A Bar of Soap Changed Everything

It started with a bar of soap. I know. That sounds ridiculous. How could something so simple—so ordinary—change anything? But if you had asked me a year ago where I thought I’d be today, I wouldn’t have said here. I wouldn’t have imagined that I’d be writing this, sharing my story, telling you about how a little bar of handmade soap cracked something open in me that I didn’t even realize was closed. But here we are.

The First Lather

I don’t remember exactly how I first heard about Salt of the Earth Soap. Maybe it was an Instagram post, one of those beautifully curated photos of handmade bars stacked on top of each other, with their soft, earthy colors and swirls of clay and essential oils. Or maybe it was a friend who mentioned it in passing—something about “this woman who makes the most incredible soap” and “you have to try it.” At the time, I wasn’t looking for soap. I wasn’t even looking for change. I was just… existing. But something about it caught my attention. And for reasons I still can’t fully explain, I placed an order.

The package arrived on a quiet Wednesday. I remember because it was one of those unremarkable midweek days when life feels repetitive. Work, dishes, laundry, dinner. Repeat. I tore open the box, and the scent hit me first—clean but rich, like something familiar yet completely new. I picked up the Dish Soap Bar and Brush first. It wasn’t flashy. Just a simple, solid bar, wrapped in the kind of packaging that makes you pause because you can tell someone actually thought about it. I placed it by my sink, half-wondering if I had just fallen for an aesthetic Instagram ad. And then, that night, after dinner, I used it for the first time. I don’t know what I was expecting. I mean, it was just soap. Right?

But the moment my hands touched it, something clicked. The creamy lather, the way it cut through grease without stripping my skin dry—it was small, almost insignificant. But it felt… different. Intentional. Thoughtful. I washed each plate slowly, almost absentmindedly, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn’t rush through it. That night, as I stood in my kitchen, hands submerged in warm, soapy water, something shifted in me. It wasn’t just about the soap. It was about what it stood for.

A Story Woven into Every Bar

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So I went back to the website, back to the story behind the soap. I read about the woman who had started it all. About how she had felt called—literally called—to do this. To create something with purpose. To take something as everyday as soap and infuse it with meaning. She could have done anything. She could have built a business around skincare or haircare, something glamorous and marketable. But instead, she made soap. Not just any soap—soap that carried a mission. Soap that would go on to help build orphanages, support victims of human trafficking, feed children, and change lives. Including mine.

It sounds dramatic to say that reading her story changed me. But it did. Because, for the first time in a long time, I saw purpose in the small things. I had spent years rushing through life, doing what needed to be done, moving from one task to the next. Washing dishes, folding clothes, showering, cleansing my face at the end of a long day—it had all become background noise, things to get through rather than things to experience. But here was this woman, taking something as basic as soap and using it as a vessel for something bigger. She was reminding people that even the most mundane moments—washing a plate, rinsing your hands—could be sacred. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And suddenly, I wanted more.

A New Way of Seeing the World

It didn’t stop at the sink or the shower. The more I let myself slow down, the more I started noticing other things—the way the morning light stretched across my kitchen counter, the warmth of a cup of tea in my hands, the laughter of a loved one lingering in the air. What began as a simple shift in how I washed my hands became something bigger: a shift in how I lived. I found myself savoring, rather than rushing. Appreciating, rather than overlooking. And isn’t that what true change is? Not always a loud, dramatic moment, but a series of small, quiet choices that bring us back to what really matters.

More Than Just Soap

I placed another order that night. This time, I added the Salty Sea Clay Bar. I didn’t even need it. But something about it—the promise of healing, the idea that washing your face could be more than just another part of the routine—called to me. A few days later, when it arrived, I held it in my hands for a long time before I used it. There was something special about it. The weight of it. The way it smelled—clean, yet grounding. Like a reset button.

That night, I lathered it in my hands, felt the silkiness of the clay, breathed in the scent of cedarwood and salt. And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I took my time. I didn’t rush through it. I didn’t scrub mindlessly while thinking about the million things I still had to do. I just… was. I let the water run over my skin. I let the scent fill my senses. I let the moment be exactly what it was—simple, but meaningful. And as I looked at myself in the mirror, I realized something. I had spent so much of my life looking for big, grand moments of change. I had convinced myself that transformation came in the form of milestones—new jobs, new cities, major life events. But maybe change was in the small things. Maybe it was in the lather of a bar of soap. In the pause between tasks. In the way we choose to show up for the most ordinary moments of our lives.

A Community, A Mission, A Reminder

It wasn’t just about the soap anymore. It was about what it represented. With every purchase, I wasn’t just buying a product—I was contributing to something bigger. To women and children in need. To missions I’d never physically be able to go on, but could support from my own little kitchen sink. And with every use, I was reminded: Purpose doesn’t have to be loud. It doesn’t have to come in the form of a dramatic life change or a radical reinvention. Sometimes, purpose is in the quiet things. The small choices. The seemingly insignificant moments that, over time, add up to something extraordinary. Like a single bar of soap that, somehow, changes everything.

Final Thoughts

If you had told me a year ago that I’d be writing about soap, I would have laughed. But here’s the thing: It’s not just about the soap. It’s about the way it made me see my life differently. The way it forced me to slow down, to pay attention, to find meaning in the things I used to overlook. It’s about the story behind it. The woman who listened to a calling and followed it, not knowing where it would lead. The people she has helped, the mission she has built, the community she has created. And it’s about me. A person who, for the first time in a long time, feels like she’s waking up. Because sometimes, the smallest things—like washing your hands—can remind you of the biggest truths. And that? That’s something worth holding onto.