Someone asked me the other day, “What do you love about your job?” And, honestly, it really made me think. Because the answer isn’t straightforward. There are so many different threads woven into it, and when I really thought about it, I realised that where I am now has very little to do with where I thought I was heading.
I spent years building a career in marketing and business. On paper, I did well. I was successful. But if I’m completely honest, I never really got anything from it. I was always distracted, always looking for the next thing, always working on something on the side. Always thinking about another idea, another business, another direction. But I was too scared to actually do anything about it. And underneath all of that, I just felt… unfulfilled.
Then life changed. My dad died. It was traumatic in so many ways, and it brought with it a kind of loss that was difficult to put into words. It also reopened the grief of losing my mum in my twenties, alongside three other very close family members in that same period of my life. I was lost. And I was empty.
I had met my now husband just five months before my dad died. He was in the military, and I made the decision to take a huge gamble and move to be with him. It was a lot. Grief. Divorce. Moving somewhere I didn’t know a soul. Moving my children. Blending two families. Starting again from scratch. I needed to escape, but I don’t think I realised quite how much I was leaving behind.
I stayed in my part-time marketing role and continued working freelance for several clients, but whatever love I had once had for it had completely disappeared. And then came what I can only describe as a ‘moment’. I was completely overwhelmed by the enormity of everything I had done. The move. The children. The new family. The new life. Not knowing anyone around me. And, at the same time, not really feeling capable of putting myself out there and socialising properly.
And then my world caved in. At the time, I couldn’t see beyond it. I was inconsolable. But looking back now, I can see that it changed my life. There was adversity, certainly, but there was also an incredible amount of love and support. And, perhaps most importantly, it showed me the meaning of true friendship. Some people stood beside me without question. Some didn’t. And sometimes, you need both to understand what really matters.
With the help of the people closest to me, I slowly started putting myself back together. Sport and exercise had always been a huge part of my life, so eventually I made myself walk through the doors of my local CrossFit gym. And there were smiling faces waiting for me. That gym became one of the things that pulled me through one of the darkest periods of my life. Five years later, it is still one of my favourite places in the world.
And then came laser hair removal. I was a hairy Mary. 😂 I was shaving every single day because I was constantly going to the gym, and frankly, I was sick of it. So I had a few laser treatments. And it worked. Wow. It really worked.
So, being me, and without really thinking through the consequences, I decided to buy a machine! My husband questioned my logic. He knew me. He knew about my many hair-brained business ideas. But here’s the thing about me: when I believe in something, and when I genuinely enjoy something, I don’t just engage with it. I engage on another level. And slowly, things that had always felt like flaws in me started to make sense. The constant chopping and changing. The endless ideas. The impulsive decisions. The need to always be doing something. The distraction. The fidgeting — which my husband absolutely loves. 😂
I found some of my old school reports and I had always thought I was a really good student. And I was. I wasn’t disruptive. I wasn’t too naughty. I was incredibly engaged when I cared about something — usually sport — and almost completely disengaged when I didn’t. My son is basically the carbon copy, which is both reassuring and mildly terrifying. 😂
A good friend suggested that perhaps I had ADHD. “Eh? Yeah, right.” In my head, ADHD meant loud, chaotic and disorganised. But I booked the assessment anyway. And, to my surprise — although apparently not to anyone who knew me well — I was diagnosed with ADHD.
Suddenly, so much of my life made sense. The way my brain worked. The way I became completely absorbed in things I loved. The way I struggled with things that didn’t engage me. Even the intensity of some of my emotions and reactions. It was like someone had finally handed me the missing pieces of a puzzle I’d been trying to solve my entire life.
