I recently came across a Twitter discussion started by someone who mentioned that they were scared to pursue their interest in cooking because it was associated with such strict gender norms and I felt like that tweet had been written for me. Something as short as 140 characters triggered a self reflection on my own interest in cooking, and why it’s such an emotional process for me.
I used to try my hand at baking or cooking on and off when I was a child. It didn’t take too long to realise that this activity was encouraged because it was appropriate for girls, but at that age it didn’t matter – until suddenly it did.
I slowly fell out of the habit and a big reason was because I wanted to fight the idea of conforming to gender norms. It was only when I was living alone after moving to London for university that I slowly started exploring cooking again.
The connection was instant. It became somewhat of an outlet to express myself, one that I continued to rely on increasingly for the next three years. I even tried my hand at a food blog but that died down because of my complete lack of social media skills.
Being alone, and being solely responsible for the actions I chose to undertake made me realise just how much cooking really meant to me. It also allowed me to shed all that emotional baggage that came with holding myself back from doing something I enjoyed because I didn’t want to be seen a certain way.
In many ways, this whole journey with allowing myself to love cooking once again has connected me to using it as somewhat of an emotional outlet as well. It’s not just limited to being somewhat of a stress reliever for me, but goes far beyond that.
I cook for the people I love to show them I care, and it’s a major part of why I could never imagine doing this commercially. For me, every dish I make is made keeping in mind who will be eating it, and though I will occasionally cook for guests coming over, I know that for me, cooking for someone I really care about is a whole different experience.
As someone who has struggled with insecurities and low self esteem for so long, I’ve always been scared of opening up to people and expressing my emotions because I’ve always feared that the people I love will leave.
Because of that, I hide behind the food I make to tell my loved ones how much I care. A few months ago, I hosted a friendsgiving dinner for a group of friends I had met this year after moving cities. They’d been warm and welcoming and all the things I was afraid I wouldn’t find after moving twice in the last year and being terrified that I didn’t know how to make new friends.
While this may be the little girl in me talking, their appreciation of that dinner meant the world. Even though the worst of my insecurities are behind me now, I still feel like cooking provides that safe space for me to truly express myself where I struggle with words (something I always find funny because I am a writer).
I’ve been taking cooking classes for a few months now and the joy of coming home and trying out what I’ve learnt so that my family can then try it has been an incomparable joy.
This journey of cooking over the last few years has been beyond exciting, not just because I’m learning something new but because of how it’s allowed me to feel. Even when I’m in class and cooking something hard I feel calm, because I know that if I put my love and care into the food that I am making, it will come across as such to whoever eats it and to me that’s what really matters.
If I volunteer to cook for someone, it makes them special and even though having them try out my cooking for the first time always makes me feel vulnerable, I still feel satisfied in the fact that I got to express how I feel my way.
