Travelling abroad when you’re coeliac usually comes with a small, quiet dread.

Will there be anything I can safely eat? Will I be the person holding up the table while I ask three questions about a sauce? Will “gluten-free” mean properly gluten-free, or simply that they have removed the bread from the plate?

Venice, it turns out, was the trip where I stopped bracing myself quite so much.

A note for fellow coeliacs before we begin: I always explained that I was coeliac rather than simply asking whether something was gluten-free. The restaurants were honest that gluten was present in their kitchens, but they explained that my food would be prepared separately and away from gluten. That gave me far more confidence than somebody simply pointing at a gluten-free symbol on a menu.

This was my personal experience, and kitchens and procedures can change, so I would always reconfirm everything directly when booking and ordering.

Where we stayed

The JW Marriott Venice Resort & Spa isn’t really “in” Venice. It sits on Isola delle Rose, its own private island in the lagoon, so getting there becomes part of the experience.

We took a water taxi over and then used the hotel’s boat service between the island and Venice itself. Staying away from the centre could have felt inconvenient, but I actually loved being able to step out of the crowds and return somewhere calm at the end of the day.

It might also be the most family-friendly five-star hotel I’ve stayed at.

The children were riding bikes around the grounds within about an hour of checking in. There’s a brilliant pool, plenty of space, children’s activities and an open-air cinema in the evenings. There is also a pizza restaurant on-site, which solved at least two of those inevitable “I’m not eating that” dinners.

It doesn’t feel like a beautiful hotel that merely tolerates children. It feels as though families have genuinely been considered.

And, crucially for me, gluten-free food wasn’t a conversation I had to restart at every meal.

The gluten-free breakfast

Hotel breakfast buffets are often one of the most difficult parts of travelling with coeliac disease. Even when there are technically gluten-free options, shared utensils, crumbs and food being moved around can make the whole thing feel uncertain.

At the JW Marriott, my breakfast was prepared separately and away from the main buffet.

They made me omelettes, and brought prosciutto and cheese separately rather than asking me to take them from the shared buffet. There were also gluten-free products available, and I regularly had my own basket of gluten-free crackers brought to the table.

That level of care made such a difference. I didn’t have to spend every morning inspecting serving spoons or wondering whether somebody had dropped a croissant crumb into something that should have been safe.

It meant I could sit down and have breakfast with everyone else, which sounds like a small thing until you’re the person who usually can’t.

Eating at the hotel

The hotel continued to look after me properly at lunch and dinner. The staff understood that I was coeliac, acknowledged that gluten was used within the kitchen and explained that my food would be prepared separately.

The gluten-free vongole was one of the best things I ate during the entire trip: proper Venetian clam pasta, not a compromised version of it.

That became one of the themes of Venice for me. I wasn’t repeatedly offered the safe but uninspiring option while everybody else ate the food the city is known for. I could have pasta, seafood and dessert and still feel that I was actually experiencing Venice.

Where we ate in Venice

Three restaurants stood out. They are all classic Venice restaurants around the San Marco area, and each dealt with coeliac dining confidently and without making it feel like an inconvenience.

Da Ivo

Da Ivo is tucked beside a quiet canal and has that wonderful, old-school Venetian feeling—the kind of restaurant that has been feeding people for decades and doesn’t need to shout about it.

The staff took my coeliac requirements seriously and explained how the food would be handled separately. It felt reassuring without becoming a long, awkward conversation at the table.

Antico Martini

Antico Martini is beautiful, historic and slightly grand. It’s one of Venice’s oldest restaurants and feels special without being painfully formal.

Again, they were completely unfazed when I explained that I was coeliac. They were clear that gluten was present in the kitchen, but that my dishes would be made separately and away from it.

That honesty gave me confidence. I would always rather a restaurant acknowledge that it operates a shared kitchen and tell me exactly what precautions it takes than offer a vague promise that “it should be fine.”

Do Forni

Do Forni is classic, bustling and right in the heart of Venice near San Marco. It has the atmosphere you want from a proper Venetian restaurant—busy, polished and full of life.

They also handled gluten-free dining calmly and confidently. There was no sense that I was creating a problem by asking questions or that I had to settle for the least interesting thing on the menu.

What I ate

Across the trip, I ate spider crab, octopus, gluten-free pasta and panna cotta.

The seafood was exactly what I had hoped to eat in Venice: fresh, simple and allowed to be the focus of the plate. The pasta felt like proper Italian pasta rather than a substitute that had been added to the menu as an afterthought.

And being able to finish with panna cotta—without feeling as though dessert was automatically off limits—made the meals feel complete.

For me, that is the difference between finding something gluten-free and actually enjoying a city’s food. Venice didn’t make me feel as though I was eating around my diagnosis. I felt included in the experience.

What we did

We took a gondola ride because you have to do it at least once and it was better than the cynics tell you it will be.

Yes, it’s touristy. It’s also one of the loveliest ways to see Venice. Moving through the smaller canals gives you a completely different view of the city, away from the crowds and busy walkways.

We also visited the Basilica di San Marco and the Doge’s Palace. Both were worth the queue and both worked better with children than I expected. Venice itself provides so much distraction that even walking between places feels like part of the day rather than simply getting from one attraction to another.

