The End of an Era

Six years ago, almost to the day, we started The Glass House.

It wasn't just a one-off business idea. It was something that was dreamed up during a global pandemic shutdown and built during one of the hardest seasons of our lives.

Looking back now, that time feels almost surreal. Sara's salon was closed as a "non-essential" business. Even typing those words gives me the creeps. We divided businesses into essential and non-essential, and somehow measured each other's worth by how willing we were to get vaccinated... or not.

My marriage had fallen apart. I had a six year-old and a baby who wasn't even one yet. Sara and I desperately needed something that belonged to us. Something that reminded us we could still create, dream, and build something beautiful, even when it felt like the world was falling apart.

This is the story, according to me.

I was walking through my new neighbourhood one Thursday afternoon, pushing my daughter in her stroller. I'd recently separated from my husband and had just moved into a new house with my two kids. Everything felt unfamiliar.

I called Sara to catch up. We talked about the move, life, and the latest. Somewhere in that conversation, I casually mentioned a niche little idea I'd been thinking about.

"What if we started a lip gloss company?" I said. "It would be fun." She didn't need much convincing, always down for anything.

We were two entrepreneurial spirits who had become close friends over the years. We were beauty junkies, constantly bouncing ideas off each other and cheering one another on.

I told her, quite honestly, that I couldn't bring the idea to life without her. And when I thought about how it might all come together, I couldn't help but see her in the vision.

She agreed we'd need each other.

Within minutes, she was researching suppliers and manufacturers while I was searching OnCorp to see if the business name was available. By the end of the day, The Glass House was incorporated. At the very least, our little idea had a name while we figured out how to turn it into something real.

One thing about Sara and me is that when we want something, we move quickly.

In No Mood was a bright, opaque pink with serious staying power for the girls who weren't afraid to make a statement.

9-5 was the perfect nude. Not too grey, not too brown. Somehow it looked good on everyone, regardless of skin tone, hair colour, or eye colour.

Old Money was a sheer, coppery nude with just enough shimmer to catch the light.

And then there was Basic, a clear gloss with all the hydration of a lip balm for the girls who loved keeping things simple.

Our first batch of glosses were formulated and packaged in California. Long before they existed, we were already marketing them.

We built our social media presence before we had a single product to sell.

Looking back, it's kind of funny. Imagine trying to grow a company around a product you couldn't even hold in your hands yet.

When those first boxes finally arrived, it felt surreal. Thousands of lip glosses, each one wearing our logo, our branding, and our vision.

They sold out faster than we ever expected.

It was Sara who suggested we expand the collection. There was clearly a demand, and people were making a conscious effort to support small, female owned businesses during such "unprecedented times". Like damn, I could really go for some precedented times..

We pivoted to Canadian suppliers and became exclusively- proudly-  Canadian. 

Before long, we were getting national attention. We were featured in magazines, on podcasts, and all over social media. I credit so much of that to the community we built online and the consistency we showed up with every single day. Truthfully, what else was there to do in 2020 and 2021?

I was still working full time at my office job, but somehow I seemed to have far more free time than I do now. Sara's salon was closed for much of the next year and a half.

We simply had time.

And we poured every bit of it into The Glass House. Branding photos, product photos, constant posting. 

Then something happened that I never could have imagined.

My husband and I reconciled.

Against the odds, we worked it out. For a while, life felt better than I ever thought it could. I was on top of the world. My marriage felt strong. My kids were thriving. My regular career was on fire. We were all making the best of an incredibly strange time.

The Glass House was growing faster than we ever expected. We were featured on podcasts, in magazines, and all over social media. My husband became one of my biggest supporters. He helped deliver orders, celebrated every milestone with me, and we talked excitedly about what life was becoming.

For the first time in a long time, I truly believed we'd made it through the storm. I thought we'd beaten the odds.

Then I felt the shift.

The economy seemed to change almost overnight, and suddenly running a business became an entirely different game.

Interest rates climbed. We felt every increase with our variable mortgage. That financial stress quietly made its way into my marriage, too. As it turned out, we weren't nearly as stable as we'd convinced ourselves we were. We had been riding the high of forgiving each other, and once real life started pressing in, it didn't take much for the cracks to reappear.

At the same time, people simply weren't spending money the way they had been only months before.

Our costs kept climbing.

Shipping became more expensive and, thanks to more than one Canada Post strike, much slower.

Manufacturing became more expensive.

Marketing became more expensive.

Every decision suddenly carried more risk, and every sale became a little harder to earn.

It felt like the excitement around our brand had faded.

The funny thing is, looking back, I know it didn't fade at all. 

We were still doing really well. Orders continued to come in consistently, and the feedback from our customers has always been overwhelmingly positive. We decided not to raise our prices because our overhead was still relatively low, and it felt important to keep our products affordable, and Canadian made.

I kept telling myself this was just a season.

A temporary lull.

My marriage was ending. This time, for good.

I'd be lying if I said it still felt easy to show up online while my personal life was falling apart.

I remember texting Sara one morning and telling her I just couldn't do Instagram Stories that day. I didn't have it in me to put on my makeup, smile into the camera, and chat about whatever the fuck while I was struggling just to get out of bed.

For a long time, social media had been (it still is) one of my favourite parts of the business. I genuinely loved connecting with our customers. But suddenly it felt impossible to pour from an empty cup.

Even so, the orders kept coming. Maybe not as many as before, but enough that I knew people still believed in what we'd built. People stood by our products, and I knew they were quality because we nit picked over every last detail, every last ingredient. 

For nearly a year in 2023, I barely showed up online. When I did, it was because I was either having a genuinely good day or forcing myself through it.

