How cliché is it that I bake when I am emotionally insecure and feeling lonely? I’ve been doing it now for about the last year. Is it just plain nesting? Reassuring myself that I will, indeed, endure this life because I can concoct sweet sustenance from an amalgamation of common ingredients? Taking comfort in the fact that I will be able to draw people to me with my baked goods, thus assuaging my loneliness? Proving to myself that I am valid as a woman and potential wife because of my domestic prowess and ability to incarnate a venerable gender stereotype? Cue gagging noises, perhaps — but these thoughts cross my mind as I spoon and level off.
Casseroles, pies, cakes, cookies, bread. Whatever the psychological reasoning, I make these things. And I feel better.
“But then the light, the lamp I held in my blistered hands — you the fuel, and me the fool for not noticing.” -Laura Veirs