Comfortable shoes are non-negotiable. Venice always involves more walking—and more bridges—than you think it will.

Would I stay there again?

Yes.

I would return to the JW Marriott for the combination of calm, space and easy access to Venice. With children, having the pool, bikes, activities and room to breathe made the trip far more enjoyable.

As someone with coeliac disease, the way the hotel handled breakfast would be a major reason to return. Having food prepared away from the buffet, rather than being expected to navigate it myself, removed a layer of anxiety that normally follows me through hotel stays.

And I would happily return to all three restaurants.

The Venice edit, at a glance

Stay: JW Marriott Venice Resort & Spa

Eat: Da Ivo, Antico Martini and Do Forni

Order again: Gluten-free vongole, spider crab, octopus and panna cotta

With children: Choose a hotel with space and a pool, then take the boat into Venice

Do once: A gondola ride, even if you think it might be too touristy

Coeliac tip: Say clearly that you are coeliac and ask where and how the food will be prepared

Would I return? Absolutely

The bit I always say…

None of this is sponsored.

If something appears in the edit, it’s because I would book it, eat there or do it again. The whole point of this newsletter is that you shouldn’t have to do all the trial and error yourself.

If you want the other side of my life, what it’s actually like building a wellness brand while juggling all of this, that’s what the paid Founder Notes are for.

This one is free, as most of the travel and lifestyle edits will be.

Has anyone else found somewhere in Venice that gets gluten-free food right? I’m always taking recommendations for next time.

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I want them to remember that I was there. But I also want them to remember that I had dreams while I was raising them.

I’ve been thinking a lot about motherhood lately. Maybe it’s because the summer holidays are nearly over. Maybe it’s because I’m watching my children get older in front of me and becoming increasingly aware that this version of them, and this version of us, isn’t going to last forever.

I want to remember it all. The slow mornings. The school runs. The cuddles. The endless snacks. The little conversations in the car that somehow tell you more about their world than any big conversation ever could.

I want my children to grow up knowing that I was there. But I’ve realised something else. I don’t want them to only remember me as Mum. I want them to remember the woman I was while I was raising them too. I want them to remember that I had dreams. Motherhood has this incredible ability to consume your identity.

Suddenly you’re somebody’s mum. You’re responsible for appointments and school forms and packed lunches and birthday presents and whether anyone has clean socks. And I love being their mum. It is, without question, the most important role I will ever have. But it isn’t the only part of me.

I’m also ambitious. I have ideas. I love building things. I want to create. I want financial independence. I want to achieve things that have absolutely nothing to do with whether anyone remembered their PE kit. And for a long time I think I felt slightly guilty admitting that. Because there’s still this strange expectation that once you’re a mother, wanting something for yourself somehow means wanting less for your children. I don’t believe that anymore. I want them to see me work. There are definitely days when the guilt gets me.

The laptop is open when they want my attention. There’s a call I need to take. I’m answering an email while making dinner. I’m physically with them but mentally thinking about something I haven’t finished. And I wonder whether I’m getting it wrong. But then I think about what they’re actually watching.

They’re watching their mum have an idea and do something about it. They’re watching me build. They’re watching me work for something that matters to me. They’re watching me solve problems. They’re watching things go wrong. And, perhaps most importantly, they’re watching me get back up when they do.

Maybe that’s part of raising them too. I don’t want to teach them that success is a straight line My children won’t grow up with a story about their mum where everything worked perfectly.

Far from it. I’ve built businesses. I’ve had success. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve had things fall apart. I’ve had to start again. And I’m still building. There was probably a time when I would have preferred them only to see the successful bits.

Now I’m not sure I would. Because life isn’t going to work perfectly for them either. At some point they’re going to fail at something. Someone will tell them no. Something they desperately wanted won’t happen.

They’ll make the wrong decision. They’ll have to start again. And when that happens, I want them to know that starting again isn’t something to be ashamed of. Sometimes it’s the bravest thing you can do. I want my daughter to know that ambition and motherhood can coexist. I think about this particularly with my daughter. I don’t want her growing up believing she will one day have to choose between being a loving mother and being an ambitious woman. I don’t want her to shrink herself because she thinks that’s what motherhood requires. I want her to know she can love her children desperately and still want things that belong entirely to her.

A career.

A business.

Money of her own.

A purpose.

An identity.

Whatever she chooses.

And perhaps the best way I can teach her that isn’t by telling her.

It’s by letting her watch me try to live it.

And I want my son to see it too

Because this isn’t only a lesson for daughters. I want my son to grow up seeing women work. Women lead. Women make decisions. Women earn money. Women build companies. Women have ambitions that matter. I want that to feel completely normal to him.

And one day, if he has a family of his own, I hope he understands that becoming a mother doesn’t make a woman’s ambitions suddenly less important.

The guilt probably never disappears I’m not going to pretend I’ve solved working motherhood. Some days I feel like I’m doing brilliantly at work and failing at home. Other days I’m completely present with my children while watching my inbox quietly explode.

Occasionally I manage both. Usually for about eleven minutes. Maybe balance isn’t really the goal. Maybe there are seasons. Days when the business gets more of me. Days when my children do. And days when everything gets the slightly exhausted version. I’m learning to be okay with that. Because they’re watching more than we realise One day my children will be adults.

