Hi, I'm Debra. I make beeswax candles infused with real herbs, and I have AUDHD—that lovely combination of ADHD and autism that means my brain is simultaneously going in twelve directions while hyperfixating on one specific detail that probably doesn't matter to anyone but me.
This blog is where I talk about what it's actually like to run a small business with a brain that didn't read the manual.
How I Got Here
A few years ago I was in tech. Then I wasn't. Life did what life does, and somewhere in the chaos of rebuilding, I started making candles. Not the "pour some wax and call it a day" kind—the kind where I researched infusion temperatures for every herb I work with, built spreadsheets calculating the exact cost-per-ounce of chamomile versus calendula, and created a database to track everything from magical properties to COGS calculations.
Because that's how my brain works. I don't just start a business. I build systems for a business while simultaneously researching medieval herbal traditions and wondering if my pricing formula accounts for the labor efficiency factor I calculated based on my actual production speed versus theoretical optimal output.
The Real Behind the Scenes
Here's what running Unicorn Fairy Circles actually looks like:
Monday: I need to make candles for an order. Instead, I spend four hours perfecting a tagging system for my Shopify collections because the navigation wasn't quite right and I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Tuesday: I finally make the candles. But first I update my herb guide with more detailed descriptions of mugwort's traditional uses, create a new collection page, and redesign my spell card templates because the margins were 2mm off.
Wednesday: Customer asks a simple question. I write them a 500-word response explaining the separate infusion process, the science of beeswax absorption, and why I chose hemp wicks over cotton. They probably just wanted to know if it smells nice. Also, three cold emails from marketers who are sure they can grow my business—if I'd just let them overhaul everything I've built based on actual customer feedback and market research I've obsessed over for months.
Thursday: I decide to add a new product. This requires updating the database, calculating pricing for seven size variants, writing descriptions for both magical practitioners and Christian customers, creating spell cards AND prayer cards, designing labels, and generating a Shopify import CSV. I do all of this in one sitting because once I start, I cannot stop.
Friday: The order is ready to ship. But the labels aren't quite right. And my printer can't figure out where one label ends and the next begins, so I'm printing them one at a time, adjusting margins pixel by pixel, because I cannot send out a package with a label that's slightly crooked. The candles have been perfect for three days. The labels take two more.
The Harder Stuff
Running this business means navigating spaces that don't always want me.
I come from a Christian background, but educating myself has expanded my view of the divine to a more universalist stance—I honor the truth I find regardless of the tradition it comes from. I'm consistent with my beliefs and experiences, and I'm just as spiritual now as I ever was, if not more so. But some people from my original framework have decided that making herb-infused candles means I'm working with demons, or that intention-setting is somehow sinful. And here's where the AUDHD comes back in: rejection sensitivity. That criticism doesn't just sting—it lands. When people who shaped your spiritual foundation look at your life's work and see evil instead of craft, my brain doesn't shrug it off. It replays it. Analyzes it. Feels it all over again at 2 AM. I once spent an entire day making a video about why demons would make terrible business partners—because two family members rejected my business over "magic and demons" and apparently my brain decided the only way through was to argue the logistics of demonic partnerships. (Spoiler: the ROI is awful and the contract terms are unconscionable.)
Then there's the other side. People who think "real" magic only comes in purple and black, who expect pentagrams and gothic fonts, who look at my beeswax and honey tones and wonder where the witchy aesthetic went.
Here's what I've learned: genuine magic honors the colors of nature. Beeswax gold. Herb green. The warm amber of something real. The purple-and-black aesthetic is theatrical—and that's fine for some—but it's not the only way. I'm not interested in performing spooky. I'm interested in making something true.
And for the folks who think candles are demonic? Humans have been burning herbs and setting intentions by firelight since before we had words for it. Every culture. Every faith. There's nothing evil about paying attention to what you're doing and why.
But rejection sensitivity doesn't care about logic. Some days the criticism lands hard, and I have to remind myself that I built this business to serve people across traditions—witches, Christians, skeptics, and everyone in between. Not everyone will get it. That has to be okay.
The Upside of a "Scattered" Brain
The thing is—all that obsessive detail work? It shows up in the product.
My herb infusion guide has precise temperatures and timing for every single herb because I couldn't not research it. My pricing is fair because I built a calculator that accounts for actual costs rather than guessing. My product descriptions serve both witches and Christians because I spent weeks figuring out how to honor multiple paths authentically.
When I hyperfocus, I hyperfocus hard. And I've learned to point that laser at things that make the business better—even if I take the scenic route getting there.
What You'll Find Here
This blog is where I'll share:
- The systems I've built to work with my brain instead of against it
- Honest talk about the hard days (and the really good ones)
- Behind-the-scenes of what "handcrafted" actually means when your brain won't let you cut corners
- Maybe some tips if you're also trying to build something with a brain that works differently
I'm not here to inspire you or prove that neurodivergence is a superpower. Some days it's just hard. But I am here to be honest about what it takes—task-switching, hyperfocus spirals, and all.
Thanks for being here.
— Debra
Founder, Chief Candle Obsessive, and Keeper of Too Many Spreadsheets
