When people talk about feedback in product-making, it’s often framed as correction.
Fix this. Adjust that. Add something new. Remove something old.
That hasn’t really been my experience.
Aside from one early, humbling lesson involving chamomile powder, the feedback on this balm hasn’t been about changing what it is. It’s been about changing how much of it people want.
“I Just Wish This Came in a Bigger Size”
That sentence, in various forms, has come up more than once.
Most notably from Miss Christie, who made it very clear that the balm itself was not the issue. The issue was running out.
That kind of feedback is both encouraging and oddly complicated.
Because making a larger jar isn’t as simple as pouring more balm into a container and calling it a day.
An 8 oz jar means:
- New containers
- New labels
- New label sizing and layout
- Reworking pricing so it’s fair, not inflated, and still sustainable
- Deciding whether larger sizes change how the balm is used or perceived
None of this is impossible. But none of it is instant either.
This is the part people don’t always see.
When Feedback Creates Decisions, Not Formulas
The balm itself hasn’t needed fixing.
That’s a gift, and I don’t rush past it.
What the feedback has done is introduce a different kind of work: discernment. Practical planning. Responsible scaling instead of impulsive expansion.
It’s one thing to hear, “This helped.”
It’s another to decide how to honor that without rushing ahead of your capacity to do it well.
I want larger jars to exist. I want people who rely on this balm daily to have what they need without constantly rationing it.
I also want to make those decisions carefully, not reactively.
The Lesson That Changed Everything
The chamomile correction was painful.
Not because it failed dramatically, but because it taught me how little margin there is when you’re trying to help someone whose skin is already struggling. That lesson wasn’t abstract. It mattered. And it stayed with me.
It reminded me that good intentions don’t remove responsibility. That even gentle ingredients can behave differently when skin is already asking for mercy instead of improvement.
Everything since then has been quieter. Slower. More measured.
Why Slowness Still Matters Here
It would be easy to rush an 8 oz jar into existence.
It would be easy to underprice it, overprice it, or guess and adjust later.
But this balm has been shaped by restraint from the beginning. I don’t want to abandon that posture just because demand nudged the door open.
“The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance.”
— Proverbs 21:5
Diligence takes longer than impulse. It asks more questions. It counts the cost.
That’s where I am with larger sizes right now. Wanting to offer them. Willing to do the work. Refusing to rush it just to say I did.
Gratitude for the Kind of Feedback That Trusts the Work
I’m especially grateful for feedback like Christie’s, not because it flatters me, but because it respects the work as it is.
It says, “This doesn’t need fixing. It needs more room.”
That’s a very different thing.
And it’s a reminder that not all growth comes from change. Sometimes it comes from simply making space for what already works.
When the larger jars are ready, they’ll arrive the same way the balm did in the first place: thoughtfully, carefully, and without hurry.
I’m paying attention. Counting costs. And staying honest about the learning curve.
Growth doesn’t always come from fixing what’s broken. Sometimes it comes from honoring what was learned the hard way and refusing to forget it.