They probably won’t remember whether the washing was always folded. They won’t remember every email I answered when they wanted me. They may not even remember half the things I currently feel guilty about. But I hope they remember a home where they felt loved. I hope they remember that I showed up.

And alongside that, I hope they remember watching their mum build a life of her own. I hope they saw me be brave. I hope they saw me fail. I hope they saw me start again. I hope they saw me work hard for something I believed in. And I hope, when it’s their turn to decide what kind of life they want, they remember that.

Because I don’t want my children to only know me as Mum.

I want them to know the woman who was becoming herself while she was raising them.

I’ve launched businesses before. If I were starting another consumer brand tomorrow, these are five things I wouldn’t spend my early cash on.

Read more

Not because you’re physically alone. Because eventually, every decision comes back to you. There are lots of things people warn you about when you start a business.

Cash flow. Long hours. Hiring the wrong people.

Running out of money. They tell you it will be stressful. They tell you you’ll work harder than you’ve ever worked before. But nobody really tells you how lonely it can be.

And I don’t mean lonely in the traditional sense.

I have people around me. I have friends. I have family. I speak to suppliers, retailers, investors, customers and people I work with all day long.

Sometimes my phone doesn’t stop.

But there is a particular kind of loneliness that comes with being the person who ultimately has to decide.

Everyone can have an opinion. You have to make the decision. Should we launch it?

Should we wait? Should we spend the money? Should we hire someone?

Should we let someone go? Should we say yes to the retailer?

Can we afford this? Is this opportunity brilliant or a complete distraction?

Is the product wrong, or does it just need more time? Do we keep going?

There are people you can ask. And believe me, people will have opinions.

But eventually everyone goes home and you are left with the decision. And more importantly, the consequences of it. That’s the part I hadn’t really understood before becoming a founder. Decision fatigue is real.

Some days I feel as though I’ve made 100 decisions before lunch.

Not enormous, company-changing decisions.

Tiny ones.

Approve this.

Change that.

Which packaging?

What price?

How many units?

Do we reorder?

What do I reply?

Is this contract okay?

Can we move this?

Do we pay for this?

Should we chase them again?

Individually, they’re nothing.

Collectively, they’re exhausting.

And then somebody asks you what you want for dinner and you genuinely cannot make another decision.

You have to be the person who believes this is another strange part of building a business. You’re expected to be optimistic. Your team needs to believe in where you’re going. Investors need to believe. Retailers need confidence. Customers need to feel excited. Partners want to hear about momentum.

So you become very good at talking about what’s going well. But founders don’t wake up every morning feeling fearless and certain. Some mornings you think: What if I’m completely wrong? What if nobody buys it? What if this retailer says no? What if we run out of cash? What if I’ve invested all this time, money and energy into something that doesn’t become what I thought it could? And then you open your laptop and carry on.

Not because the doubt disappeared.

Because that’s the job.

There isn’t always someone to tell you that you’ve done the right thing

When you work for someone else, there are structures around you. A manager. A team.

Targets. Reviews.

Someone above you who can ultimately say: yes, that’s the right decision.

When it’s your business, that certainty disappears.

You can make a decision that feels completely right and discover six months later that it wasn’t.

You can make one that terrifies you and it becomes the best thing you ever did.

There isn’t a marking scheme. And perhaps that’s why founders spend so much time looking sideways. What are they doing? How quickly are they growing? How much have they raised? Which retailers have they got? How big is their team? LinkedIn doesn’t exactly help.

Everyone appears to be announcing another milestone while you’re sitting at your kitchen table wondering why something that looked straightforward on a spreadsheet has become an enormous problem.

Success can be lonely too

We talk a lot about needing support when things go wrong.

But some of the loneliest moments can happen when something goes right.

You get the email you’ve been waiting months for.

The retailer says yes.

The investment lands.

The product wins something.

And for a moment you’re absolutely thrilled.

Then almost immediately your brain moves onto:

Right. What does this mean we need to do next?

That’s the funny thing about milestones.

From the outside they look like finish lines.

From inside the business, they’re usually the beginning of another list.

And then there’s being a mum. This adds another layer for me. I can spend the day making decisions about products, money, retailers and the future of a company. Then school finishes. And suddenly the most important questions in my world are completely different.

What’s for dinner?

Where’s my football kit?

Can my friend come over?

Can you help me with this?

Sometimes that’s exactly what I need.

My children don’t care about turnover or strategy or whether somebody replied to an email.

They just want Mum.

There is something incredibly grounding about that.

But when you’re carrying the responsibility of a business alongside the responsibility of a family, there are also moments when you realise there isn’t really an off switch.

One responsibility finishes for the day and another one begins.

And somewhere between the two, you’re supposed to remember yourself.

I’ve learnt that asking for help is part of the job

I used to think being a good founder meant having the answers.

Now I think it means knowing when you don’t.

Finding people who know more than you.

Calling someone who’s been through it.

Asking the stupid question.

Getting another opinion.

Saying, I actually don’t know what to do here.

The decision might still ultimately be yours.

But you don’t have to reach it completely alone.

And I think founders need those people around them.

Not people who tell you everything is brilliant.

People who can say:

I think you’re wrong.

Or:

You’re overthinking this.

Or sometimes simply:

Yes. This is hard.

