Starting Over Strong

Cooking has become one of my love languages. The scent of garlic sizzling in oil, the sound of vegetables being chopped on the cutting board, and the warmth of the stove—there’s something deeply intimate about preparing a meal.

It’s an expression of care, comfort, and connection that speaks louder than words. There’s something deeply intimate about preparing a meal—it’s an expression of care, comfort, and connection that speaks louder than words.

Where would it fall on the love language spectrum?

Is it acts of service? Or maybe it’s the words of affirmation that come when someone savors and appreciates the food I’ve made. Whatever category it fits into, being in the kitchen has become therapeutic for me, blending creativity with comfort in a way that brings me peace.

It’s evolved into more than just a daily task; it’s a way to express love and heal.

Memories of My Mother’s Kitchen

Perhaps my love for cooking has something to do with my mother. With five kids, she practically lived in the kitchen, whipping up delicious meals for our large family. She was a master at improvising, making the most out of whatever ingredients we had on hand. We weren’t well-off, so when I say improvising, I’m not exaggerating.

She could take the simplest ingredients—like flour, lentils, and the few vegetables that she grew in the backyard—and turn them into something so flavorful that you’d think we were eating a feast. Her dishes weren’t just about feeding us; they were about love and togetherness.

I remember sitting on the kitchen floor, wedged between the stove and the refrigerator, watching her whip up her creation of the day. She called me her “tail” because wherever she was, I wasn’t far behind. Whenever she’d try to teach me to cook, though, I’d shy away. Like many old-school Caribbean mothers, she’d say, “How do you expect to find a good husband if you can’t cook?” My cheeky reply? “He’ll know how to cook!”

At the time, I never saw the value in learning how to cook. I considered myself a modern woman, focused on other pursuits. My mom took great pride in her culinary creations, but I was more content as the taste tester than the chef. Little did I know, those kitchen moments were more than just meals being made—they were lessons in patience, love, and resilience.

Looking back now, I realize that sitting with her in the kitchen wasn’t just about avoiding the work—it was my way of staying close to her, of finding a connection in those moments.

Those memories in the kitchen are some of the most cherished moments I have with my mom. They weren’t just about food; they were about love, family, and bonding.

Finding Therapy in the Kitchen

Fast forward to the COVID-19 lockdowns. Like many people, I turned to the kitchen for solace. With life flipped upside down, cooking became a way to distract myself during those long, isolated days.

When everything in the world felt uncertain, the kitchen gave me a sense of control and accomplishment. To be honest, it wasn’t even my idea—my then-husband suggested I find a hobby that wasn’t tied to a screen. We both loved food, so it felt like a natural fit.

Even now, when life feels overwhelming, I retreat to the kitchen. There’s something grounding about the rhythmic process of cooking—the chopping of vegetables, the blending of spices, the sizzle of ingredients in a hot pan. For those moments, I can forget my worries and focus entirely on creating something delicious from scratch.

It’s therapeutic, almost like meditation. The act of preparing a meal forces me to be here, to slow down and to engage all my senses.

And let’s face it, it’s a healthier coping mechanism than some of my past habits, that’s for sure.

The Joy of Discovery in the Kitchen

But for me, cooking isn’t just a way to escape stress—it’s an avenue of discovery. There’s a certain magic in the kitchen: the excitement of trying a new recipe, the joy of perfecting an old favorite, the challenge of reinventing a dish to make it healthier. It’s not just about the act of cooking; it’s about the experience.

The sound of a knife on a cutting board, the aromas of spices dancing through the air, and music playing softly in the background—these small elements come together to create an atmosphere that’s both comforting and invigorating. In those moments, I find clarity, creativity, and peace.

Cooking has become a space for personal growth. Each new dish is like a fresh start—an opportunity to create, to learn, and to grow.

Starting Over Strong—One Meal at a Time

If I learned anything from the countless Sundays in the kitchen, it’s that starting over isn’t a sign of failure; it’s a fresh start. Whether it’s a recipe or a life decision, sometimes things just don’t turn out the way we planned.

But that’s okay, because starting over allows us to learn from our mistakes and make improvements for the future. One of my favorite lessons from the kitchen is that no matter how a dish starts, you can always adjust the seasoning. Life, much like cooking, is about finding the right balance.

So, here’s to starting over strong—one meal, one moment at a time.

Your Turn: What’s Your Therapy?

What’s your form of therapy or self-care? I’d love to hear your story. Share your experiences in the comments below.