Cooking up a storm (of emotions)

At the start of this pandemic, a lot of us tried to find new ways to amuse ourselves at home. I remember people knitting, tie-dying, reading more, getting into yoga, doing puzzles, binge-watching TV and a bunch of other stuff. 

I wasn't very original: I really got into cooking. 

I have always liked cooking but didn't particularly have much time when I worked full-time in the office and sometimes I had to come home from work, throw some food on the table so that the kids could then go out and do their other activities in the evening (football practice, Scouts, swimming, that sort of thing). These weren't necessarily the best circumstances to try and get more adventurous with my cooking so when lockdown changed all of that, once I got over the shock of feeling generally a prisoner in my own home, I pivoted to cooking.

Now I had time to prepare better meals, to experiment more, to try those recipes that I'd collected through the years but had never had the chance to try. I found myself cooking most days and, quite frankly, loving it. I made all sorts of great foods and even enjoyed the process of discovering new recipes and techniques: I even made the Tiktok feta pasta that was doing the rounds (it was amazing). The children got into the act and they were in charge of a few meals a week too, which was wonderful. Every evening we all sat down and ate together, sharing bits from our day. Heck, I may even have had a glass of wine during a school night!

Out of the entire lockdown, my biggest happy memory is the cooking and all those things I tried: some were great and they became part of the routine rotation, some didn't work so well and are regarded as valuable experiments. The main thing is that I felt useful, productive and I was taking care of my family in the best way I could. 

Fast forward to now: when you can't eat, it isn't that exciting to cook. In fact, it can be quite a triggering experience. 

Thankfully my husband is quite happy to take care of the food requirements for the family these days, but it does make me feel disoriented like I am no longer useful. Or I feel bad for letting him have all the burden of cooking, and of course, I offer to help. But being around food in such an intimate way really doesn't make things better for me, at least not emotionally. I am preparing a meal that looks and smells delicious, but I can't confirm if it is and I can't join the family in enjoying it. Sure, I can sit at the table with them but sometimes all it does is make it even more obvious how things aren't right, and how not eating affects so many other things. 

I'm stuck between the metaphorical rock and a hard place: if I cook I find it emotionally charged and potentially very upsetting; if I don't, I feel guilty about not helping out and taking care of my loved ones. Here again is another situation where I'm not sure what to do for the best: for me and those around me. 

Even if I decide that cooking is probably not a good idea right now, just the simple question of sitting down with others that are eating is full of anxieties. If I join, I am acutely aware that they are all doing something I can't right now, and it makes me angry and upset (not to mention hungry and thirsty). I am probably not great company as I try so hard to mask my true feelings with friendly conversation. But if I don't join... well, I miss out on family life entirely and that won't do.

Sometimes when I do sit down for meals, I will get myself a tiny portion and attempt to get through it as well as I can. More than once I've thought that I was doing ok but then something goes slightly wrong and I panic: I'm choking. My heart starts beating and I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my body. I manage to get rid of the bit that was possibly stuck (and believe me, these are absolutely molecular bits, so small I'm sure there is no energy in them at all) and the thought of going through that experience again is entirely off-putting so I stop. Of course, this entire routine has been witnessed by those around me so now I'm embarrassed, on top of worried that this is all something the children will be telling a therapist in a few years' time when they develop an eating disorder. 

This constant "should I? shouldn't I?" is exhausting. I still don't know what the right answer is, but I will keep exploring and trying in the hope that someday soon I will be able to get pleasure out of cooking again.