Maybe loneliness is part of ownership

Because that’s really what we’re talking about.

Ownership.

Owning the idea is exciting.

Owning the company sounds impressive.

Owning the outcome is something else entirely.

You own the decisions.

You own the mistakes.

You own the payroll.

You own the promises you’ve made.

You own what happens when the plan doesn’t work.

And you also own the moment when it finally does.

Would I swap that responsibility?

No.

There is still nothing quite like building something that once existed only in your head and watching it slowly become real.

But I wish we talked more honestly about what sits alongside the freedom, ambition and excitement of entrepreneurship.

Sometimes building a business is exhilarating.

Sometimes it’s terrifying.

And sometimes it’s 11pm, everyone else has gone to bed, you’re staring at a decision nobody can make for you and thinking:

I really hope I’m getting this right.

Then the next morning, you get up and make another one.

The short answer? Yes.

The longer answer is: I would never start one in the same way I did before.

I’ve spent most of my working life around consumer brands.

I built my first business, Oxygen Boutique, over 15 years. At its peak, we were turning over close to £1 million a year, had more than 75,000 customers and had worked with over 500 brands.

Now I’m doing it all over again with TOCU Health.

Except building a consumer brand in 2026 feels like an entirely different sport.

There was a time when you could create a beautiful product, build an equally beautiful Instagram account, run some Facebook ads, get a bit of PR and — with enough determination and a decent product, build a business.

Today?...A pretty brand is the entry ticket. It isn’t the strategy.

Everyone can launch a brand now and that’s both brilliant and problematic. Manufacturing is more accessible. Shopify has made launching a website incredibly easy. Canva has democratised design. TikTok can put an unknown product in front of millions of people overnight.

You can create something that looks like an established consumer brand remarkably quickly.

But looking like a brand and building a business are two completely different things.

I see beautiful brands constantly. Perfect packaging. Beautiful photography. Gorgeous feeds. Then you start asking the less sexy questions.

What’s the margin? How much does it cost you to acquire a customer? Do they come back? What happens to your margin when you sell wholesale? Can you afford a distributor? What happens when a retailer wants 50%? Can you fund the stock if somebody suddenly places a significant order?

And my favourite:

Does anybody actually want this product? That’s where it gets interesting. The customer acquisition party is over.

One of the biggest differences is how expensive attention has become. For years, DTC businesses were built around a fairly straightforward formula: acquire customers through Meta, convert them on your website and scale the ads when the numbers worked.

It’s not that simple anymore. CAC matters enormously. But so do retention, average order value, contribution margin and lifetime value.

You can’t endlessly pour money into acquisition hoping scale will eventually fix the economics. Growth that loses money isn’t necessarily growth. Sometimes it’s just expensive revenue. That’s something I understand much more deeply the second time around.

Then there’s Amazon I think founders have a complicated relationship with Amazon. We spend enormous amounts of money building beautiful websites and obsessing over every part of the customer experience, and then consumers go to Amazon because they want something tomorrow.

You can resist that behaviour. Or you can understand it. For the right product, Amazon can give you reach, convenience and access to customers who may never discover your DTC site. But being on Amazon isn’t a strategy either.

Fees, advertising, reviews, fulfilment, pricing and margin all matter. And increasingly I think founders need to stop asking:

“Should I be on Amazon?”

and start asking:

“What role should Amazon play in my overall business?”

That’s a very different question.

TikTok has changed discovery TikTok is probably one of the most fascinating things to happen to consumer brands. A product can go from virtually unknown to selling thousands of units because somebody posts a video from their bedroom.

That’s extraordinary.

But virality isn’t predictable, and it certainly isn’t a business model.

TikTok Shop has blurred the lines between content, recommendation, entertainment and commerce. The brands that understand that aren’t simply making adverts for TikTok.

They’re making content people actually want to watch. And that’s harder than it looks.

Retail still matters

Perhaps because I came from retail, I’ve never subscribed to the idea that DTC would make physical retail irrelevant.

If anything, I think good retail has become more valuable. Getting your product onto a shelf puts it in front of people who weren’t searching for you.

There’s also something incredibly powerful about a recognised retailer effectively saying:

“We think this brand deserves to be here.”

But buyers aren’t there to validate founders.

They’re allocating incredibly valuable shelf space.

They need to understand why your product will sell, who will buy it, where it sits, what makes it different and how you’re going to support it once it gets there.

“We have a great product” isn’t enough.

Neither is “we have lots of Instagram followers.”

You have to give the retailer a reason to believe their customer wants you.

And then there are the margins This is the part of starting a brand that isn’t particularly Instagrammable. You can have phenomenal sales and still have a terrible business. I learnt that lesson through my first company.

Turnover can make you feel successful. Cash in the bank can temporarily make you feel successful.

But neither necessarily tells you whether the underlying business works.

The second time around, I think about margins much earlier.

Manufacturing.

Packaging.

Freight.

Warehousing.

Payment fees.

Amazon fees.

Retail margin.

Distributor margin.

Discounting.

Marketing.

Returns.

Suddenly the £25 product you’re selling doesn’t look quite so much like £25.

Your margin determines your options.

And optionality is incredibly valuable when you’re building a company.

Would I take investment?

I have.

And I would again.

But I think founders sometimes talk about raising money as though it’s the moment you’ve made it.

