When the Sales Don’t Come and You’re Trying Not to Throw Your Phone

Let’s talk about the rage-refresh.

You know the one. You check your shop. Nothing. You check again. Still nothing. You tell yourself you’re detached, spiritually mature, very zen. Then five minutes later, you’re back like maybe the internet glitched and forgot to tell you that you’re brilliant. Being a soap and candle maker online will humble you quickly.

You can make the silkiest bars, the slowest burning candles, the kind of products people swear by once they try them. But if the sales don’t come straight away, the doubt creeps in fast. Not gentle doubt either. Loud doubt. Rude doubt. The kind that asks why you even bothered.

Somewhere along the way, we were fed the fantasy that you make the thing, put it online, and the people come running.  They do not.  They scroll. They hesitate. They forget. They save the post and never return. They tell themselves they’ll buy next payday, only to emotionally bond with a £3 coffee instead.

No one tells you that online selling is less about launching and more about repeating yourself with confidence while pretending you’re not bored with your own voice. This is not a flaw in your work. It is the nature of the beast. Let’s clear something up.

Not wanting to do craft fairs does not mean you’re lazy, ungrateful, or doing business wrong. Some of us do not want to wake up at dawn, haul tables, stand for eight hours, make polite small talk, and then pack everything back up, wondering if the sore feet were worth the twenty quid profit and one man who asked if you do discounts.

Some of us want businesses that fit our bodies, our energy, and our lives.  Choosing to focus online means choosing delayed gratification. It means building trust without eye contact. It means explaining your magic through screens instead of samples.

Harder in the beginning. Powerful in the long run. This is the part they skip in the success stories. The months of consistency with no applause. The content that feels like it disappears into the void. The learning curve you did not ask for. The emotional labour of staying hopeful while being realistic.

You are not just making products. You are educating people. Training them. Teaching them why your soap is different, why your candle is worth it, why you are not Amazon and thank God for that. That takes time. Annoying, unglamorous, character-building time.

There comes a moment when you think about quitting. Not dramatically. Casually. Quietly. Like maybe I’ll stop posting for a bit and see if anyone notices. Maybe I’ll go back to something easier. Maybe this is a sign. It’s not a sign. It’s frustration talking. 

Every small business owner who stuck it out has had this moment. The difference is not talent or luck. It’s who keeps going while muttering under their breath and rolling their eyes at the process.

Slow sales do not mean your work isn’t good.  They mean people need more time to know you, trust you, and remember you exist in a world screaming for attention.  You are building something that asks for intention. For ritual. For care. That kind of customer does not impulse buy at lightning speed. They arrive when they’re ready, and when they do, they stay.  That’s the trade-off.

If you’re tired, annoyed, and questioning everything but still making soap, still pouring candles, still showing up, then congratulations.  You’re doing the actual work.  Not the sexy work. The real work.

Take breaks when you need to. Vent. Be salty. Laugh at the absurdity of it all. Then come back and keep building in a way that suits you because the sales will come. Probably on a random Tuesday when you’re not even looking.  And when they do, you’ll know you earned every single one.

If you’re at a point where insight isn’t enough and you’re looking for calm, ongoing support, I also offer private one-to-one life coaching via Zoom. Click this link to enquire.