It started with Penny.
A beautiful, chunky little girl—8½ pounds of baby born five weeks early. She was the biggest baby in the NICU by a mile. Chubby, strong, and perfect. After a week in intensive care, we brought her home. The whole world wanted to meet her.
But that was just the beginning.
Where the tubes had been taped to her delicate skin, red marks flared up. At the time, I didn’t know much about skin barrier function or how fragile new skin really is. But I was about to learn.
Somewhere along the way - maybe a visitor’s kiss, maybe a kind hand on her cheek - she picked up a virus. A cold sore virus, but not that we knew it at that point. The first sore appeared on her cheek, then rapidly spread across the whole area. The doctor called it impetigo. Said it was common. “It’ll clear up on its own.”
It didn’t.
It kept coming back. Same spot, every time. And every flare meant a deep clean of every toy, every surface. I was constantly disinfecting, constantly second-guessing. I blamed myself. Maybe I wasn’t doing enough. Maybe I wasn’t protecting her properly.
I still remember standing in the pharmacy, crying, asking how to disinfect everything “the right way.” The woman behind the counter asked, gently, “Have you tried a Dettol bath?”
I was horrified. Me? A Dettol bath? I’d spent years avoiding chemicals, using cloth nappies, making my own cleaners… but I was desperate. I bought the bottle. I cried all the way home.
That night was my lowest point.
But it was also the turning point.
The next morning, I noticed the sores had dried up. I checked the back of the Dettol bottle: Kills Herpes Simplex Virus.
Something clicked.
This wasn’t impetigo.
I knew in my gut. It was herpes simplex.
That moment changed everything. I dove deep into research…medical papers, herbal studies, natural remedies. I already had a knowledge of herbalism and a love for aromatherapy, so I started blending my own balms. Something gentler. Something better.
It took two more years to get an official diagnosis. By then, my balms were already working. Doctors suggested lifelong antivirals, but she was still too young to even tell me when a flare-up was coming. It didn’t sit right and I knew there had to be another way.
So I kept going. Testing. Tinkering. Tuning into what worked. The outbreaks became milder. The gaps between them longer. And the more she healed, the more I felt this fire in my belly.
Because this wasn’t just about Penny.
It was about every child made to feel “less than” because of their skin. Every mum who’s been brushed off or told, “It won’t scar.” or “it’s normal”. Every parent standing helpless while strangers comment on their baby’s face or appearance. Every person receiving stares, or hurtful comments about their skin. It was about making something better for them, too.
And it was Penny who lit the spark.
She loved getting involved. Stirring. Measuring. Planting herbs in the garden. Making her own little “potions.”
One day I realised…What if I could teach her not just how to care for her skin, but how to truly understand it? To recognise which plants soothe, which calm, and which heal. To notice how emotions can trigger outbreaks, and how tending the mind can be as important as tending the body. To see the connection between the two. To grow confident in her own care, her own body, and her own instincts.
That’s what Bodhi & Fae is about.
It’s not just about clean products (and believe me, that’s a subject I could talk about endlessly). It’s about passing on knowledge. Passing down the wisdom of caring for skin without toxins or reliance on lifelong medicine. Opening their eyes to the gentle remedies of nature. Inviting them to feel deeply connected to their bodies, to the earth, and to the circle of care around them.
Everything I make is small-batch, plant-based, and rooted in tradition. No fluff. No greenwashing. Just honest formulations made with integrity and intention.
Because when we care for our skin with thought and presence, we care for more than just the surface.
We build connection.
We build confidence.
We build something lasting.
For Penny.
For your little wild ones.
For a generation who knows how to heal.
