I Want to Be a Candle, Not a Firework
Jul 29, 2025
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I Want to Be a Candle, Not a Firework
I love Holley Gerth. She calls herself an Introvert Coach. I’m an introvert, so maybe that’s why, when I open one of her emails, I feel so seen and understood.
I’ve been wrestling with an idea for a few weeks now. Then I opened Holley’s most recent email and saw her graphic—just words in black and white:
I want to be a candle, not a firework.
I want that printed on all the things.
This is exactly what I’ve been feeling.
If this season of my life were a TV show, it would be a reality competition where introverts are forced to room with enthusiastic extroverts and secretly hope to be voted out first. (There may or may not be prayer involved.)
It’s been a busy, extreme-extrovert season, with a trail of confetti and emotional whiplash behind me—and well, it’s also the preview for my next season.
To be clear: neither of these seasons is bad.
They are loud.
They are busy.
They are visible.
They are needed.
And they are utterly draining in a way that only an introvert in a people-heavy chapter can understand.
You know what I mean? It’s a season (or two) where you rally. You show up. You lead, host, plan, coordinate, speak, wave, cheer, smile, hug, and stay longer than you wanted to—out of purpose, love, or survival. Maybe a tangled braid of all three.
That was me.
I did the thing.
Now I’m doing another thing.
And I’m also heart-tender, voice a little hoarse, soul craving quiet…reading the words:
I don’t want to be a firework. I want to be a candle.
Fireworks are stunning.
Brief.
Bright.
Booming.
Everyone gasps.
And then they’re gone.
Candles, though?
They’re steady.
Warm.
Silent.
They light the table for a conversation that matters.
They stay lit long after everyone leaves the room.
I don’t resent the firework seasons. I really don’t.
Sometimes life calls for it—weddings, launches, milestones, transitions—the big, beautiful events we don’t want to miss. I’ve learned how to rise to those moments. I’ve learned I can be loud when I need to be.
I’ve also learned I’m not meant to live at that volume.
I was designed for slow glow.
For heart-to-hearts in quiet kitchens.
For long walks and deep thoughts.
For showing up consistently—not combusting brilliantly.
This is the wisdom I didn’t know how to articulate until now.
And maybe you needed to hear it too.
You don’t have to sparkle on demand.
You don’t have to boom just to prove you care.
You don’t have to light the sky to matter.
Your candlelight counts.
Your quiet presence, your thoughtful questions, your willingness to carry peace into a crowded room—those are the gifts you bring. And they don’t expire after one big show.
So, if you’ve just made it through a season of noise—or you’re standing at the edge of another one, wondering how you’ll make it through—I just want you to know:
I see you.
You’re not broken for being tired.
You’re not selfish for wanting quiet.
You’re not weak for needing rest.
You’re a candle.
And your light?
It’s still glowing, friend.
I’ll be cheering you on—from the sidelines with snacks and a warm blanket, whispering, “You’re doing great. You don’t have to sparkle to shine.”
Here's my book...✨Practicing Enough
