They Laughed When I Started My Side Hustle — Until They Saw the Results

I remember the look on my coworker’s face when I first mentioned it.

“A candle business? Like, you’re gonna make candles… in your kitchen?” She raised her eyebrows and laughed the way someone might laugh when a toddler says they’re going to build a rocket.

They all laughed — my friends, my brother, even my mom. Not out of cruelty, but out of disbelief. It didn’t make sense to them. I was a full-time administrative assistant barely making rent. My bank account was like a desert — dry, cracked, and always thirsting for more. I was barely staying afloat, and now I was talking about starting a business?

But I was serious.

It started with insomnia. I’d light a lavender-scented candle before bed, and I began to notice how it made me feel — calmer, soothed, safe. The more I learned about scent and mood, the more fascinated I became. I started reading up on essential oils, wax blends, and wick types. I watched YouTube tutorials and followed candle makers on Instagram.

One Saturday, I spent my last $60 from that paycheck on supplies: wax, wicks, oils, jars. I told myself I’d make candles just for fun, maybe gift them to friends. But when I posted a few pictures of my creations on Instagram, something weird happened.

People liked them.

No — people loved them. They messaged me asking if they could buy one. One girl from college offered me $20 for a jar candle I had labeled “Sunday Morning”—a blend of vanilla, linen, and white tea. She said it reminded her of her childhood.

That moment lit something inside me brighter than any candle I could make.

I started making more. Nights after work turned into candle-making marathons. I’d come home, drop my bag, and fire up the double boiler. My tiny apartment smelled like a potion lab — citrus one night, pine the next, maybe sandalwood and musk on the weekends. My countertops were covered with wax-streaked mason jars.

Still, my friends rolled their eyes.
“C’mon, Lauren, you’re not really thinking this will pay your rent,” my brother chuckled.

At that time, he wasn’t wrong. I made $150 that first month. But I reinvested every dollar. New scents, better labels, custom packaging.

Three months later, I officially launched my Etsy store: SoulFire Candles.

I only had 10 products. I had no marketing budget, no PR strategy, no clue what I was doing. Just a lot of heart and about 40 jars of wax.

But then came the breakthrough.

One of my customers—a micro-influencer with about 8,000 followers—tagged me in a story. She called my “Moonlight Forest” candle the “coziest thing ever.” Overnight, I got 57 orders. I cried. No, I ugly cried. I had to take a day off work just to fulfill the orders.

That’s when the tone shifted.

My mom stopped sending me job listings for “more stable” careers. My brother asked if I could help him make a few candles as gifts for his clients. My coworker? She bought six during a flash sale and posted about them on Facebook like she’d been my biggest fan since day one.

“They laughed when I started my side hustle…” I would joke to myself as I packed orders on my living room floor.

But the laughing stopped when I hit $10,000 in sales.

Then came the write-up in a local lifestyle blog. Then a shoutout from a podcaster with 200k listeners. Then a call from a boutique downtown that wanted to carry my entire line. I wasn’t even sure how to set up wholesale pricing, but I said yes anyway and figured it out later.

By the end of year one, I had grossed $84,000.

I was no longer an admin assistant. I was a business owner.

My side hustle became my full-time career. I moved into a one-bedroom apartment with space for a proper workshop. I hired a part-time assistant. I designed a website, ran targeted Facebook ads, and launched seasonal collections with names like “Cabin Vibes” and “First Snow.”

But beyond the income, beyond the pride and freedom, the thing that kept me going was the notes people left with their orders.

“I light this every night before journaling. It’s my peace.”
“Reminds me of my grandma’s kitchen. Thank you for this.”
“My fiancé proposed while your candle was burning.”

They weren’t just buying candles. They were buying comfort. Nostalgia. Ritual.

That’s when I realized: this was never just about wax and wicks. It was about creating something that touched people. That helped them feel a little more at home in their own lives.

Now, three years in, SoulFire Candles ships internationally. I’ve been featured in two magazines. And last December, I hit $250,000 in revenue.

Sometimes I think back to that first conversation with my coworker, when she laughed about me pouring wax in my kitchen. I don’t blame her. She didn’t see what I saw.

But I did.

And if you’re reading this — stuck in a job that drains you, sitting on an idea that everyone says is “cute” or “not practical” — I want to say this:

They might laugh now.

But if you show up, if you work through the doubt and the mess and the late nights…

They’ll stop laughing.

And one day, they’ll ask you how you did it.