Written by: Margot Thomson - Associate Creative Director
I grew up in advertising. My dad was an old school ad man, the kind who could charm a client at lunch, craft the copy in the afternoon, and still have the energy to tell stories about it at the dinner table. One of my favourites was about a senior leader in the agency who, eager to make his mark, abruptly tapped a page in a pitch review and said snarkily, “Surely that needs a comma there.” My dad, calm as ever, replied: “Mate… the line break punctuates the headline.”
That moment stayed with me. At the time it was a clever story about copywriting, but later I realised it was also about life. About knowing when to pause and letting the space do the work.
I knew early on I wanted to be in this industry. Work experience at DDB Needham in Dad's heyday was wild! The office was thick with clichés, ashtrays on desks, seafood platters and boozy lunches in the boardroom, the air buzzing with energy and ego. For all that chaos, what I fell in love with was the craft.
Ideas that made people stop. Words and images that could shift how someone felt. I thought: this is where I want to be.
And I made it there - to the industry, to the career. But the line wasn’t as straight as I thought it would be, and then came the line break I never asked for. About a decade ago, life gave me more than I could carry.
After having my baby, I struggled with what I now know was postnatal depression.
Then my husband got cancer.
Then my dad died.
On the surface, I kept working, parenting, and holding things together. But inside I was running on empty. Alcohol became my way of coping, and it took me all the way down. What started small grew into something that nearly consumed me. My proudest act wasn’t a campaign or an award, it was admitting I needed help. That break, that pause, as painful as it was, became the start of a different rhythm.
I’ve now been sober for eight years. I hate saying that word but I don’t shy away from that part of my story anymore, because it gave me a perspective I carry into everything I do.
Dad’s lesson and his mentorship has shaped how I create and lead. These days I work in health and pharma, not the path I imagined early on, but one that makes sense now. I have seen disease up close, with my dad dying of heart failure and my husband battling melanoma, and I know what it feels like to sit on the other side of the table. That perspective makes the work about much more than clever lines or polished decks.
My clients are people at their most vulnerable; patients facing stigma, doctors under pressure, families searching for hope. I have led campaigns that open conversations many would rather avoid, that give people permission to feel fully human again, and that connect healthcare professionals to each other in new and different ways.
Right now, I am leading a menopause awareness campaign that speaks directly and authentically to women in a uniquely Australian voice, reflecting their lived experience, including my own.
These projects give me pause, in the best way. They remind me that creativity is about knowing when to leave room for honesty and empathy, and for someone to feel seen.
What I’ve learned is this: breaks don’t ruin the story. They shape how it lands. My dad’s lesson about headlines became my lesson about living. Creativity works when it is honest, and leadership matters when it is human.
My dad was right. The line break punctuates the headline. And sometimes, the breaks in life do the same.
