the founding of Zencape Health. It was the solution I needed after years of looking for individualized, all-inclusive specialist treatment that never seemed to be available.

Thus, we constructed it. Through the use of app-driven treatment plans, we established a platform that linked patients, many of whom were suffering from endometriosis, fibroids, and other chronic pelvic conditions, with a coordinated team of specialists, including gynecological surgeons, pelvic floor physical therapists, pain psychologists, and nutrition experts. Our goal was to provide the most complete, affirming, and inclusive healthcare platform for individuals with long-term illnesses. Our goal was to improve the quality of care for communities who have historically been neglected by healthcare: women, people of color, and trans and non-binary persons. In many respects, we succeeded in doing so.

In retrospect, there are undoubtedly decisions I would have made differently, but companies rarely fail for a single reason. The plain fact is that, in spite of our advancements, we ran out of time and funds before we could understand unit economics sufficiently to satisfy venture-funded requirements.

We eventually wound down because we were unable to close the gap to a workable, software-centric business model that was less dependent on costly physician time. As I close off my time at Zencape Health, I consider the difference we made and the stance we took for fair treatment to be indisputable victories. When our users told me how Zencape changed their lives, the narrative always seemed to come to life for me.

I will always remember how excited I was when Kara and Avery (names changed for protection) shared their experiences as beta users during two of our first feedback sessions. After years of fighting endometriosis, Kara (she/her), a resolute small business owner, hoped that surgery would finally provide relief.

However, she felt as though she was slipping between the cracks of the healthcare system when a few of her problems remained after surgery. At Zencape, managing my care felt like a team effort, she revealed. I had the impression that I was part of a team and wasn't left to work things out on my own. Then there was Avery (they/them), a committed educator who had felt misinterpreted by the medical system during numerous doctor's appointments.

Their identities never quite fit in OBGYN offices, which felt chilly and unwelcoming to them. They thought, "I got the treatment I needed for the first time without having to justify or explain who I was. Without a doubt, Zencape gave me the impression that my health was important. Even though this chapter is over, Kara and Avery still serve as a constant reminder to me that the tale we shared will always be significant.

We established an environment where people could feel heard, supported, and validated. Many feelings surface when I think back on the last four years, but most importantly, I discover that I am choosing to be grateful. I'm thankful for the chance to take a huge swing and to work on a mission that is close to my heart.

Despite the lack of assurances and personal sacrifices, I am incredibly grateful to the incredible individuals who courageously joined me in creating something significant, including investors and teammates. I would be remiss not to discuss the unique challenges women face when building in this field. "This would be a better deal if you had a male-bodied co-founder," a prominent venture capitalist told me during my first year of operating the business.

The ridiculous things I've heard along the way could fill a book, but one comment sticks out. From a distance, what at the time seemed like an offensive jab now seems to be his perverse attempt at being nice, as though he was attempting to save me the customary task of figuring out the unwritten rules.

On the first attempt, he tapped a vein. According to a 2017 Harvard study, women entrepreneurs are interrogated about risks, while men are probed about possible benefits. This makes it more difficult for our companies to be viewed as profitable and feasible.

The joke that "any founder with a pulse could raise venture capital" was one I always detested during the early COVID era since it didn't make the system any more inclusive; rather, it was just another slash in an already deep wound.

I became one of the 1.9% of female entrepreneurs who raised venture capital in spite of the obstacles. If that isn't little enough, the percentage is significantly smaller for women of color founders.

I often wonder what more the company could have accomplished if I hadn't been caught up in the inefficiency of working twice as hard for half as much, but by all standards, crossing that line should have felt like a success.

For a founder, time is perhaps the most precious resource—and frequently the only one. Establishing a business is like attempting to hit a bullseye at the summit of Mount Everest.

Every step you take and every dart you toss brings you closer, yet skewed expectations feel like a daily avalanche and are utterly unhelpful. My what-ifs will never have clear solutions, but that isn't really the point of this. The goal is to recognize the founders who are still working hard and to encourage them—as I frequently remind myself—that although the challenges are insurmountable, so is your fortitude. Those who stayed were not merely devout believers; they were like steel forged in fire, fervently committed to the world we set out to create and choosing to resist the avalanches alongside me.

You can read the bold, size-72, underline-the-point-here reality here. Some of the most amazing, hardworking, and compassionate people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting are those who invested in Zencape, helped build it, and trusted us with their medical requirements.

They made the trip feasible and well worth the effort. A special thank you to Varun, my parents, my brother, Tara Riccio, Paige Finn, Dr. Ja Hyun Shin, and our incredibly amazing investors—words cannot adequately convey my appreciation for your everlasting faith in me—even if I could never thank them all. I've heard one of our investors comment, "That's just the life of an entrepreneur," following every update for years, whether I was delivering good or terrible news.

Today represents the most common occurrence in that existence; paradoxically, considering the likelihood of company closures, it may have been the day I should have placed my wager when I founded Zencape.

I have a lot of questions regarding the future, particularly what lies ahead for me. Am I going to remain here? Launch a new business? Perhaps. I still have a lot of issues with women's health that irritate me. However, if I've learned anything from starting a business, it's that every avalanche eventually leads to a valley of opportunity. For now, this is just another entrepreneurial day.