sn_aesthetic_solutions

05/02/2026

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05/02/2026

05/02/2026

How do I decompress after a long day?
Honestly, the first thing I do is stop talking.
Not in a rude way.
Just in a very necessary way.
Because when you spend all day being present with people — listening, focusing, reassuring,
chatting — you don’t realise how much energy it takes until you get to the end of the day and
think:
I cannot form another sentence.
It’s not that I don’t love my job.
I do.
But it’s people-heavy.
And being emotionally available all day is a lot, especially when you’re also a person with your
own life, responsibilities, hormones, and a brain that occasionally feels like it has seventeen
tabs open.
So decompression for me is simple.
It’s not some elaborate ritual.
It’s usually taking off my shoes the second I get in the door, standing in the kitchen, and staring
into the fridge like it might offer emotional support.
Sometimes I sit in silence in my car for a few minutes before going inside.
Not because I’m unhappy.
Because it’s the last quiet moment I’ll get before someone asks what’s for dinner as if I’ve been
thinking about chicken all day.
Midlife women will understand that deeply.
I also need my evenings to feel calm.
Nothing too intense.
If I try to be productive after work, it ends badly.
I’ve learned that I am not the woman who comes home, does a workout, meal preps, answers
emails, and reorganises a cupboard.
That woman is fictional.
After a long day, decompression looks like:
●
●
●
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comfy clothes immediately
a cup of tea that I actually drink while it’s hot (rare)
something mindless on television or reading my kindle nonsense books about love😍😂
scrolling in silence for a bit, like a modern form of sedation
possibly a snack I don’t have to explain
And sometimes, if it’s been a particularly full-on day, I just want everyone to leave me alone for
twenty minutes.
No questions.
No decisions.
No one needing anything.
Just peace.
And I think women need to stop feeling guilty about that.
Rest isn’t laziness.
It’s recovery.
You cannot pour from an empty cup — and frankly, some days the cup is hanging on by a
thread.
So that’s how I decompress.

04/02/2026

People walk into the clinic and say things like:
“Oh it’s so calm in here.
”
“It feels so relaxing.”
“This is lovely.”
And I always smile, because yes — that is the goal.
But what they don’t see is what it takes to make it feel like that.
Behind the scenes, setting up a clinic space is basically like preparing for a small theatrical
production.
Except instead of actors, it’s me, slightly rushed, checking everything twice, holding a cup of
coffee I will not finish.
The calm doesn’t just happen.
It’s built.
There’s something very intentional about creating a space where women can come in, sit down,
exhale, and not feel like they have to be “on”
Because most women spend their whole lives being “on”
Organising.
Remembering.
Caring.
Holding everything together.
So walking into a room that feels peaceful is… quite a big deal.
The reality is, before the first client arrives, I’m doing a hundred little things.
Wiping surfaces.
Restocking products.
Making sure everything is clean, ready, exactly where it should be.
Because the smallest details matter.
Not in a fussy way.
In a “this is someone’s time” way.
It might be the only hour that week where they’re not being needed by anyone else.
No children asking questions.
No partner asking what’s for dinner.
No emails.
Just them.
I also think clinic spaces get romanticised.
People picture soft music and serenity.
But setting up is practical.
It’s lists.
It’s organisation.
It’s me realising I’ve walked back and forth ten times because I keep forgetting what I came in
for.
Again.
The clinic may look polished, but I’m still a woman in midlife, doing midlife things.
I’ve absolutely put my glasses down and then spent five minutes looking for them while wearing
them.
So yes, it’s calm for you when you arrive.
But behind the scenes, it’s a mix of care, preparation, professionalism…
And mild chaos.
Which, honestly, is quite a good summary of adulthood.

03/02/2026

My favourite calming moment during the day isn’t anything dramatic.
It’s not a meditation session or a perfectly timed matcha in silence.
It’s much smaller than that.
It’s usually the moment in between.
That tiny pause after one client leaves and before the next one arrives.
The door closes.
The room goes quiet for about thirty seconds.
And for a brief moment, nobody needs anything from me.
Honestly, it’s bliss.
Because most of the day, you’re “on”
You’re listening.
You’re concentrating.
You’re chatting, reassuring, explaining, thinking.
And people don’t always realise how much energy it takes to be fully present with someone.
Especially women — because women don’t just come in with skincare concerns.
They come in with life.
You can see it in the way they sit down and exhale.
Work stress.
Family stress.
Hormones doing whatever they like this week.
That strange midlife feeling of being needed by everyone, while also trying not to disappear
yourself.
So my calm moment is that reset.
I tidy the room a bit.
Straighten something that doesn’t need straightening.
Take a sip of water I should’ve finished two hours ago.
Sometimes I just stand there for a second and breathe.
Nothing spiritual.
Just a reminder that I’m still a person, not a machine in a nice uniform.
And I think that’s something we all need more of.
Tiny pauses.
Not big wellness overhauls.
Not “self-care routines” with seventeen steps.
Just moments where you come back to yourself.
Because life doesn’t really slow down, does it?
You don’t get a week off because you’re overwhelmed.
You still have to make dinner.
Reply to messages.
Remember birthdays.
Do the Tesco shop.
And somehow, still look vaguely alive.
So yes, my favourite calming moment is about ten seconds of quiet between appointments.
It’s not glamorous.
But it’s real.
And those small moments carry you.
They stop the day becoming a blur.
They remind you that calm isn’t something you book in once a year.
It’s something you find where you can.
Even if it’s just standing alone in a treatment room, breathing, thinking:
“Right. Let’s go !!

