There’s a running joke in my family that the women don’t pass down recipes. We pass down feuds. Some people inherit china or pearls. I inherited generational trauma wrapped in Bible verses and iced with guilt.

Every mother-daughter pairing in my bloodline has ended in emotional shrapnel. I used to think we were just... dramatic. But then a healer actually said the words “blood curse” out loud, and suddenly, it all made a little too much sense.

I didn’t spend Mother’s Day with my mom this year. We’re no-contact. And while that decision is complicated and sometimes painful, it’s also peaceful. I didn’t fly across the country to avoid her. Last weekend I flew to Minnesota to see Aunt Joann, the woman who showed me what maternal love can feel like when it isn’t conditional.

Aunt Joann isn’t technically related to me. She and my mother met years ago, sneaking cigarettes behind the bathrooms at a women’s church retreat. It was the only real rebellion my mom ever allowed herself. Joann became her best friend, and eventually the only adult woman in my life who treated me like I was allowed to have opinions without being punished for them.

                      Cooking with Aunt Joann after trying to chop the lettuce (explained below) 

When I was 12 and got caught stealing candy from the corner market, my punishment wasn’t just returning what I took. My books were confiscated. I was grounded the entire summer. And the only thing I was allowed to read was the Bible.

This wasn’t about punishment, it was about control. We were in church three times a week. If I said something “mouthy,” I had to look up and find verses about my sin and hand-copy them 10 to 100 times depending on the severity of my tone. I learned early that obedience wasn’t about behavior. It was about silence. About erasure. About making yourself small enough to survive inside someone else’s version of salvation.

And that’s the shit that sticks with ya!

Even now, decades later, I can still feel that reflexive shame when I stand up for myself. When I speak too loudly. When I say something true and wonder, who will punish me for this?

Aunt Joann never punished me. Not for laughing. Not for being opinionated. Not even for the candy. That summer, while I was “grounded,” she told my mom she needed help deep-cleaning her house. She picked me up, drove me to Thrifty’s for ice cream, and let me eat Hot Tamales while watching TV. She didn’t excuse what I did, but she didn’t believe in soul-crushing punishment either. She believed in grace and in giving a kid her books back.

That’s why A Hot Mess, one of our bestselling scents, is dedicated to her. It smells like cinnamon rebellion and being loved without needing to repent first.

She’s still that woman. Years after my mom cut her off, she flew to Seattle to sit beside my mom and me after my dad’s brain injury. My mother was furious that she stayed with me instead of her. But Aunt Joann made her choice. She chose me.

This year, she needed a little light herself. She lost her parents. I knew she didn’t need flowers. She needed company. So I packed a bag with plans to hit the Mall of America to prep for her upcoming Alaskan cruise. We laughed and told stories. She scolded me for trying to chop lettuce (“We tear lettuce in this house, we don’t do things fancy”) and taught me the sacred Minnesota difference between a casserole (round) and a hot dish (square and holy). Oh…and Uncle Tim and I hit the city wide garage sale where I found small pressure cooker for $1.00! You betcha, I packed a pressure cooker back from Minnesota! (You were wrong Cousin Jason…as usual!)

That was healing.

And yes, my mom used religion as a weapon. She believed “you have to make someone cry to reach their heart.” She didn’t come to my store grand opening. She doesn’t read these blogs.

She still calls my candles “boring and brown”.

Because breaking the cycle doesn’t always look like forgiveness. Sometimes it looks like a plane ticket. Or a candle. Or a tater tot hot dish eaten with the people who never made you prove you were lovable first.

If Mother’s Day was complicated for you, if it brought grief, rage, shame, or pressure, I want you to know: you are not broken. And you don’t owe anyone your peace just because they gave you life.

Protect your joy. Light a candle. Burn the guilt.

 Toxic Mom is on sale this week for $18
 You’re The Mom Everyone Wishes They Had is on sale too.

Matter of fact, I'm extending the sale to all Mother's Day candles. Let's call it a Post MD Processing sale. yeah...that's a thing now

Because whether you’re still grieving, still healing, or showing up for the woman who always showed up for you, you deserve a candle for surviving that Hot Mess.

Stay Malicious, Lacie