Like so many people, I honestly believed the interest rates, the economy, would level out.

Instead came layoffs.

Factory closures. Store closures.

Families trying to figure out how they were going to make ends meet.

Groceries became shockingly expensive. I remember seeing lettuce selling for almost ten dollars and thinking, "this can't be real."

People had to make difficult choices.

Even so, our customers stayed incredibly loyal.

Orders kept coming.

People continued leaving kind messages and encouraging reviews, and every one of them reminded us that what we'd created still mattered. So we kept going.

Some days the motivation was easy to find. Other days it wasn't.

Whenever inspiration struck, we'd launch a seasonal collection or a fun promotional item. Those launches would create excitement. Sales would pick up. We'd feel that old spark again.

But eventually those products would sell out, and we'd settle back into the same steady rhythm.

I understood why.

We weren't trying to compete with Sephora.

We also didn't want to keep raising our prices every time our costs increased. That didn't feel true to who we were.

So we coasted.

Sara and I talked a lot about this and it made sense because neither of us relied on The Glass House to pay our bills. The business still supported itself, our overhead remained low, and keeping it going felt like the practical thing to do.

What we didn't realize was that we had become so focused on our low overhead that we stopped paying attention to what the business was actually costing us.

Our time.

Our precious, increasingly scarce free time.

Over those first few years, our babies and toddlers somehow became big kids.

Kids with busy schedules, growing independence, and passions of their own.

My son started playing travel baseball. Sara's son got into motocross.

Suddenly our weekends weren't our own anymore. They were spent packing bags, checking into hotels, sitting at ball diamonds, camping at race tracks, and driving all over God's creation to support the little people we love.

To make those weekends work, we packed even more into our weekdays. We squeezed in extra client appointments, rearranged meetings, and worked longer hours so we could take Fridays off without falling behind.

Somewhere along the way, this biz quietly slipped to the bottom of the priority list.

Not because we stopped loving it. Because life changed.

We went from betting on ourselves and creating products we genuinely love(d) to simply trying to survive in an economy where families were forced to choose between groceries,  and the little luxuries that once brought them joy.

The Glass House has never stopped being something I believed in.

The world around it changed.

Our family dynamics changed.

We changed.

It's hard to explain what that feels like.

For the past several years, I've spent more time surviving than living.

I've been coasting.

Checking boxes. Showing up for the career I went to school for and worked so hard to build. The career that pays my very real bills and somehow keeps up with my Costco hauls because my kids never... stop... eating.

Doing what responsible adults do.

Keep the business going.

Keep showing up.

Keep pushing.

Keep believing the next launch, the next season, or the next opportunity will be the thing that brings back the excitement we once felt.

But lately I've found myself asking a different question.

What is this actually costing me?

Not financially......Personally.

The emails waiting for replies.

The DMs I still need to answer.

The constant pressure of knowing there's always something else that needs to be done.

Packing orders.

Printing shipping labels.

Working on weekends instead of resting.

Carrying the emotional weight of something that no longer gives back what it once did.

Somewhere along the way, I realized that time had quietly become the most valuable thing I own.

My kids are growing up.

They won't remember how many lip glosses I sold.

They won't remember how carefully I curated an Instagram feed.

They'll remember whether I was there.

Whether I was paying attention.

For a long time, I thought success meant holding on. If Imy divorce, and now this chapter, have taught me anything, it's that sometimes success looks a lot more like having the courage to let go.

Not because you failed.

Because you've grown.

Because making space for something new often requires releasing something you've loved.

I think that's very very brave, if I do say so myself. 

I'm writing this because I don't think I'm the only entrepreneur carrying this weight.

So many of us quietly tie our worth to the businesses we've built. I know I have.

We convince ourselves that walking away means we failed.

I don't believe that anymore.

I think a business fulfills its purpose.

Sometimes it teaches us resilience, creativity, courage, and a whole lot about who we are.

Sometimes it carries us through the hardest years of our lives.

And the bravest thing we can do isn't to keep going at all costs.

It's recognizing when a chapter has run its course.

When The Glass House does come to an end, when the domain is disabled and the website is no longer, it won't be because we didn't love it enough.

It will be because, after six incredible years, we've decided to invest in something even more valuable.

Time.

Time with our children.

Time to build new dreams.

Time to chase new opportunities.

Time to simply be present.

I am unbelievably proud of what we built.

I'll never see The Glass House as a failure.

I'll always see it for what it truly was which was a beautiful chapter that carried me through some of the hardest, most transformative years of my life. That introduced me to many, many women. Something that gave me the confidence to put my best face forward on my toughest days.

This isn't necessarily goodbye- I am sorry. You can't get rid of me that easily. 

But this is me giving myself permission to admit that I've changed.

The woman who started The Glass House needed to prove to herself that she could build something from nothing.

She did.

The woman I am today wants something different.

She wants peace.

She wants presence.

She wants a life that feels as beautiful as the products she spent six years creating.

I still adore this company.I still adore these products.

When this chapter does come to an end, you can bet I'll be stockpiling my favourites for as long as their shelf life allows.

I'll always look back on this adventure with gratitude. I'll always be proud of what Sara and I built together.

And no matter what comes next, no one can ever take away the fact that, during one of the hardest seasons of life, we created something beautiful.

And we aren't throwing in the towel right this second. We are simply winding down. We will do a last restock. We will not leave you all hanging.

There's a quote I really like: 

"The trick is knowing when to leave a party". 

That has become big metaphor for my life. There is power and strength in knowing when something has run its course. Whether it's a relationship, a job, or a season of life. 

We look forward to winding down this time together, and making sure your makeup bags are locked and loaded, ready for the next chapter.

<3 Kait