Big Girl Panties Diaries: Entry #30 — A Love Letter to the Fireworks Among Us

Some of us are fireworks. Bright. Loud. Sparkly. A little unpredictable. We light up the night sky for a moment, and everyone ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs.’ But when the sparks fade, it’s easy to forget the crackle it took to get there.

No one talks about what happens before the firework goes off. The pressure. The friction. The chemistry that has to be just right — or else it fizzles in the dark. “You just gotta ignite the light and let it shine…” — easier sung than done when you’re the one holding the match.

Being a firework sounds glamorous until you remember: fireworks are explosive. They burn hot and fast. Sometimes they leave a mess behind — scorched earth and bits of paper drifting down.

It’s a beautiful burst — but it costs something.

At work, at home, in our friend circles — the fireworks keep things lively. They bring the fresh ideas, rally the troops, say the hard thing out loud, or make the impossible possible (because, someone has to).

And here’s the thing: sometimes people confuse real spark with performative cheer. I wrote about that here, in my story about being told to be “more bubbly.” Fake bubbly is forced — a mask you wear to keep people comfortable. But being a firework? That’s real energy, real light, real heat. Both can burn you out if you’re not careful — but only one is actually you.

But fireworks aren’t meant to burn all the time. Even the Fourth of July finale eventually goes dark. And yet, we push ourselves — or get pushed — to be dazzling, to be more, to keep the show going. More sparkle. More pop. More boom.

People forget: that kind of light and heat needs fuel. And when it runs out, the firework doesn’t shine — it just explodes in the wrong direction.

So here’s to the fireworks among us. The ones who make the room brighter, who rally people around a cause, who hold the torch when others would rather hide in the dark.

May we remember: the fireworks need safe hands, too. May we remember: the show is special because it ends. May we remember: you don’t have to set yourself on fire just so other people can clap and say, “Wow.”

Big Girl Panties Rule: Sure, baby, you’re a firework — “come on, let your colors burst” — but you’re not on call 24/7. Sparkle responsibly. Burnout’s not a banger.

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