I went into my first vendor event so nervous. Like, stomach flipping, hands shaking, what did I just sign up for nervous.
As the clock crept closer to 11:00, my inner monologue got louder.
“Why did I do this?”
“This is a mistake.”
“This is not something I can do.”
Cue the dramatic internal spiral…followed by instantly laughing at myself. I was already there and there was no turning back.
Up until that moment, I had the entire internet to hide behind. A screen. A carefully written caption. A chance to edit, rethink, rewrite. Now it was just me and my products. Out in the wild.
I spent the entire week arranging and rearranging my table. I tried every possible configuration, probably more than once. At the event, I finally set it up for real. And honestly? It looked beautiful. The little details, the textures, the tins. the labels. It felt like me. It felt like Maker & Reader had stepped off my kitchen counter and into the real world.
As I was setting up I met another vendor. She runs an incredible celiac friendly home bakery. She was kind, reassuring, and genuinely supportive. That small moment of connection helped settle my nerves more than she probably knows. There’s something powerful about finding your people. Especially when it happens in a room where you felt like you didn’t belong just 5 minutes earlier.
Even with this reassurance, I won’t pretend like the start was smooth.
It wasn’t.
I fumbled my words. Lost my train of thought, forgot what I meant to say halfway through sentences. There were more than a few times where I looked over at Aaron with full on panic in my eyes. Without missing a beat he would jump in so I could take a second to breathe and reset. Aaron was my superhero this day.
The event itself was small, but something I did not expect happened; I talked to every single person who walked by.
I shared about my family. I told the story of why I made my healing salve. I explained how the aromatherapy inhalers have been a lifesaver for my son. I joked about how my own face is very thankful for the beard balm and oils. I found myself talking about turning more toward nature, about looking to the past and rediscovering how people cared for themselves with simpler techniques. Pronounceable ingredients. Fewer steps. Thoughtful formulations. Using what works and keeping it grounded.
And then something even more surprising happened.
Every single person who stopped at my table bought something.
Maybe the first sale was a $5 lip balm…but it was everything.
It was proof.
Proof that people connected with what I am creating. Proof that this wasn’t just an idea in my head. Proof that I can actually do this.
That this could be something real.
I left that event beyond tired. Emotionally drained, proud, exhausted, and honestly a little amazed. What started as “This is totally a mistake” ended with “I can’t wait to do this again”.
Growth doesn’t always look confident. Sometimes it looks like shaky hands, nervous laughter, and asking your husband to bail you out mid sentence.
But it still counts.
And this time? It counted in lip balms, conversations, and the quiet realization that Maker & Reader has a place in this world.
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