It isn’t.

Someone giving you investment doesn’t mean you’ve won.

It means somebody believes there is a possibility that you could.

What I understand much more clearly now is that capital should accelerate something that is working.

It shouldn’t be used to avoid answering difficult questions about the business.

And once you take somebody else’s money, there’s another level of responsibility attached to every decision.

So why would I still do it?

Because despite everything I’ve just written, I still think there’s something extraordinary about creating a physical product that didn’t exist before and watching somebody choose it.

I still love seeing an idea become packaging.

Packaging become a product.

A product become an order.

An order become a repeat customer.

And eventually, if you’re lucky and you get enough things right, a product becomes a brand.

Consumer behaviour will keep changing.

Platforms will change.

Retail will change.

The cost of acquiring customers will change.

The brands themselves will change.

But people will continue buying products that solve real problems, make their lives easier, make them feel something or become part of how they see themselves.

So yes.

I would absolutely start a consumer brand in 2026.

But I would spend less time asking:

Does this look like a successful brand?

And much more time asking:

Could this become a successful business?

Because in 2026, I think that’s the difference between launching a brand...

and actually building one.

Joanna x

The wellness industry has never been bigger.

Every week there’s another “must-have” ingredient, another supplement everyone suddenly swears by, another celebrity launching a brand, or another morning routine we’re told will change our lives.

Collagen yesterday.

Creatine today.

Peptides tomorrow.

Somewhere in between, we’re still trying to work out whether we actually feel any better.

The numbers tell one story. The wellness market is now worth hundreds of billions globally, and every year another category emerges promising to optimise another part of our lives. Sleep has become an industry. Hydration has become an industry. Gut health has become an industry. Stress has become an industry.

Sometimes I wonder whether wellness has become so good at creating solutions that it’s forgotten to ask whether consumers actually wanted another problem to solve.

That’s not a criticism.

It’s an observation.

Because I’ve spent the last few years building a business in this industry, I’ve found myself seeing wellness from two very different perspectives.

One is the consumer’s.

The other is the industry’s.

And they don’t always match.

As consumers, we’re searching for products that make us feel healthier, calmer, more energised or more balanced. We want simplicity. We want products that fit around our lives rather than becoming another thing on an already overwhelming to-do list.

Behind the scenes, however, the conversations are very different.

Retail buyers are asking whether a category has reached saturation.

Manufacturers are trying to predict which ingredients will dominate next year rather than last year.

Investors are asking which brands have longevity rather than simply momentum.

Founders are asking how they differentiate themselves in a market where every other product claims to be “science-backed”, “natural”, “clean” and “clinically formulated”.

It’s fascinating because everyone is looking at the same industry, yet they’re all solving completely different problems.

The more people I meet across wellness, the more I realise that the biggest conversations are rarely about ingredients.

They’re about behaviour.

Consumers aren’t simply buying supplements anymore.

They’re buying convenience, confidence, identity, routine, belonging.

That’s a huge shift.

For years the industry has focused almost entirely on what people are buying.

Vitamin D, Ashwagandha, Magnesium, Collagen.

But I think the more interesting question is becoming...

Why are people buying them in the first place?

Is it because they genuinely understand the ingredients?

Or because they’re looking for something that fits into the version of themselves they’re trying to become?

The wellness industry has always been brilliant at selling aspiration.

The morning routine.

The perfectly organised supplement drawer.

The green juice before sunrise.

The beautifully curated kitchen shelf filled with powders and tinctures.

But real life rarely looks like that.

Most people are juggling work, children, relationships, financial pressure and never-ending to-do lists.

They don’t need another complicated wellness routine.

They need wellness that works around them.

I think that’s one of the biggest shifts we’re going to see over the next decade.

Less complexity, more convenience, less optimisation, more consistency.

Consumers are becoming more selective.

They’re asking harder questions.

Do I actually need this?

Will I stick to it?

Does this fit into my life?

Can I trust this brand?

Those questions are forcing the industry to evolve.

And I think that’s a good thing.

Because ultimately, the brands that succeed won’t necessarily be the ones with the newest ingredient or the loudest marketing campaign.

They’ll be the brands that genuinely understand people.

Not just consumers.

People.

That’s what fascinates me about this industry.

Not the products.

Not the trends.

Not even the science.

It’s the psychology behind why we choose certain products, why some brands become part of our daily lives while others disappear almost overnight, and what all of that tells us about where wellness is heading next.

That’s what I want to explore here.

Not product reviews.

Not trend reports.

But the bigger conversations shaping one of the fastest-growing industries in the world.

Building a Business as a Single Mum

One of the questions I get asked most often is how I manage to run a business whilst raising two children on my own.

The truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever really “managed” it. I simply keep moving forward because there isn’t another option.

When people talk about entrepreneurship, they often focus on the exciting parts. The investment rounds, the growth, the new product launches and the wins that make for good LinkedIn posts. What is discussed far less is the reality of trying to build something whilst carrying the full responsibility of a family.

For me, being a founder and being a mother are not two separate identities. They are completely intertwined. Every decision I make in business affects my children, and every decision I make as a parent affects the way I show up in my business.

There have been investor meetings squeezed between school drop-offs and swimming lessons. Product launches planned from the sidelines of netball courts. Late-night emails sent once homework is finished, uniforms are ready for the next day and the house is finally quiet.

