One tiny moment - a lesson from the world of retail and beauty.
- Vikki da Rocha
- Apr 14
- 7 min read
When I first saw my mum put on her lipstick, I noticed something change.
Her shoulders lifted, just slightly, but it was enough. A sparkle flickered back into her eyes. It was as if, no matter what was happening around her, she had gathered herself. She would be okay.
That was my first moment of being introduced to beauty. The smell of her creams and the puff of powder dusting her cheeks. I loved the way she would spritz her Beautiful perfume onto her wrists and rub them together. I loved it all.

I could watch her for hours. As I got older, the big question – what do you want to be when you grow up?- got louder, and I had no idea. A marine biologist came up a few times (though truthfully, I just wanted to swim with dolphins).
Then a lawyer, probably because I watched some Law & Order episode that made it look glamorous. Then IT, because it was 1999 and everyone kept saying, “Computers are the future.” Who even knew what would happen when the clocks ticked over? I thought it would be the end of the world.
So, I leapt into IT. Badly. But I learnt. I learnt that I wanted people, not screens. Conversations, not code. Back to the drawing board? What was I going to do? I remember my dad telling me one night, “Remember how much you loved making people feel beautiful?” I sat with it for a while, loads of questions coming into my head – will a job in retail and beauty help me in the future? Was it a ‘good’ job, or am I settling? The doubts were all over the place, but I kept thinking of my mum, her shoulders and that spark… So, I put myself through beauty therapy college and began my career in the beauty industry.
Going through it, I realised that what I really wanted was to make people feel wonderful. If I could help them feel that way on the outside, maybe, just maybe, it would start to ripple into the inside.
I finally got a job working at different counters. I remember worrying about whether I had enough petrol to get me to the stores, and I would often say yes to any shift and pray my car would get me there. Eventually, I got my very own counter working in a small store in Johannesburg; I LOVED IT! I was the first to turn an old changing room into a beauty room, and I treated it like my sanctuary. I couldn’t wait to welcome people in and help them feel incredible; I set up Friday and Saturday make-over days and booked my diary with clients who wanted to feel glorious. I loved every moment of it.
And I’d see it every single time.
A shoulder lift. A tilt of the head. The light returned to the eyes.
I remember the look my mum used to give me when she’d finish getting ready, turn to me, and say, “Right. Let’s go!”
When I left South Africa to move to the UK, I knew I wasn’t leaving the industry. I still wanted to help people feel seen, to create those shifts that are tiny on the outside but massive within. Retail was the perfect space for me; people, energy, rhythm. The beauty industry was my blend of heart and hustle.
At the time, I didn’t realise just how far that impact could travel.
Until much later, when I was in Australia, a woman I had once helped reappeared years later in the most unexpected of ways. But more on that in a moment.
I stayed in beauty: selling, connecting, teaching and educating for 15 years in the UK. The milestones we achieved and the impact we had on so many are still fresh in my mind, and to this day, I remain great friends with those I educated, led and nurtured. I remember how my mum would ask for her favourite yellow toner. I swear she used to drink it, and even in the hospital, she only wanted her yellow toner and moisturiser. She wanted to smell beautiful and feel like her. I remember doing her makeup and giving her a mini facial right there in the bed. That day, she was bright. Chatting. Laughing with everyone around her, she even shouted everyone ice creams (so very her). My mother-in-law still talks about that moment and how full of life she was.
After she passed, I left a hamper of beauty products for the nurses and patients because I knew, deep in my bones, how important it was to still feel like you, smell beautiful, touch something familiar, and feel cared for even in your final days. That was another moment I realised: it’s the small things, tiny moments, that we remember. That’s what carries weight.
When I continued my career in Australia, I started experimenting with service again. I got curious about what people wanted, how they wanted to be seen, what they needed to feel heard both on the shop floor and from an educational point of view and how we could take the way we taught people to a new level, beyond the products and into the mindset, to truly give the fundamental human needs to people they serve – to be seen and heard? But I also saw the shift. The pace picked up. It became less about the person and more about the product. The next best thing. The best-seller. The target. And yes, it’s retail; we’re all there to sell. However, I still knew the impact we could have if we learned to connect deeper with people beyond the sales pitch.