02/02/2026

My morning routine before clinic is very simple.

It’s not a 5am miracle situation. No meditation, journalling, or greeting the sunrise with inner peace.
I wake up, try to remember what day it is, and lie there thinking about everything I need to do… while pretending I’m not thinking about it.

First comes my greens and mushroom chocolate ( read brain fog be gone!)
Not for enjoyment. For survival.

Then there’s the mirror check. Not dramatic. More of a quiet,
“Right. This is the face we’re going with today.”

People assume practitioners float into clinic polished and glowing. We don’t. Some mornings I’ve slept funny, my skin feels dry, and yesterday’s mascara is still clinging on. Hormones decide the vibe. Always.

Before I see clients, I pull myself together. Not perfectly. Just enough.

Because people don’t come in just for skincare advice. They come carrying stress, responsibility, and the weight of trying to hold it all together.

So I take a breath. Grab snacks. And remind myself no one needs to be flawless.
Just human.

And then I go to work, reminding women they don’t need to apologise for wanting to feel like themselves again.

01/02/2026

People think my job is glamorous.
That I spend my days surrounded by glowing skin, aesthetic lighting, and women floating
around looking effortlessly refreshed.
Let me correct that immediately.
Most mornings start with me drinking a coffee that goes cold three separate times because I get
distracted by life. Someone needs something. The dog is staring at me like I’ve ruined his
morning. I’m trying to find my keys while holding my phone… which is also in my hand.
Standard.
Then I get to work, and yes, the clinic is calm. Clean. Lovely.
But what actually happens all day is this:
Women come in carrying everything.
Not just handbags — although those are usually chaotic enough — but life.
Stress. Hormones. Teenagers. Divorce. Perimenopause. A husband who still doesn’t know
where the dishwasher tablets are kept.
And the first thing they’ll say is something like:
“Sorry, I look awful…
”
Which is always interesting, because they never do.
They look like women who are doing a lot. Quietly. Constantly. While still remembering everyone
else’s birthday.
What I find funny is that so many women think self-care has to be earned.
Like you need permission.
Like you have to reach breaking point before you’re allowed to do something small for yourself.
And I see it all the time — that guilty little laugh:
“I know it’s silly…
”
It’s not silly.
Do you know what’s silly?
Using a 3-in-1 shampoo because everyone else comes first.
That’s silly.
Some days after work, I sit in my car for a full five minutes before going inside my house.
Not because I’m unhappy.
Because silence is rare when you spend your day talking, listening, and being emotionally
available.
Also because I know as soon as I open the door, someone will ask what’s for dinner as if I’ve
been thinking about stew all day.
So no, it’s not all glamour.
It’s real people, real life, real conversations.
And honestly, that’s why I love it.
Not because anyone needs fixing.
But because most women just want to feel a bit more like themselves again.
And I completely get that.

31/01/2026

Before you book anything, ask yourself one blunt question:
Is this a calm decision… or an emotional one?
Because there’s a specific kind of appointment that happens when life is falling apart.
Kids leaving home and suddenly the house is too quiet, and your face becomes the
thing you can control.
A relationship breaks down and you want a “new me” moment, fast.
Your mental health is wobbly, you’re not sleeping, you don’t recognise yourself, and you
think maybe a tweak will make you feel like you again.
And I get it.
When your life feels unstable, changing your appearance can feel like doing something.
Like progress.
Like relief.
Like a reset.
But emotional bookings come with a risk: you’re not choosing a treatment, you’re trying
to change a feeling.
And feelings don’t stay fixed just because your jawline is sharper or your under-eyes are
smoother.
If the pain is bigger than the face, the face can’t solve it.
Here’s the rule I use:
If I’m in a spiral, I don’t book.
If I’m desperate for it to “work,” I don’t book.
If I’m hoping it will make me okay, I don’t book.
Calm looks like:
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“This has bothered me for a while.”
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“I’ve thought about it and I’m not rushed.”
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“I’m okay either way, I just prefer it.”
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“I trust the practitioner and we’re going conservative.”
Emotional looks like:
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“I need to do something.”
“I want to shock myself out of this.”
“I need a change.”
“I can’t stand my reflection lately.”
And if you’re in that emotional place, you don’t need to deprive yourself forever.
You just need a pause.
A week.
A month.
A bit of stability.
Then decide with a clear head.
Because aesthetic treatments should be a choice from strength, not a coping
mechanism.
Your face doesn’t need a reaction.
It needs a decision you’ll still like when your life feels steady again

