Love Spell

30/08/2026

Well. Apparently one thing at a time is not really my brand.

Buy a home. Sell a home.Have one struggling business.
Decide I should probably open another.

Because clearly my plate was looking a little fu***ng empty.

Meanwhile, I’m standing in a half-painted space covered in paint tins, questionable decisions and what I can only describe as the beginning of something very exciting.

I keep thinking maybe now would be a good time to slow down. And then I remember…

Absolutely not.

So yes. There’s another Love Spell coming.

I’m not telling you where yet.
I’m not telling you exactly what it’s going to be yet.
But I will tell you this:

It’s going to be very Love Spell.

A little unexpected.
A little excessive.
And entirely fuelled by the audacity to believe we can make something fu***ng brilliant out of it.

And honestly, while we’re at it…
maybe I’ll adopt a second child.

I mean, why the f**k not? 😂

Shhhhh.

More soon. 🖤✨

29/08/2026

It’s another Thoughtful Thursday post I’ve written at the kitchen counter while Wolf watches some low stim episode of something. (I know, I suck!)

I’ve been thinking a lot about ageing lately. Not the Botox. Not the grey hairs. Not whether my jeans still fit like they did in 1998. The actual ageing.

The privilege of gaining enough distance from your own life to finally see the patterns.

My 20s were survival. Healing generational trauma while trying to build the white-picket-fence life I thought would make everything okay. I spent years apologising for who I was. Too much. Damaged goods. Destined to f**k everything up. My nervous system was so used to chaos that peace felt suspicious. This caused a lot of heartbreak for me and everyone around me. My one forever regret.

My 30s were career, heartbreak, bad decisions and trying to have it all. There was a lot of love, a lot of loss and enough heartache to fill several seasons of S*x and the City.

Would I do it again? Absofu***nglutely.

Then came my 40s. Peace.

Not because the world became peaceful, but because I finally knew I was building a life that felt like mine.

I became a mommy. Built Love Spell. Found my best friend and husband. Stopped outrunning myself and started creating a life I actually wanted to live inside.

And now I’m 50.

I give significantly fewer f**ks. But the beautiful thing isn’t caring less. It’s knowing what’s worth caring about.

I don’t want to be 25 again. I don’t want her skin badly enough to take back her confusion. I don’t want her body badly enough to take back her fear.

I want this woman.

The one who knows herself, still gets s**t wrong, still has big fu***ng dreams and can look at the next decade and think:

Oh. This could get really interesting.

That’s what I want for the women coming behind me.

Not to fear ageing. Not to spend thirty years trying to remain who they are today. But to get excited about who they haven’t met yet.

If my 20s were survival, my 30s were chaos and my 40s were peace, I’m very fu***ng curious about what my 50s and 60s are going to do.

The sky’s the limit.

And I’ve never been very good at staying inside the lines anyway. 🖤

27/08/2026

A little hiss for spring. 🐍🤎

Jackie by Alias Mae in Caramel Snake has entered the chat.

For when your outfit needs just a touch more bite.

No snakes were harmed. Several outfits may be.

13/08/2026

Kinda chic to absolutely fu***ng hate Instagram trends, roll my eyes at them and then do one anyway because apparently I have FOMO.

So here I am, sitting at the kitchen counter. Wolf is asleep. House is quiet. I’ve got approximately twelve things I should be doing and instead I’m thinking about the last few years.

About the s**tshow. The people who wanted to see me fail. The bullying. The little whispers. The people who seemed very confident I’d eventually pack it in. People are so bored.

Where the f are ya now? Because I’m still here and you’ve made me even braver and more feral.

And weirdly, today I’m letting myself be proud of that.Not in a polished look how far I’ve come kind of way. More like… holy s**t, Heather. You really kept going.

Even when it was ugly.
Even when the numbers were ugly.
Even when I was tired and pi**ed off and wondering if I was completely fu***ng delusional.
And then, because apparently I have learned absolutely nothing about sensible decision-making…

I’m opening a second location.

😂

I know.

The business account has spent enough time flirting with a negative balance to qualify as a toxic relationship, and I’ve decided the appropriate response is apparently another shop. But there is something about this one that feels bigger than retail. It feels like a little middle finger to every person, situation and version of myself that told me to play it safe.

And I want Wolf to see that.
Not that everything works.
Not that you always get it right.
Not that it comes easily.
But that sometimes you have to have the balls to back yourself when there is absolutely no guarantee.

So yes. I’m proud. For today, anyway.

Tomorrow I’ll probably find something new to panic about.

The location?

Shhhhh.

Not yet. 🤫 But this one is going to be fu***ng good.

