Are you a better cook or baker? This is a question I've enjoyed asking others throughout my life because I was always very firm in my answer and how that defined me as a person. Until recently, when I discovered my answer was wrong.
I Met a Girl Who Sang the Blues
I was in a serious relationship a few years ago. We lived together, had dogs together, got engaged; we were ticking off milestones left and right. One night, towards the end of our courtship, I was making dinner. I didn't often cook because I was incredibly self-critical and even small mistakes would ruin my mood. I wasn't a good cook, at least I didn't think so, but I wanted to be a good partner and do something nice. When it was time to take the dish out of the oven, I opened the door and smoke billowed and I just knew... I had burned the chicken. When I tell you it ruined our evening, that doesn't even scratch the surface. I screamed, I cussed, I quite literally beat myself up for this mistake. Dinner was ruined, I was a failure, and I lost my shit over it. You may be reading this and thinking that's an overreaction for burning chicken and you're absolutely correct; I know that now. At the time, however, I couldn't see past my inability to cook a chicken correctly and let that define me. That evening was not my finest hour and, if I'm being incredibly honest, I had several of those evenings during the course of our relationship. I was so frustrated with my inability to live up to the standards I had created for myself and didn't know how to recover when I failed.
Then, a little while later, he said it: "I don't want to marry you." Those were hard words to hear coming from my fiancé, and while he didn't share this with me immediately following the burnt chicken incident I am certain that contributed to his decision. I wish I could tell you I handled that feedback with grace and composure; spoiler alert, I did not. Those words rocked my world and set me on a trajectory I never expected. I was... angry. You don't want to marry me?! I'm a catch and you're lucky to have me! When it all fell apart we were standing in my family room. I broke things. I yelled. I called him names. I insulted him beyond repair. We hurt each other in ways that only we knew how to; our intimate knowledge of each other was now weaponized and there was no turning back. When we broke up and he moved out, I remember looking around my house and thinking "I don't even recognize where I am". All I knew was that I was surrounded by memories of a failed relationship and I had to live with those reminders; but how? I had been through a challenging breakup years before and what I learned from that experience was that I didn't want to go through it again. I wasn't able to regulate my emotions, I ruminated on the failure of that relationship and what that meant I was because of it. My headspace was toxic and it would take me years to regain normalcy in my life. When faced with a similar situation years later - the end of my engagement - I wanted to handle it differently.
I enrolled in therapy as fast as I could. I remember sitting at work and emailing a colleague to inquire about her therapist. She had mentioned in a casual conversation weeks prior how much she loved her therapist. I trusted her opinion but was embarrassed to admit I needed help so instead I said the information was for a friend. I was in crisis mode. I wasn't eating, barely sleeping, and cried constantly. I felt lost. I had walked so far down a path and was disoriented by its abrupt ending. I had no idea which direction to take next. I felt undesirable and unwanted. Here I was in my mid-thirties, single again and watching my peers reach milestones I had told myself I wanted. I went to weddings to celebrate love others had found, all the while feeling tortured because I couldn't recreate their success. I celebrated the births of their children, all the while wondering if I could outlast my biological clock to become a mother myself. The gut punch was how quickly my ex moved on. If he can find happiness with someone else so soon after and I'm still alone, what does that say about me and my ability to be loved? I felt unworthy of love and pushed back into the singles' spotlight, a familiar but uncomfortable place.
And I Asked Her for Some Happy News
When my house became my own again, I started changing the vibe. I didn't feel at home there and that had to change. I was spending more and more time within those four walls and I needed a respite from the chaos that was my personal life. Little did I know how much a refresh would save my mental health, especially during the pandemic. It was cathartic to intentionally remove pieces of my past that no longer served me and replace them with furnishings that better reflected my style, interests, and mood. I discovered how much I like thrifting; practically all of my belongings are second-hand now. I also discovered how much I like interesting pieces; some may call them odd but I find them to be conversation starters. It was important to me to create spaces that were purposeful and stop pigeonholing myself when it came to design and execution. So what if my table isn't perfectly center in the room? So what if I move furniture around and use it for different purposes? It doesn't make me wrong; that was a hard lesson and I need the constant reminder. I firmly believe your home environment impacts your perspective on life and it was my mission to create a space that reflected how I wanted to see myself; warm, inviting, and comfortable.