And somewhere along the way, I realised something. I adore my job. For the first time, I genuinely feel like I am exactly where I’m supposed to be. It has taken a hell of a lot of difficult experiences to get me here, but I am invested in this in a way I have never been invested in anything before. First and foremost, it allows me to be there for my children. They are, always have been, and always will be my absolute priority. I get to build my work around them so they can do the things they love — mainly sport, because apparently the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
But then there is the other part – I get to help people. People struggling with excess hair growth. Trans women beginning a journey that can be incredibly personal and emotional. People living with PCOS or endometriosis, where something as seemingly simple as unwanted hair can have a profound effect on confidence and self-esteem.
People who come to me because their skin is affecting how they feel about themselves. And I get to help them feel a little more confident in their own skin. Not by changing who they are. Not by making them into someone else. Just by helping them feel like the freshest, most confident version of themselves. I also give treatments to cancer patients, offer giveaways to people who perhaps just need a little kindness, and donate my time and services to causes I care about.
Why? Because it makes me feel good. And I think that’s important. Because sometimes, after spending years feeling lost, finding something that makes you feel good is enough. But there is another reason I love what I do. And this one is much harder to explain – I get to connect with people. I’ve been through a fair amount in my life. And I was incredibly lucky – I had the most wonderful childhood. I couldn’t have asked for better parents or a better wider family. My childhood was filled with love.
However, in a relatively short space of time, I lost seven of the people closest to me. And the impact of that doesn’t simply disappear because time passes. Perhaps the cruelest thing about love is that when we lose the people we love, the love itself doesn’t disappear. It remains, with nowhere to go. But perhaps that loss has also given me something. I think it has allowed me to understand people on a deeper level. Because my treatment room isn’t just a treatment room. It’s a safe space. It’s somewhere people can come in, close the door, take a breath and just… be. They can talk. They can laugh. They can swear. They can tell me things they’ve never told anyone else. They can cry. And they don’t have to apologise for any of it.
Those four walls have witnessed an extraordinary amount of laughter, but they’ve also witnessed an extraordinary amount of tears. And I think that’s what I love most. Because I don’t want people to feel that they have to perform here. They don’t have to be happy. They don’t have to have it together. They don’t have to put their mask on – I don’t want them to mask. I spent years doing exactly that. After my mum died, I became incredibly good at keeping busy. At carrying on. At distracting myself. At looking like I was fine.
So, if someone sits in my room and needs to fall apart for an hour, that’s okay. If they need to talk, I’ll listen. If they need silence, that’s okay too – Just be the truest version of yourself in that moment.
I’m now having counselling and finally working through some of the things I’ve carried for years. Nearly twenty years later, I’m finally starting to feel something I once thought was completely out of reach. Content. My mum used to say to me, “Don’t ever knock feeling just content, Natalie.” And she was right. There is so much to be said for contentment. For a long time, I would have given anything just to feel okay. To feel safe. To feel settled. To feel like I wasn’t constantly searching for something I couldn’t quite find. And now, at 46, I feel like I finally know who I am.
I’m surrounded by a beautiful family and some incredible friends — old friends, new friends, people who have stood beside me without hesitation. And you really do find out who your people are. I will be forever grateful to the people who loved me through the moments when I couldn’t quite love myself and I promise to give that back without hesitation.
So, when I go back to that original question — “What do you love about your job?” — I think I’ve finally found the answer. I love it because I get to be me. Just like the people I now surround myself with, allow me to be me. And I get to give other people permission to be themselves too. I want every person who walks through my door to feel safe. Safe to laugh. Safe to cry. Safe to talk. Safe to say nothing at all. Safe to feel whatever they need to feel in that moment.
The beauty industry is so much more than the word ‘beauty’. It’s a support network. It’s a safe space. It’s an outlet when life feels overwhelming. It’s a listening ear when someone simply needs to be heard. Behind every treatment is often a conversation. A connection. A moment of reassurance. A little bit of confidence restored.
And sometimes, it’s so much more than that. Because people don’t always come through our doors simply because they want to change how they look. Sometimes, they come because of how we make them feel. And perhaps that’s what I love most about my job.