And please for f$&@ sake if you know don’t put it in the comments!!!

06/08/2026

It’s Thursday. Wolf’s asleep. I’ve got exactly one coffee and about forty-five minutes before I start the Olympic sport of hiding evidence for tonight’s open house.

You know…Shoving chargers into drawers. Moving the same basket from one room to another. Pretending my toddler isn’t a complete tornado.
Anyway…I’ve been thinking about all the things I’m no longer subscribing to. Not because I’ve evolved into some enlightened woman who meditates at sunrise. I’m just…exhausted. Not tired. Exhausted. There’s a difference.
The kind where your nervous system just quietly resigns.

Take Botox. Do I miss it? Ummmm, yes. The same way I miss my 16 year old metabolism. I love Botox. The second Love Spell has enough money to buy more than a flat white and pay a bill, I’ll be back on that treatment bed faster than you can say “frown lines.” Sue me.

This isn’t me embracing ageing. It’s me embracing overdraft facilities. And trust me I love ageing, I have never felt more free so before I get attacked for not loving myself blah, blah everyone has there thing. I personally just don’t like looking like I’ve been scowling at my di****ad male managers for the past 10 years.

Same with the weight. Apparently I couldn’t afford wrinkle crack…or skinny crack. Inflation has really become a full-body experience. One missed jab and my hormones acted like I’d entered witness protection. Nothing fits. Nothing zips. My face looks like I’ve spent the weekend licking soy sauce. And yes, relax Felicia. I love my body. It’s gotten me through this s**t show we call life. I’d just like to wear my boutique wardrobe, before I’m called an as***le for not being sustainable

The older I get, the more I realise women spend an extraordinary amount of time apologising for existing.

Sorry I’m late.
Sorry I’m loud.
Sorry I’m ambitious.
Sorry I put on weight.
Sorry I lost weight.
Sorry I ordered fries.
Sorry I didn’t.
It’s exhausting.

Imagine if we put half that energy into ordering dessert and minding our own business.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an open house in two hours, a dinosaur to negotiate with when he wakes up from his nap, and a coffee that’s gone cold again
See you next Thursday. 🤍

05/08/2026

Proof that adding one oversized blazer can make you look like you have your life together…

Whether you actually do is none of our business. 🤍

Welcome to the chaos that is Love Spell 🖤

30/07/2026

25/07/2026

I think we spend so much of our lives waiting for the big moments that we forget to create the little ones.

For me, it’s always been about the details.

A beautiful outfit.
A warm lamp.
Fresh flowers.
A signature scent.
A disco ball catching the light for no practical reason whatsoever.

Whether it’s my home, my wardrobe or Love Spell, creating little pockets of magic genuinely gives me life.

So yes… I’ve been moving things around again.

I hope when you walk through the door, it makes you smile.

24/07/2026

https://youtu.be/181WjWf3jYw?si=61m7I0FtdDpxdwBB

23/07/2026

It’s Thursday. Wolf’s asleep, the dishwasher is making an absolute song and dance about washing six plates, and I’m standing at the kitchen counter wondering if we’ve accidentally become the busiest generation to ever avoid each other.

We’ve got shared calendars, location sharing, read receipts, voice notes at 1.5x speed because apparently we’re all CEOs now… and yet trying to organise dinner with four girlfriends requires about 37 text messages, two calendar invites and someone inevitably replying, “Sorry, just seeing this.”

When did that happen?

My sister stayed with me for two weeks and when she left I realised I’d barely taken a photo.

For about thirty seconds I felt like I’d failed Instagram.

Then I thought… hang on.

We were too busy talking.

Like… actually talking.

Coffee went cold. We solved absolutely none of the world’s problems. We laughed so hard at one point that Wolf told us to “use our inside voices,” which felt deeply hypocritical coming from a three-year-old.

And I realised something.

The best parts of those two weeks don’t exist on my camera roll.

They exist in my nervous system.

I miss when someone rang the house phone and you just… answered it. Sometimes it was your best friend. Sometimes it was your crush. Sometimes it was your nanna. Sometimes it was someone trying to sell you Tupperware. It was a lucky dip.

Dating was sitting on the couch watching a movie. Not sitting on the couch while one person watches Netflix, the other scrolls TikTok, and somehow you’re both “spending quality time together.”

Progress has been incredible.

I don’t particularly miss printing directions off MapQuest or rewinding VHS tapes.

But I do wonder if we’ve become so busy documenting our lives that we’ve forgotten to disappear into them.

Anyway… that’s tonight’s overthinking from my kitchen counter.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to ignore the washing I was supposedly doing while writing this.

See you next Thursday. 🤍