A Hobby That Refused to Stay a Hobby

I love photography. I love cooking. I love gaming. I love doing things with my hands — making things, building things, creating something out of nothing. When I started making candles in 2020, they were just the next thing on that list. A new skill to learn. A new hobby to explore.

But something happened that didn't happen with the other hobbies.

The conversation kept going.

Every time I made a small batch candle and put it in someone's hands, something started. A reaction. A memory that surfaced out of nowhere. A feeling that needed words. People would smell something and suddenly they were somewhere else — in a house they grew up in, in a moment they thought they'd forgotten, in a version of themselves they hadn't visited in a long time.

And they'd want to talk about it. And I would want to listen.

That conversation that started in 2020 has never stopped. It just keeps going, keeps deepening, keeps leading somewhere more real every time. I'm still having it now — with customers, with the women in my community, with every person who reaches out after burning one of our candles and tells me what came up for them.

That's what made candles stick around. Not the wax. Not the fragrance. The conversation they started. The connection they made possible.

Then Everything Got Real

Here's the part I don't always talk about. But I'm talking about it now because it's the part that made Pure Intentions what it actually is.

2019 was the beginning. And then the world shut down.

COVID arrived and brought with it the kind of isolation that is hard to describe to someone who hasn't sat inside it. The specific loneliness of being cut off from every ordinary thing that used to make a day feel like a day. I kept pouring candles. I was not very productive but my hands were moving. Fragrance filled the room and for an hour, it felt like I was still here. Still making something. Still choosing something on purpose even when nothing else felt like a choice.

That's when I understood what intentional living actually looked like. Not a grand gesture. Not a perfect plan. Just a small flame you light when the world goes dark — to remind yourself that you're still here.

Then I lost my mom.

Grief is its own kind of isolation. It shows up in the ordinary moments — in a scent, in a song, in the quality of light on an afternoon that suddenly reminds you of someone who isn't there anymore. I kept making handmade candles through the grief. It didn't heal anything. But it was the small intentional thing I knew how to do. It kept me connected to something real and to the women around me who were also carrying their own heaviness.

And then — after more than twenty years of marriage — I became a mother. At forty. A new mom in the middle of a pandemic, in the middle of grief, in the middle of building a women-owned candle business from scratch. New motherhood is its own beautiful interruption. It asks everything of you and gives you back something you didn't know you were missing.

On the hardest days, the only intentional thing I did was light a candle. That was it. One small flame that said — I am still here. I am still choosing something. This moment is still mine.

It was enough. It kept being enough.

Why It's Called Pure Intentions

Pure intentions. The idea that what you put behind something matters as much as the thing itself. That the intention underneath a small act — even one nobody else sees — changes what that act becomes.

I was talking about scented candles when I named it that. But the longer I've made them, the more I've realized I was talking about something much bigger.

I was talking about the way you can transform an ordinary moment just by deciding to be present in it on purpose. The way you can take an hour while cooking dinner and make it feel meaningful by lighting a candle before you start. The way a candle for self care can turn a Tuesday bath into the best part of your week — not because of the candle, but because of the decision to make that time intentionally yours.

The candle didn't create the intention. You did. The handmade candle was just the signal. The small visible act that said — I am here. This moment matters. I chose this.

What Pure Intentions Is Really About

We are a women-owned candle business based in Youngsville, Louisiana, and we hand-pour every single candle in small batches with intentional fragrance choices designed to support the moments that matter.

But more than that — we are a community. The Spark Society is where women who believe in intentional living gather to share their moments, their scents, and the small things that are shifting their days.

If you've been part of this community since the beginning — thank you. You are part of the reason this conversation has never stopped.

And if you're new here — welcome. I'm glad the candle brought you in. Pull up a chair.