I’ll never forget the day I met an incredible woman in the Myer Sydney City store. She was walking past. I felt something, a pull to speak to her. So, I did. We got talking, and I showed her some products. But more than that, I listened. I saw the heaviness in her, the not-quite-poised shoulders, and the dimming in her eyes.
She’d been through years of chemo. The pressure on her family had been enormous, and although she was technically in the clear, the fear hadn’t quite left her. She was still carrying it.
Right there, in the middle of the store, I decided. I booked a room and gave her a facial, a moment to just be held, cared for, and seen. When she left, I saw it: the lift in her shoulders, the sparkle returning to her eyes. It was the tiniest shift, but it meant everything. She hugged me, and we laughed; we both knew she was going to be okay.
Because of my work, I was always travelling between stores, and I never saw her again… until eight years later. I’d been on maternity leave, lived through a pandemic, and returned to work in a completely different store. I looked up, and there she was. We both froze. Then, I smiled. Then, we hugged.
She was with her son, and they were Christmas shopping. It was so beautiful to see her again. She was glowing and immediately started to tell me the story of when we met in the city, how she’d gone home no longer filled with pressure but with love. That moment helped her shift into the kind of love that sustains you and carries you.
Return to Work is a Rebirth, Not a Reset
The truth is, when I returned to work after maternity leave, I didn’t feel glowing; I felt scared. Unsteady. Full of self-doubt. COVID had changed so much of the world I once knew. And motherhood… well, I felt like I didn’t know how to do that properly either. Breastfeeding didn’t come naturally. The routine, the rules, and the expectations all felt like too much, and now here I was, back in a job I’d known for 19 years, and I felt like a stranger. Lost.
I wasn’t sure how to fit into roles I had once worn, like second skin.
I thought I had to be who I was before. But that version of me was gone, transformed by nappies, night feeds, and the raw reality of becoming a mother.
With hindsight, I now see I had more to offer than ever. Mothers become champions of time, of order, of quiet intuition. But I couldn’t see it back then.
Having that moment to see that client and reconnect all those years later reminded me that what I had was more than what I had learnt or missed while on maternity leave. It was born in me, it was part of me, and it would never fade. I just needed to find it again, rewrite my old stories, and believe in myself.
And that is what drives so much of the work I do today.
Returning to work after a life-changing chapter isn’t about fitting back in but finding new alignment. When we understand how to clear the mental clutter, we stop procrastinating. We stop spinning in that same old conversation that loops in our heads for weeks because someone looked at us a certain way or said something that hit a nerve. We learn to respond rather than ruminate.
Imagine the time I could’ve saved…
The emotional weight I could’ve released…
The energy I could’ve redirected into living, not overthinking.
And beyond that, I would’ve known how to let go of labels like “busy,” “overwhelmed,” and “stressed” because, let’s be honest, they never made me look good. They didn’t serve me. And they sure as hell didn’t help.
I think about all these stories a lot. I think about my team, past colleagues, and now friends, and sometimes I wish I could go back and teach them the things I know now.
Maybe that’s why coaching called me.
Maybe that’s why NLP made sense to my soul.
When you understand how we function, the filters, the beliefs, and the patterns, you begin to change everything. You see yourself differently, you see others with more compassion, and you learn that with the correct language, the right tools, and the right awareness, you can create tiny shifts that ripple through someone’s life.
That’s why I do what I do.
The retail and beauty industry is still in my bones, but now I can merge it with mindset coaching. I get to teach people how to lead themselves first so they can better lead others. I get to help teams reconnect with their purpose and their why.
Building this business has tested every ounce of self-belief I had.
It’s cracked open old thoughts and whispered old doubts, but even in those moments when I forget my lessons, I go back to the first ever one.
My mum. Her lipstick. Her shoulders rising. That glint in her eye.
And I know I won’t stop.
I’ll keep teaching mindset, sharing tools, and helping people remember who they are underneath all the noise.
Because if we can lead and learn with understanding, humility, and grace… If we can honour the uniqueness of each person, whether they’re sitting in a facial room or leading a team of twenty… Then, I know we can create a world where we all raise our shoulders a little higher, see the beauty in ourselves and those around us, and bring the sparkle back to our eyes.