None of it looks particularly glamorous.

In fact, some days it feels incredibly difficult.

There is a constant tension between wanting to build something meaningful and wanting to be present for the people who matter most. I don’t think that tension ever disappears. What changes is your relationship with it.

Earlier in my career, I believed success meant having everything under control. I imagined that successful founders had found some secret formula for balance that I simply hadn’t discovered yet. Over time, I realised that balance is often an illusion. Life moves in seasons. Sometimes the business needs more from you. Sometimes your family does. The challenge is learning to accept that you cannot be everything to everyone all of the time.

Building Tocu Health has taught me that resilience is not about being strong every day. It is about continuing even when things feel uncertain. It is about making decisions when you are tired, finding solutions when resources are stretched and maintaining belief when nobody else can see the vision yet.

As women, and particularly as mothers, we often underestimate the skills we develop through parenting. Patience, adaptability, negotiation, empathy, crisis management and the ability to function under pressure are all qualities that serve us exceptionally well in business. Yet they are rarely recognised as leadership skills.

If anything, becoming a mother has made me a better founder.

It has made me more focused with my time, clearer on my priorities and more determined to create something meaningful. It has also taught me that success is not just measured in revenue, funding rounds or business milestones.

Success is building a life that reflects your values.

Some days that means closing a deal. Other days it means being present at a school performance. Increasingly, I have learned that both achievements matter equally.

Building a business as a single mum is not easy. There are days when it feels overwhelming. But there is also something incredibly powerful about showing your children what is possible when you back yourself, keep going and refuse to let difficult circumstances define your future.

That, more than any business milestone, is what I am most proud of.

Joanna

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Somewhere along the way, busy became the default.

Fast schedules.

Constant notifications.

Always being available.

Always being reachable.

Always being “on”.

We glamorised exhaustion for so long that many of us stopped noticing how deeply overwhelmed we actually were.

Burnout became ambition.

Stress became productivity.

Overstimulation became normal.

And now I think people are quietly reaching their limit.

Not dramatically.

Not loudly.

Just subtly.

The women I know aren’t chasing louder lives anymore.

They want sleep.

Calm.

Energy.

Quiet mornings.

Smaller circles.

Less chaos.

More balance.

More peace.

The interesting thing is that this shift is happening everywhere.

You can see it in fashion.

In wellness.

In travel.

In beauty.

In the way people decorate their homes.

Even in the conversations people are finally starting to have honestly.

For years, luxury was associated with excess.

More. Bigger. Faster.

Now it feels different.

Now luxury looks like:

waking up without anxiety

putting your phone on do not disturb

saying no without guilt

having time to cook properly

sleeping through the night

protecting your energy

not needing to prove yourself constantly

feeling safe in your own life

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that conversations around cortisol, hormones, nervous system regulation and burnout have become so mainstream.

People are tired.

Not just physically. Emotionally.

There’s also something happening culturally with women in their late 30s and 40s that I find fascinating.

So many women I know are quietly rebuilding their lives.

Not necessarily in dramatic ways.

But internally.

Changing priorities.

Changing friendships.

Changing relationships with work.

Walking away from things that once looked successful but no longer feel healthy.

There’s less interest in performance now.

Less appetite for chaos disguised as passion.

More women are asking:

Does this life actually feel good to live?

And honestly, I think that’s the right question.

Because what’s the point of building a beautiful life externally if internally your nervous system is constantly in survival mode?

Maybe this is why wellness has shifted too.

It’s no longer just about perfection.

Or optimisation.

Or aesthetics.

People don’t just want abs and expensive skincare anymore.

They want:

emotional stability

better sleep

energy that lasts

softer mornings

calmer minds

resilience

space to breathe

The new aspiration isn’t hustle.

It’s regulation.

Which is ironic really, because true calm has become incredibly difficult to access in modern life.

Everything wants our attention.

Our reaction.

Our nervous system.

And maybe that’s why peace now feels luxurious.

Because it’s rare.

The older I get, the more I realise the most beautiful people I know aren’t necessarily the loudest, or most impressive.

They’re the people who feel grounded.

Safe.

Rested.

Present.

The people who have learned how to protect their peace.

Maybe that’s the new luxury.

Not just what your life looks like.

But how your life feels.

For paid subscribers, I’ll also be sharing more personal essays, founder diaries, wellness discoveries, beauty notes, travel recommendations and the conversations that don’t always make it onto Instagram.

A quieter corner of the internet.

The Joanna Nicola Edit.

Not through one dramatic moment.

But slowly.

After difficult seasons.

After burnout.

After motherhood.

After survival mode.

After carrying too much for too long.

Maybe that’s where this chapter began for me too.

For years, my world revolved around building Oxygen Boutique. It became such a huge part of my identity. A business built through creativity, ambition, pressure, growth, resilience and years of learning everything the hard way.

From the outside, businesses can often look exciting and polished.

But behind the scenes, entrepreneurship can also be incredibly heavy.

I built businesses whilst navigating motherhood, difficult personal seasons, financial pressure, rebuilding and trying to keep everything moving whilst raising children at the same time. There were periods where I honestly didn’t know how I was holding it all together.

And I know so many women live in that space quietly.

The mental load.

