There are many things I expected when I started Melting Moments.
I expected to make wax melts. I expected to learn about fragrance, wax, packaging and running a small business.
What I did not expect was that somewhere along the way, I would apparently also become a content creator. Nobody mentioned this bit.
It starts innocently enough…
At first, you think:
I'll just take a nice photograph of my wax melts. Simple. Except the light is wrong. There's something in the background you didn't notice. You've taken 47 photographs of exactly the same thing from very slightly different angles. And somehow, after all that effort, the first photograph was the best one anyway.
Then somebody tells you that you need to make Reels.
Ah.
Video.
My favourite. Not!!
Suddenly I'm not simply making wax melts anymore.
I'm a camera operator.
A lighting technician.
A director.
A video editor.
A voice-over artist.
And occasionally, an actress who completely forgets how a normal human being moves the second somebody presses record. I can happily potter around my workspace for hours. Put a camera in front of me and suddenly I'm thinking: What do I normally do with my hands?
And then there's my husband…
There is nothing quite like trying to create content while your husband is in the room. I'll be standing there holding a wax melt at a very specific angle. I'll move it half an inch to the left. Then back to the right. I'll film myself picking it up. Putting it down. And picking it up again. Then I'll glance across the room.
He's watching me.
Not saying anything. Just watching. With that look. The look that says: We've been married for years and yet I genuinely have no idea what you're doing. Meanwhile, I'm completely committed to the process.
“Don't walk through here!”
“Don't speak!”
“I'm filming!”
“Can you move that mug?”
“No, not THERE!”
“Can you just hold this for a second?”
And probably the most ridiculous of them all:
“Can you do that again, but pretend you didn't know I was filming you?”
At some point, I imagine he must wonder what happened to the woman who simply decided she fancied making a few wax melts.
Because now he's apparently married to someone who photographs cups of tea, films parcels before they're allowed to leave the house and occasionally announces that nobody can touch something because:
“I haven't taken a picture of it yet!”
The Melting Moments Sidekick
Somehow, without ever applying for the position, my husband has also acquired an unpaid role at Melting Moments.
His duties currently include: Lighting assistant. Tripod holder. Emergency photographer. Box mover. Reluctant background extra.
And opinion giver — although preferably only when his opinion matches the one I was hoping for.
I don't remember advertising this position. I'm fairly certain he doesn't remember accepting it. And yet here we are.
What you see vs what actually happened
This might be my favourite part of content creation. Because what eventually appears online bears absolutely no resemblance to what happened while I was making it.
What you see:
🌿 Soft music.
✨ Beautiful candlelight.
🤍 A perfectly positioned wax melt.
A little reminder to slow down today…
Peaceful.
Calm.
Serene.
What actually happened:
“DON'T COME IN HERE, I'M FILMING!”
The cat walks across the shot.
The phone falls over.
A wax melt rolls off the table.
The light changes.
My husband appears in the background.
I forget what I'm supposed to be doing.
Take 23.
“OH FOR GOODNESS' SAKE. ONE MORE GO.”
😂😂😂
And somehow, out of all that chaos, I eventually produce a twelve-second Reel.
Then someone comments:
“This is so calming 😍”
And somewhere in the house, my husband is probably thinking:
Calming?! You should have been here.
Apparently everything is content now
This is another thing nobody warns you about.
Once you start creating content, you begin looking at perfectly ordinary situations differently. Finished making something?
Don't put it away — photograph it!
Packing an order?
Film it!
New packaging arrived?
CONTENT.
Making wax melts?
CONTENT.
Having a lovely cup of tea?
Hang on…
Nobody drink it yet. I need a photograph.
There are days when I genuinely have to remind myself that I'm allowed to experience something without immediately wondering whether it would make a good Reel.
But here's the bit I didn't expect
For all my joking about it, something rather lovely has happened along the way. I've become braver. I've shared little pieces of myself that I probably wouldn't have shared when I first started Melting Moments.
I've talked about my business. I've shown the messy bits as well as the beautiful ones. I've stepped outside my comfort zone more times than I can count. And every now and then, someone responds to something I've shared and tells me that it made them smile.
Or that they related to it.
Or that they needed to hear it that day.
And suddenly it doesn't feel like I'm simply creating content.
It feels like I'm talking to people.
And I really rather like that.
So, am I a content creator now?
Apparently so.
I'm still much happier behind a wax melter than I am in front of a camera. I will probably always record something twelve times before deciding that take number two was perfectly fine. I will continue taking far too many photographs of exactly the same wax melt. And I absolutely reserve the right to hide behind a voice-over whenever necessary.
But I'm learning. Just like I've learned everything else since starting this little business.
One slightly awkward Reel.
One photograph.
One “Oh, for goodness' sake, I'll just post it!” at a time.
And somehow, out of all that chaos, comes the peaceful little world of Melting Moments that you see online.
Nobody watching knows about the 27 attempts. The cat. The argument with the tripod. Or my husband standing in the background wondering what on earth his life has become.
They just see Melting Moments. And actually, I rather love that.
Because behind every perfectly peaceful little piece of content is real life.
Messy, funny, slightly chaotic real life.
And perhaps I'm finally learning that I don't need to become a perfectly polished content creator.
I just need to be me.
Although preferably me when my husband isn't standing behind the camera laughing.
Internal link
I'd put this just before the final section:
And if there's one thing all of this has taught me, it's that progress doesn't always arrive in great big milestones. Sometimes it's simply pressing “post” on something you nearly talked yourself out of sharing. I wrote a little more about that in A Small Business Is Made of Small Wins.
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