My time wintering wasn’t what I expected. I had visions of hygge-licious days filled with soft light, warm blankets, good books, puppy snuggles, and naps.
There was some of all those things. And there was a lot of work. For sure, there were moments of joy, but the time was not entirely enjoyable. Sprinkled amidst periods of contentment were moments of grief because this time wasn’t unfolding as I had imagined.
It’s that time of year again. Holiday season. For me that used to mean cooking and baking up a storm. I loved it and looked forward to it every year. Now, eh, not so much. Somewhere along the way my relationship with cooking changed. It went from being something I did for me that made me feel special to something I felt I needed to do to be special. Cooking became my currency and contribution; it was how I provided value and proved my worth.
