Rooted in Resilience: Our Story

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My baby brother, Christopher, was always too small to catch the fireflies himself, though he tried with all his might. I remember his tiny frustration, but even more vividly, I remember his squeals of delight as I ran to add another tiny glow to our collection. The goal of the moment was the catch, but the joy was shared—in Grandpa’s cheer and my brother’s excitement.

He knew that later, even though I did the catching, we would sit side-by-side. After watching the tiny lights glow in the glass for a brief, magical moment, we would take off the lid and watch as they soared, free, into the night sky.  It wasn't the pursuit that I loved as much as the gentle, deliberate act of releasing. It taught me early on that true peace comes not from holding on tight, but from letting the light shine free. 

These times—of firefly glow, grandparents' unconditional love, and my brother's shared delight—are my most treasured memories. They have all since gone on to become my guardian angels.

These days, heart is fueled by the beauty of those days. I feel it deeply fitting to not only honor the memories of those gone by, but to also chase my dreams with the same persistent, joyful spirit I used to chase those fireflies all those years ago.

I was taught early in life not to put all my eggs in one basket. With recovery underway, I found myself toying with a hobby: candle making. It was a creative outlet that offered freedom and, crucially, allowed me to sit and rest my healing knee. Joyfully, the idea of starting Chaizing Fireflies Candle Company began to flicker, though my old career aspirations still dominated my focus.

Then, in August 2021, my left knee needed replacing. All hopes of returning to the work I knew died instantly. At 47, facing two major surgeries that typically belong to older ages, I fell into a deep, dark place. I felt useless, dependent, and aged in my mind.

 I knew I had to pull myself out of that darkness. I needed to do something that wouldn't punish my body, but would keep my mind engaged and my spirit active. My little hobby basket, holding those few scattered eggs, came into clear view.  

 I settled on a new starting line: creating a ritual of recovery. If I couldn't stand on hard floors, I would craft something that encouraged sitting, breathing, and healing. The 'Nature's Despensary' concept wasn't just a business idea; it was my own remedy for slowing down.

 Just as the warm glow of the candles began to lift my spirit, my body presented a new challenge. In March 2022, I underwent my first hand surgery. For a maker, hands are everything. They are the tools that pour the wax, wick the jars, and pack the orders. The pain in my hands threatened to take away this new dream just as it was taking root. I found myself in a difficult position: I needed to keep working, but standard pain creams were too harsh, too greasy, or burned too much to use while handling delicate products.

I couldn't find what I needed on the shelf, so I went to the kitchen. I started infusing peppers into oil, looking for a way to get the relief without the heat. That experiment didn't just save my hands; it changed our future.

What began as 'Chaizing Fireflies Candle Company' quietly evolved into something greater. As I filled my basket with balms and oils to soothe my own hands, I realized we were no longer just lighting up rooms—we were helping to light up lives. We dropped 'Candle Company' from our name because our mission had grown. We were no longer just a candle shop; we had become a sanctuary for comfort.

 Living with chronic pain taught me that comfort isn't a luxury—it's a necessity. That stubborn refusal to surrender to pain led me to the apothecary. I began formulating the remedies I needed for my own hands—creating capsaicin balms that soothe without burning and mineral blends that restore without harsh chemicals.

Five years into this journey, as I prepare for my next hand surgery, the purpose behind this apothecary is no longer just a story I tell—it is my daily reality. I don't just make these remedies; I rely on them. Every jar in our collection is a testament to resilience, holding the very formulas that allow me to keep working, keep creating, and keep chasing those fireflies."