Today, I’m announcing Zencape Health’s shutdown. After four years, two major pivots, countless experiments, tens of thousands in annual revenue, one launched app, thousands of patient interactions, and a multi-million-dollar marquee hospital partnership, we have come to the end of our journey.Building a company isn’t for the faint of heart — founding one in women’s health, especially one focused on issues affecting marginalized communities, might just require a touch of madness. And I was certainly mad enough to try.When I started Zencape Health, I had spent more than a decade fighting for the care I desperately needed. It began with countless hours in the nurse’s office as a kid, doubled over from debilitating period pain. Over the years, I saw numerous doctors. I was put on birth control at 13 and cycled through a revolving door of hormonal treatments.Zencape Health wasn’t just born out of frustration. It was my answer to years of searching for personalized, comprehensive specialty care that never seemed to exist.So, we built it. We launched a platform that connected patients — many battling endometriosis, fibroids, and other chronic pelvic conditions — with a coordinated team of specialists: pelvic floor physical therapists, pain psychologists, nutrition experts, and gynecological surgeons, all integrated through app-driven treatment plans. Our vision was to create the most inclusive, affirming, and comprehensive healthcare platform for people with chronic conditions. We set out to elevate the standard of care for women, trans and non-binary individuals, people of color, and communities that healthcare has historically overlooked. And in many ways, we accomplished just that.Companies rarely fail for a single reason, and looking back, there are certainly choices I would have made differently. But here’s the simple truth: despite our progress, we ran out of time (and money) before we could crack the unit economics to meet venture-funded standards. We couldn’t bridge the gap to a viable, software-centric business model that was less reliant on expensive physician time, and that ultimately led us to wind down.As I turn the page on Zencape Health, I view the impact we made and the stand we took for equitable care as undeniable wins in my book. For me, the story always came to life when our users shared how Zencape made a difference in their lives. I’ll never forget my excitement during two of our earliest feedback sessions with Kara and Avery (names changed for privacy), who opened up about their experiences as beta users.Kara (she/her), a determined small business owner, had battled endometriosis for years, hoping surgery would finally bring relief. But when a couple of her symptoms persisted post-surgery, she felt like she was falling through the cracks of the healthcare system. She shared, “Navigating my care felt collaborative at Zencape. I felt like I was on a team, and I wasn’t left to figure it out alone”Then there was Avery (they/them), a dedicated teacher who had spent many doctor visits feeling misunderstood by the healthcare system. For them, OBGYN offices felt cold and unwelcoming, a place where their identity never quite fit. They reflected, “For the first time, I didn’t have to explain or justify my identity to get the care I needed. Zencape made me feel like my health mattered — without question.”Today, Kara and Avery continue to remind me that while this chapter may be closed, the story we wrote together will always matter. We created a space where people felt validated, heard, and supported. As I reflect on these past four years, a lot of emotions come up, but above all, I find myself choosing gratitude. Gratitude for the opportunity to work on a mission that runs through my veins — and for the chance to take a big swing. I am beyond thankful to the extraordinary people — teammates, investors, and more — who bravely joined me in building something meaningful, despite the lack of guarantees and personal sacrifices.However, I would be remiss not to mention some unique challenges of building as a woman in this space. During my first year of running the company, a well-known VC told me, “This would be a better deal if you had a male-bodied co-founder.” I could fill a book with the absurd things I’ve heard along this journey, but that comment stands out. What felt like an insulting dig at the time now appears, with some distance, as perhaps his twisted attempt at kindness, as if he was trying to spare me the usual game of decoding the unspoken rules. He tapped a vein on the first try. revealed that male entrepreneurs are asked about potential upsides, while women are grilled about risks — making it harder for our businesses to be seen as viable and return-generating. I always hated the joke during the early COVID era that ‘any founder with a pulse could raise venture capital,’ because moving the finish line closer for some didn’t make the system any more inclusive — it was just another cut in an already deep wound.Despite the odds, I joined the (and if that’s not tiny enough, that number becomes even tinier for women of color founders). By all measures, crossing that line should have felt like a success, but I often wonder what more the business could have achieved if I hadn’t been trapped in the inefficiency of working twice as hard for half as much. Time is arguably the most valuable — and often the only — true asset for a founder. Building a company is like trying to hit a bullseye at the top of Everest. You get closer with every step and every dart you throw, but biased expectations feel like a daily avalanche — relentlessly counterproductive.I’ll never have definitive answers to my what-ifs, but that’s not really even the point here. The point is to acknowledge the founders still grinding it out, and to remind them — as I often remind myself — that the obstacles are relentless, but so is your resilience.And if you want the bold, size-72, underline-the-point-here truth: those who remained weren’t just true believers; they were like steel forged in fire — fiercely devoted to the world we set out to create and choosing to withstand the avalanches alongside me. The folks who invested in Zencape, built Zencape, and trusted us with their healthcare needs were some of the kindest, hardest-working, and most extraordinary individuals I’ve ever had the pleasure of crossing paths with. They made the journey possible and worth every ounce of effort. While I could never fully list everyone, a special thank you to Varun, my parents, my brother, Tara Riccio, Paige Finn, Dr. Ja Hyun Shin, and our truly incredible investors — words will never be enough to express my gratitude for your unwavering conviction in me.For years, I’ve heard one of our investors say after every update, regardless of whether I was sharing good news or bad news, “That’s just the life of an entrepreneur.” Today embodies the most shared experience in that life — ironically, the day I perhaps should have bet on when starting Zencape, given the high odds of company shutdowns.I’m uncertain about many things ahead, especially what’s next for me. Will I stay in this space? Start another company? Maybe. I’m still pretty mad about a lot in women’s health. But if building a company has taught me anything, it’s that every avalanche eventually leads to a valley of opportunities.For now, this is just another day in the life of an entrepreneur.
Onwards & Upwards,
Abi