The responsibility.

The constant juggling.

The feeling that everyone needs something from you whilst you’re still trying to hold onto yourself too.

Over the last few years, wellness became less about trends for me and more about survival. Not perfection. Not 5am routines. Just genuine attempts to feel calmer, healthier, more balanced and more like myself again.

Launching Tocu Health came from that place too. Wanting to create wellness products that actually fit into real life and supported busy, overwhelmed modern lifestyles in a simpler way.

At the same time, I realised I wanted to create something more personal creatively.

A space that wasn’t just business.

A space that could hold everything:

Founder life.

Fashion.

Food.

Travel.

Wellness.

Gluten-free living.

Motherhood.

Stress.

Rebuilding.

Beauty.

Resilience.

Starting again.

That’s what The Joanna Nicola Edit is.

Not an influencer platform.

Not a perfectly curated highlight reel.

More a collection of thoughts, lessons, recommendations, discoveries and honest conversations about modern life and what it really means to rebuild yourself whilst still moving forward.

I think many women are craving more honesty online now.

Less perfection.

More truth.

More depth.

More connection.

So this is my little corner for all of that.

Over time, I’d love this space to grow into something even deeper, with more personal essays, founder diaries, wellness discoveries, gluten-free guides, recommendations and honest conversations around building, motherhood, reinvention and modern life.

For those who want to follow along more closely, there will also be a paid subscriber section coming soon with more intimate writing, behind-the-scenes founder content, curated edits and things I probably wouldn’t share anywhere else.

But for now, I’m just really glad you’re here at the beginning of this new chapter.

Joanna x

There are certain food moments that feel bigger than the product itself.

And the launch of Marks & Spencer’s gluten-free Colin the Caterpillar is one of them.

A childhood classic, reimagined for people who, until recently, were often an afterthought. It sold out almost instantly. Not because it’s just cake, but because it represents something cultural: inclusion, progress, and the mainstreaming of gluten-free living.

For anyone who’s celiac, gluten-intolerant, or navigating food allergies, this feels quietly emotional. It’s not just about having an option. It’s about being able to participate in shared rituals, birthday cake, celebrations, nostalgia, without feeling like the exception.

And what’s interesting is that this isn’t happening in isolation.

Food Trends Have Shifted and Wellness Is Now on the Plate

Food used to be about indulgence, convenience, or dieting.

Now, it’s increasingly about how we feel.

Energy.

Focus.

Gut health.

Hormones.

Mood.

Longevity.

Food has become part of the wellness conversation, not just fuel, but function.

We’re seeing, Gluten-free moving from “special requirement” to mainstream lifestyle.

Big brands reformulating classic products for allergy-friendly audiences. Consumers becoming more ingredient-aware, label-savvy, and health-conscious

Comfort food and nostalgia being redesigned to fit modern dietary needs. Gluten-free shelves are bigger. Menus are clearer.

And products that once felt niche are now selling out.

Is Gluten-Free Becoming a Lifestyle, even Without an Allergy?

What’s fascinating is that gluten-free is no longer just for people with medical need.

Some choose it for:

Digestive comfort

Perceived health benefits

Reduced bloating

Energy levels

Or simply because better options now exist

For those with allergies, this shift is empowering.

For everyone else, it signals a broader movement toward intentional eating, where food is about how it supports your life, not just what tastes good.

Of course, gluten-free isn’t inherently “better” for everyone.

But the fact it’s now desirable, accessible, and culturally relevant says a lot about how our relationship with food has evolved.

From Restriction to Lifestyle

For a long time, being gluten-free felt like a limitation.

Now, it’s starting to feel like a choice, a preference, or even a trend and that shift matters.

It means:

Better quality products

More innovation

Less stigma

And more joy in eating, especially for those who once felt excluded

If a gluten-free Colin the Caterpillar can sell out, it’s a reminder that food is no longer just about eating, it’s about identity, wellness, belonging, and culture.

And honestly?

I hope this is just the beginning.

The right hotel can sharpen your taste. The right city can reset your mindset. The right meal can restore confidence and joy.

This week, I wanted to share my personal edit of hotels, destinations, and gluten-free spots that genuinely inspire, places that feel intentional, energising, and worth returning to.

Hotels & Destinations That Spark Creativity

Some hotels do more than give you a bed, they change how you think, work, and see the world. Below are some beautiful places…

• The St. Regis Rome

Timeless, elegant, and rich in heritage. Staying here feels like stepping into a slower, more refined pace, a reminder that craftsmanship, history, and legacy matter.

• Poseidonion Grand Hotel, Spetses

Cinematic, romantic, and emotionally transporting. Greek island light, historic charm, and a rhythm that encourages reflection and inspiration.

• One&Only Kea Island, Greece

Architectural, minimal, and immersed in nature. A place for mental clarity, strategic thinking, and true rest, where ideas feel calmer and more considered.

• Arctic TreeHouse Hotel, Finland

Design-led cabins surrounded by snow, silence, and northern light. A rare kind of creative reset that clears mental noise and sharpens perspective.

Destinations that consistently inspire…

Rome, full of culture, craftsmanship, and timeless beauty. Wandering around the fountains, getting lost in the streets, discovering hidden corners, and experiencing the warmth of the food and friendly hospitality and it’s a city that feels alive with history and soul.

