When we hear news of a young life ending too soon, the shock and sorrow can feel unbearable. But beyond grief lies a story—one of resilience, creativity, and a family sharing their child’s struggle with the world. That is precisely what unfolded when 14-year-old influencer Zuza Beine passed away following an 11-year battle with acute myeloid leukemia. Her story resonates deeply: a child navigating treatment, social media, and ordinary teenage dreams—all at once.
Zuza first faced her diagnosis when she was only about three and a half years old. From that moment on, her life became intertwined with hospitals, treatments, and long recovery periods. Medical records show that acute myeloid leukemia (AML) is a form of cancer affecting blood and bone marrow; it progresses rapidly and typically requires aggressive therapy, including chemotherapy and often bone marrow transplant. Over her life, she endured three bone marrow transplants, a brutal testament to how fiercely she fought.
Despite her young age, Zuza didn’t retreat from life—she chose to share it. In her social media presence, she embraced what many call “get ready with me” (GRWM) content, giving fans glimpses into her routines, her struggles with treatment side effects, and her small daily joys. She had amassed more than 1.8 million followers on Instagram and 1.7 million on TikTok. Her openness about hair loss, taste changes, hospital visits, and even pain drew a remarkable following, for which she often expressed deep gratitude.
On September 23, 2025, her family announced, “It is with broken hearts that we share that Zuza died yesterday morning.” They revealed she had lived with cancer for 11 years. In their message, they also pointed out that Zuza, in her final posts, highlighted what she was grateful for in life—“a testament to a life filled with both beauty and suffering.” Her desire, they believed, would be to channel any remaining donations toward family members in need, particularly the children of her recently deceased uncle.
Her public sharing was not only about struggle—it was about living despite struggle. She frequently posted about the little pleasures she still enjoyed: good food (when chemotherapy allowed it), hairstyle experiments (despite hair loss), time with friends, and moments of normal teenage life. In a video just days before her death, she compiled memories of her cancer journey, confessing, “I’m in so much pain today I can’t take it.” That raw honesty hunted many hearts.
Within the content-creator sphere, Zuza was a member of the Glow House, a group formed in early 2025 that brought together young creators. Her name was often paired with Samara, another Glow House member and close friend. Fans saw them in joint videos, sharing genuine camaraderie that transcended illness and social media-polished images.
Diagnosed at a very young age, Zuza had long hoped for “normalcy.” The family noted that what made her life special was how she learned to meet the hardest circumstances and continue living fully. She didn’t want pity; she wanted understanding, connection, and to be seen. In her own words, she wanted to be a “normal, healthy kid,” but she also accepted paths she didn’t choose, making her story all the more human and resonant.
Statistically, childhood cancer remains relatively rare but devastating. In many countries, the survival rates for pediatric AML have improved over the decades, yet relapses remain a significant risk. The treatment process is grueling: multiple rounds of chemotherapy, inpatient stays, potential complications, and long recovery periods. Bone marrow transplant (also called stem cell transplant) is often the best hope when standard therapy fails, but it comes with its own risks—including graft-versus-host disease, infections, and organ damage.
Families like Zuza’s become pillars for others walking similar journeys. Her open documentation likely offered support to countless young patients and caregivers—showing not just struggle, but also moments filled with wonder, joy, and gratitude. That approach leans into what medical psychosocial care now widely recommends: telling the narrative, honoring emotions, and building community around shared experiences.
Influencer deaths, especially among youth, often trigger widespread public response. In Zuza’s case, fans expressed heartbreak across comments and social media, offering prayers, sharing supportive messages, and recounting how her courage touched them. Many pointed out that her final video, focusing on gratitude, was emblematic—she remained hopeful, honest, and generous even in her final days.
There’s a broader ethical reflection here about the intersection of social media and illness. Some may question whether putting such personal suffering online is overly exposing or emotionally costly. Yet for Zuza, it seems piercingly intentional: an act of agency. She and her caregivers chose transparency as a way to connect, to inspire, and to validate the experiences of countless others who feel unseen during serious illness.
Medical experts emphasize the delicate balance for youth in such scenarios. Psychologists and pediatric oncologists often encourage children to engage in normalizing activities—schoolwork, hobbies, friendships—as tolerable during and between treatment cycles. Encouragement to express fears, anger, hopes, and heartbreak is vital. In sharing her life, Zuza might have actually helped destigmatize discussion around suffering and vulnerability for young audiences.
In the wake of her passing, there’s also a call for stronger support systems—both in terms of medical infrastructure and psychosocial care. Many cancer centers now embed mental health teams, social workers, child life specialists, and peer support programs into treatment plans. Such holistic care can help mitigate isolation, depression, and burnout for young patients and their families.
Zhusa Beine’s life reminds us: illness isn’t the only story. She was a creator, a daughter, a friend, a girl who laughed, felt music, tried beauty routines, and longed for normal things. Her life story, marked by pain yet found in light, urges those of us reading—fans, caregivers, clinicians, content consumers—to reflect. To hold space for suffering without forgetting joy; to lean into honesty; to support research, funding, families; and to treat every life, however shortened, as one dignified by meaning.
If you or anyone you know is facing illness—yours or someone else’s—reach out. Community matters. Words matter. And stories like Zuza’s remind us we’re never truly alone, even in our deepest trial.