People ask me all the time why I decided to start making my own soap.

The answer is actually pretty simple.

I needed a new outlet.

Life has a way of changing us, and I found myself looking for something creative, something I could pour my energy into. At the same time, I wanted to live a little healthier and become a little more self-sufficient.

The more I learned about the ingredients in everyday products, the more interested I became in making soaps that could be tailored to different skin needs.

Could I make something for acne?

Something soothing for dry skin?

Maybe something with herbs and flowers from my own garden.

The ideas just kept coming.

So… I did what any reasonable person would do.

I watched countless YouTube videos.

Bought books.

Read recipes.

Watched more videos.

Bought more supplies.

Then I bought even more supplies because I was convinced I’d eventually need them.

Needless to say…

I can no longer find my dining room table.

It’s somewhere under bottles of oils, molds, fragrances, botanicals, measuring cups, mixing bowls, and enough soap-making supplies to open a small store.

For my very first batch, I decided to make pumpkin oatmeal soap.

Simple enough…

Or so I thought.

There was just one tiny thing standing between me and becoming a soap maker.

Lye.

Now, if you’ve ever researched soap making, you know people don’t exactly make lye sound friendly.

Wear gloves.

Wear goggles.

Don’t breathe the fumes.

Always add the lye to the water.

Never the other way around.

By the time I was ready to start, I had myself convinced one wrong move was going to send me to the emergency room.

I stood there staring at that container of lye for what felt like forever.

Finally, I took a deep breath and slowly poured the lye into the water.

Almost immediately, the container became too hot to touch.

Steam started rising off the top.

I grabbed my thermometer.

200 degrees.

My first thought?

“Well… nothing’s blown up yet.”

While the lye solution cooled, I measured out my oils, added the pumpkin and oatmeal, and patiently waited for everything to reach the right temperature.

Once the lye solution had cooled enough and the oils were warmed to where they needed to be, it was time for the moment I’d been dreading.

I slowly poured the lye solution into the oils.

I’ll admit it…

I held my breath.

I was fully expecting some dramatic chemical reaction.

Maybe an explosion.

Maybe smoke.

Maybe I’d somehow end up on the evening news as the woman who accidentally blew up her kitchen making soap.

Instead…

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Phew!

I grabbed my immersion blender and started mixing.

At first it just looked like oil.

Then, little by little, it started to thicken.

I kept blending until it reached what soap makers call trace.

I honestly wanted to do a little happy dance.

It actually looked like soap!

I carefully poured it into my molds, stepped back, and admired my very first batch.

Then…

It hit me.

After all that planning…

After all those books…

After all those YouTube videos…

After convincing myself I was going to blow up the house…

I had forgotten one very important thing.

Fragrance.

I had just made the world’s nicest-looking…

Plain Jane…

Unscented…

Pumpkin oatmeal soap.

I just stood there staring at it and started laughing.

“Really, Dawn? You remembered every safety precaution, bought half the soap aisle, and forgot to make it smell good?”