Bowl of Devotion

I am learning to love myself through the quiet ritual of cooking. Beautiful fresh foods prepared in small acts of devotion- this is my new prayer.
Food and I have had a complicated relationship for most of my life.
It’s been many things to me:
A numbing agent.
A socially sanctioned form of self-punishment.
A tool for connection. A source of shame.
A thing I hated needing. A thing I used to fill what couldn’t be filled.
But something is changing.

As I walk this healing path—slowly, tenderly—I find that my relationship with food is shifting too.
As I begin to remember who I am…
As I start to include myself in the love and devotion I so readily offer others…
I notice I’m becoming more gentle with my body.
I’m learning to feed myself with care.
To see food not as a weapon, or a sedative, but as a soft offering.
A way of saying: I matter too.

This weekend, I was lucky to taste Marina’s Ukrainian borscht—rich, warm, full of earth and spirit. It felt like more than a meal. It was wisdom in a bowl. Nourishment threaded with memory.
I left with the impulse to honor that gesture—to cook something beautiful, not as a performance, but as an act of devotion.|

This is my first attempt at borscht.
And roasted fennel, golden and sweet.
Small things. But sacred.