The Greek Islands, light, simplicity, elegance, and restorative calm. Days shaped by the sea, whitewashed villages, slow lunches, golden sunsets, and the feeling that time has softened. A reminder that rest, beauty, and presence are productive.

The Nordics, minimalism, nature, clarity, and mental space. Clean design, quiet landscapes, cool air, forests, and stillness that encourages deeper thinking, long-term vision, and a calmer relationship with ambition.

Paris, fashion, art, culture, food, and storytelling layered with effortless style. From café corners to museums, boutiques, patisserie, and street life, it’s a city that constantly sharpens taste and fuels creative momentum.

These are places that don’t just look beautiful, they shift how you think.

Gluten-Free Restaurants Worth Travelling For

Being gluten-free should never feel limiting. The best spots make it feel elevated, indulgent, and stress-free, without compromising on flavour, atmosphere, or experience. Here are some of my finds.

• Copain, London and Paris

A fully gluten-free bakery and café redefining expectations, exceptional pastries, sandwiches, and presentation that feels premium rather than restricted.

• Sgrano, Florence

A top-rated, 100% gluten-free destination known for outstanding fresh bread and focaccia, with zero cross-contamination risk. Confidence-boosting, indulgent, and genuinely exciting. The fluffiest schiacciata filled with brilliant ingredients, such a treat, and the queue was shorter than the non-gluten-free spot down the road. Proof that gluten-free can be just as indulgent, if not better.

• Mama Eats, Rome

A standout gluten-free restaurant serving classic Italian comfort food done properly pasta, pizza, desserts, and the freedom to enjoy Italy without compromise or anxiety. Think gluten free carbonara and cacio e pepe!!

• Los Mochis, London

Japanese, Mexican fusion with strong gluten-free awareness, bold flavours, and a vibrant, social atmosphere that feels celebratory rather than restrictive. From fresh sashimi and maki rolls to ceviches, tiraditos, robata grill dishes, and unique tacos. Bold, creative, high-energy dining with strong gluten-free awareness.

Eating well while travelling isn’t just about health, it’s about confidence, enjoyment, and being fully present in the experience.

Until next week,

Joanna

Oxygen Lifestyle

The architecture is understated but intentional; dark wood, clean lines, and huge picture windows that pull the forest straight into the room. You wake up cocooned in warmth, looking out at silence, snow, and sky. It’s calm in a way that’s hard to describe unless you’ve experienced true winter stillness.

Inside, everything is thoughtfully done rather than showy. The rooms are compact but clever, prioritising comfort and atmosphere over excess. It feels modern but not cold, cosy without being cluttered. At night, the cabin becomes a front-row seat to the Arctic if the Northern Lights appear, you don’t need to leave your bed.

What really stands out is the pace. There’s no rush here. The hotel encourages you to slow down, lean into the environment, and enjoy the quiet luxury of space and nature rather than constant stimulation. It’s a refreshing contrast to more theatrical Lapland stays.

Service is warm, calm, and efficient; never intrusive, but always there when needed. Everything feels seamless, from arriving in the snow to settling into your cabin, which adds to the sense that you’re being gently looked after rather than “hosted.”

The Arctic TreeHouse isn’t about over-the-top indulgence or high-energy activities. It’s for travellers who value design, atmosphere, and presence. If you’re looking for somewhere that lets the Arctic speak for itself quietly, beautifully, and without distraction, this is a place that stays with you long after you leave.

Verdict: understated luxury, deeply atmospheric, and genuinely restorative. A stay that feels intentional, not performative.

https://arctictreehousehotel.com/

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Welcome to Oxygen Lifestyle

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while.

Oxygen Lifestyle has always been more than a shop to me. It’s been a point of view, a way of living that blends style with substance, beauty with wellbeing, and fashion with real life. This Substack is where all of that finally has room to breathe.

Each week, I’ll be sharing the things that inspire me and shape how I live and work.

Fashion I actually wear, beauty I genuinely use, wellness rituals that fit into real, busy lives, and travel stories rooted in experience, not perfection.

But this space is also about the reality behind the lifestyle.

I’m a female founder, building brands while raising children, juggling ambition with responsibility, creativity with logistics, and vision with the day-to-day challenges that don’t always make it onto Instagram. Some weeks are polished and inspiring. Others are messy, exhausting, and held together with caffeine and good intentions.

You’ll find:

Fashion that feels effortless, wearable, and modern / Beauty that supports skin, energy, and confidence at every stage / Travel through a lifestyle lens hotels, food, culture, and moments worth remembering / Founder life, the highs, the struggles, the lessons, and the resilience it takes / Motherhood, honest reflections on balancing it all, without pretending it’s easy.

This isn’t about trends for the sake of it. It’s about curation. Choosing better, not more. Sharing what truly earns its place, whether that’s a dress you reach for again and again, a hotel that makes you exhale the moment you arrive, or a small ritual that quietly changes your day.

Oxygen Lifestyle has grown alongside my own life, and this space will reflect that evolution. Sometimes it will be aspirational. Sometimes it will be real, raw, and practical. Always honest.

If you’re here because you love beautiful things, thoughtful living, and stories with meaning, especially through the lens of modern womanhood, you’re in exactly the right place.

Welcome.

Joanna