The proof problem nobody names correctly
Felix doesn't have a proof problem because he lacks proof. He has one because the proof lives in a Google Doc that goes to nine people and then dies.
Every founder running a digital health company at seed or Series A produces a monthly or quarterly investor update. It has real numbers in it: pilot sites, retention curves, clinician feedback, what broke and what got fixed. It's the most honest writing most founders do all year, because it goes to people who can ask hard follow-up questions if the story doesn't hold up.
Then it sits in an inbox. Nobody outside that list ever reads it, and the founder goes back to LinkedIn to write something vaguer, safer, and far less convincing than what's already sitting in the Drive folder.
That's backwards. The update is the proof. The public content is usually the weaker document, and most founders never notice because they've never put the two side by side.
What's already sitting in your investor update
Pull up your last three updates and you'll probably find four things that never make it onto your website or your LinkedIn feed.
A specific number that moved. Not "strong growth," but the actual figure: sites live, clinicians onboarded, a retention curve at week four versus week twelve.
A problem you named honestly. Investor updates are one of the few places founders admit what didn't work, because burying a miss in a board update erodes trust faster than reporting it.
A decision you made and why. Why you killed a feature, why you picked one clinical specialty over another, why the roadmap shifted. That reasoning is the exact thing a skeptical clinician or a diligence associate is trying to find on your public site and can't.
A quote from someone in the trenches. A clinician advisor, a site coordinator, a beta user, paraphrased for your investors but never asked about publishing more widely.
All four are proof. None of them look like proof once they're buried in paragraph six of a PDF nobody outside your cap table opens.
What has to come out before it goes public
An investor update is written for people with a financial stake in your honesty. A public piece is read by people with no obligation to trust you yet. That difference decides what you can publish, not whether you should.
Cut anything with a number your investors would consider material and undisclosed: exact revenue, exact burn, anything a competitor could use to underprice you next quarter. If you're not sure whether a number is sensitive, ask your board before you publish it, not after.
Cut anything about a named clinical site or health system unless that site has explicitly signed off on being named. This is the one that trips people up. You can describe the operational detail, a 40-bed skilled nursing facility, a three-site cardiology group, without naming the account, and the detail is what makes the piece credible, not the logo.
Round or range numbers you can share but don't want pinned down. "Retention held above 60% at twelve weeks" does the job without handing a competitor your exact churn curve.
Keep the reasoning. This is the part founders cut by instinct and shouldn't. The decision and the why behind it is almost never sensitive, and it's the part that reads as proof of judgment rather than a status report.
A structure that turns an update into a post
Reorder what you already wrote. Lead with the decision or the number instead of the context that usually comes first in a board update.
Investor updates build up to the punchline. Public content should lead with it: "We cut our onboarding flow from nine steps to three after watching four site coordinators quit halfway through it." That's a first line. Everything after it is explanation.
Give one concrete detail a reader can check against their own situation. A specialty, a site type, a patient volume, a specific week in the pilot where the number moved. Detail is what separates this from a status update nobody asked for.
Say what you'd do differently. This is the line most founders skip, and it's the one that reads as credible rather than promotional. "If we ran this pilot again, we'd get the billing team in the room in week one, not week six" tells an investor and a clinician the same thing: you learn fast, and you say so out loud instead of editing it out later.
Stop there. Don't summarize the update, restate the mission, or add a call to action that doesn't fit the piece. A 300-word LinkedIn post built this way does more work than a 1,200-word blog post that circles back to a closing summary nobody needed.
What this looks like in practice
Say your March update told your board that a home health pilot's clinician adoption stalled at three of eleven nurses after two weeks, and the fix turned out to be a five-minute in-person walkthrough instead of the video tutorial you'd built. That's a board line.
Turned into a public post, it opens with the number: "Three of eleven nurses used the app after two weeks. All eleven used it after we sat with them for five minutes instead of sending a video." Then the detail: home health, not hospital, matters because a video assumes a desk and a quiet room, and neither exists on a home visit. Then the decision: you killed the onboarding video and replaced it with a scripted five-minute walkthrough every site coordinator now runs in person.
Nothing in that post needs board sign-off. It's the same honesty, aimed at a different reader.
Why this earns more than a marketing win
For Felix specifically, this feeds straight into the fundraising narrative, not just the content calendar.
An associate doing diligence before a partner meeting reads your public footprint before they read your deck. If your public writing matches the discipline of your investor updates, honest about what moved and what didn't, specific about decisions, it tells that associate something your deck can't: you write the same way when nobody's grading you.
If your public writing is vaguer than your investor updates, that gap is visible too. It reads as a founder who says one thing to the people with money and another thing to everyone else. Nobody has to say that out loud in the partner meeting. It just shows up as hesitation, and hesitation is expensive in a process where the associate is looking for a reason to advocate for you internally, not just a reason not to pass.
The same logic applies to clinicians. A clinical advisor or a prospective site lead who reads a founder update dressed up as a public post, specific problem, specific fix, specific outcome, gets more confidence from it than from a page of feature bullets, because it reads like something that actually happened rather than something written to sound like it did.
How often, and what it costs you
You already write the source material every month or every quarter. Turning one paragraph of it into a public post takes twenty minutes, not a content sprint.
Pick one thing per update: the sharpest number, the most honest miss, or the clearest decision, and leave the rest of the update where it is. The posts that try to cover everything read like the update itself, and the whole point was to stop doing that.
If a given update has nothing worth publishing, because the month was quiet or the numbers are all sensitive right now, skip it. A gap in your public posting costs less than a post that went out because a calendar said Tuesday and not because there was anything worth saying.
If you haven't started yet
Some founders won't have this problem yet. If you're pre-seed and haven't sent your first investor update, the fix is even simpler: start writing one now, monthly, addressed to your existing investors and advisors even if that list is three people. You'll have public proof material within a quarter, and you'll have built the habit before the pressure of a raise makes it feel like one more task competing for time you don't have.
Investors rarely object to this once you ask. Most assume the update stays private by default and are surprised nobody's asked to reuse it before. A short note before you publish, here's what I'd like to share and here's what I'm leaving out, takes two minutes and heads off the one awkward conversation founders imagine and almost never actually happens.
The habit that compounds
There's a longer payoff here too, past the current raise. A public archive built from real updates becomes the thing your next investor, your next clinical partner, and your next hire all read before they ever get on a call with you. It keeps working after the round closes, in a way a pitch deck sitting in a data room never does.
Most founders treat the investor update and the public content calendar as two separate jobs, one for the people who already believe in them and one for everyone else. Running them as the same habit is less work, not more, and the version that goes public ends up stronger for it. It's already been through the one audience that would catch any exaggeration before it reached a wider reader.
That's proof most competitors aren't publishing, because most competitors never look back at what they already wrote down.