I dated after the breakup. I dated men I really liked. But those relationships were short lived and I began to notice a pattern of behavior. I was really drawn to emotionally unavailable men. Men who weren't capable of giving me what I want and deserve; and yet, I would become frustrated by their inability and blame them for not giving me what I expected. The more I explored my mindset and approach to finding a partner, the clearer I became on how I operated as one. This meant asking myself tough questions and truly exploring my answer rather than regurgitating the descriptive words I used so often. I was changing a lot in my life and as I explored my relationship with myself I began to see clearer who I am to others. Am I controlling or do I have an anxious attachment style? Am I a perfectionist or is that a trauma response? Was this the true reflection of who I am to myself? If I'm redesigning my home to reflect my personality, does my definition align with it? Then it hit me - are you more of a cook or a baker?
My historic answer was always baker; always. Ask my friends - I am the go-to gal for desserts at parties and get togethers. It's exactly how I wanted others to see me. Put together, perfect; a true Southern belle. This was the persona I had created for others to see. Baking is about precision - measurements are exact and the margin for error is slim. I love watching the Great British Baking Show because one misstep often leads to disaster and that makes for very good reality television. Presentation and perfection is at the forefront of your final product. There's a reason restaurants have desserts on display - they're pretty and what you see is what you get. That's how I saw myself, or at least how I wanted others to see me; a debutante, sorority girl, and homecoming queen. What others did not see was how impossible these standards were for me to naturally live up to. I was incredibly self-critical and my inner monologue was one of pressure and expectations rather than kindness and love. It would drive me crazy to be late or appear less than put together at all times, and yet I was always running behind and more often than not had thrown myself together last minute. I couldn't leave my house without makeup on. I was incredibly afraid of imperfection and what that said about me if it were true. I was relaxed approximately zero percent of the time and constantly focused on my shortcomings and flaws. I was never skinny enough, pretty enough, easy going enough, smart enough, successful enough; the list was endless. I constantly compared myself to others and measured my self-worth on my ability to meet their standards. The most infuriating piece of all was that despite my best efforts, my perfect presentation was always flawed and if inspected closely others could see that.
But She Just Smiled and Turned Away
Between a breakup, a pandemic, and a prolonged hospital stay I've spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts over the last two and a half years. Having a brain that goes non-stop and no one to talk to about it, I've had a lot of questions. With the guidance and support of my therapist I'm reframing my expectations and what I want out of life; it starts by knowing who you really are.
So if you ask me now, I'll tell you I'm a cook. Not because I'm a good one, but because I've learned to embrace who I am instead of criticizing myself for it. Moreover, I've learned to show others who I am instead of who I think they want me to be. Happy accidents, making the most out of your mistakes, and not letting defeat get you down - that's how I see cooks and ultimately myself. I have the freedom to explore and innovate and while I won't always succeed I just might find something I like that I wouldn't have known otherwise. If you're so busy recreating what everyone else has already done, what are you actually bringing to the table? (No pun intended; okay, maybe a little.) I like different and until very recently I thought what I liked was popular. I'm late to everything and that's just who I am as a person. I get bored easily and need constant mental stimulation. I have lots of ideas and love to learn. I thrive in an environment where I can shake things up and challenge the status quo. Rules were meant to be broken and that's not something I would have said at any point in my life prior. I am gentler with myself because I've reframed my own expectations. I am not perfect because no one is. I used to feel anxious in periods of silence and solitude - now, I embrace those moments. I don't even know that I want to get married and for most of my life that was always the end goal. This doesn't mean I want to be alone; rather, if it comes down to choosing being myself by myself or being someone else with someone else, I choose me. Maybe my flaws were only perceived and they're actually a competitive advantage. I can't think of one person I want to be like because they're so much like everyone else; I'm drawn to different and it's because I am. I still love baking and that's because there's comfort in the expected. When I bake an apple pie I know what I'm getting. There are times in life when you want to know exactly what you're getting; order the apple pie. Other times you make a soufflé and wind up with chunky soup; it's different, but different is not always bad.
I am such a different person than I was back then and it's odd to know that wasn't very long ago. Can people change? I think so; or perhaps, they evolve into who they have always been. That's the case for me, anyway. I don't know if I would be where I am today if things had worked out with my former fiancé so I'm inclined to thank him. Without that life-altering change I may not have truly discovered myself. Knowing what I know now, I am different and it's for the better. Life has a funny way of working itself out and while you can't predict what the universe has in store for you, you can embrace agents of change instead of fighting them. I might burn the chicken for dinner but we'll call it blackened and drown it in ranch. I'm a cook... bon appetite!