30/01/2026

One bad photo can have you planning a full rebrand.
Not even joking. You see it once—one angle, one flash, one front camera moment—and
suddenly you’re zooming in like a crime scene investigator thinking: jawline?
under-eyes? smile lines? do I need to dissolve everything I’ve ever done and move
countries?
And the stupid part is you’ll forget the other 500 photos where you looked completely
fine. Because your brain doesn’t catalogue balance. It catalogues danger. And
apparently, nothing is more dangerous than being captured mid-sentence under
restaurant lighting.
Here’s what that photo doesn’t tell you:
●
it doesn’t show how you look in real life
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it doesn’t show movement
●
it doesn’t show your best angles (which everyone has)
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it doesn’t show that cameras distort proportions—especially up close
A photo is a split second. A bad one is usually just bad timing. But we treat it like
evidence.
So if you’ve just seen the photo and now you want to do something drastic, do this
instead:
●
wait a week
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●
●
look at 10 other photos
check how you feel in the mirror in normal daylight
then, if it’s still bothering you, choose a small, sensible change—not a panic
makeover
Because big decisions made in a spiral are how people end up with results they didn’t
even want.
You don’t need to fix your face because of one bad photo.
You need to stop letting a camera angle act like it knows you better than you do.

28/01/2026

The number one fear isn’t pain. It’s being clocked.
Not “Oh you look nice.”
More like: “What did you do?”
The subtle head tilt.
The scanning eyes.
The sudden forensic interest in your face.
Because nobody wants to look obvious. We’re not trying to look like a different person.
We’re trying to look like we slept, drank water, stopped crying in the car, and got our life
together.
Quietly.
And the annoying truth is: most of the “obvious” fear comes from two places:
1. Too much, too fast (big changes in one appointment)
2. You staring at yourself nonstop because you know something changed
In reality, when it’s done properly, people don’t notice the treatment.
They notice the effect.
●
●
●
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You look less tired.
Your face looks softer.
Your features look more balanced.
You look… calmer? (Even if your brain is still doing backflips.)
Also: other people are not as observant as we think.
They’re thinking about their inbox, their lunch, and whether they left the straighteners
on.
You are not the main character in their day.
So if the fear is “I don’t want to look done,” the answer isn’t “do nothing.”
It’s do it properly:
●
conservative plan
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gradual approach
●
someone who will tell you “no” when needed
Because the goal isn’t obvious.
The goal is: you, on your best day—on a random Tuesday—without having to explain
anything.

28/01/2026

This is the face of someone who has absolutely no chill about a new machine.

No pain.
No shock.
No medical drama.

Just pure, unfiltered excitement because Neogen has officially landed in clinic and I am FAR too pleased about it.

When you genuinely love your job, this is what it looks like when a new piece of tech turns up. Big grin. Slightly unhinged enthusiasm. Zero regrets.

Neogen is all about skin quality — supporting texture, firmness, and overall skin health in a way that works with your skin, not against it. It’s clever, considered, and very much my kind of treatment.

Nothing loud. Nothing overdone.
Just smart technology, good skin behaviour, and results that quietly speak for themselves.

So yes, I’m pulling this face because I’m excited.
And yes, you’re going to be seeing a lot more of this machine.

Neogen is here — and I cannot wait to get started.

27/01/2026

This face is not pain.
It’s not shock.
And it’s definitely not me questioning my life choices.

This is the face of someone who’s just unpacked a brand-new machine and is trying very hard to play it cool… and failing.

Because when you genuinely love what you do, this is what excitement looks like.

Meet Neogen — the latest addition to the clinic and, honestly, I’m obsessed already.

It’s designed to support skin quality, texture, and overall freshness by working with the skin rather than fighting it. The kind of treatment that doesn’t shout for attention, but quietly delivers results you feel before you even fully see.

This isn’t about dramatic change or chasing perfection.
It’s about better skin behaviour. Smarter technology. And results that look natural because they are.

So yes, I may be pulling a ridiculous face in this photo — but behind it is a practitioner who’s genuinely excited to bring something brilliant to you.

Neogen is officially here.
And I cannot wait to get started.