There was a time when the kitchen felt like the center of everything in my life — music playing, food simmering, conversations unfolding naturally. Hosting came from abundance. From familiarity. From a life that had a predictable shape. I could do it with my eyes closed, and I loved cooking for other people.
It doesn’t come easily to me anymore.
And I miss it terribly.
I still want to plan meals and think about menus and set a table that makes people feel welcome. The desire is there. But the execution isn’t. I can’t seem to bring it together. I can’t even remember the last time I hosted a dinner — I think it was August of 2024, for my friend Frank’s birthday. That night stands out because it may have been the last time before things really started to fall apart.
Divorce takes time in ways no one really prepares you for. Not just emotionally, but practically. The paperwork. Accounts being divided. Address changes. New email accounts. Credit cards. Cell phone plans. Insurance. Responsibilities that arrive all at once and don’t care how tired you are. Learning how to survive on a single salary after building an entire adult life around two.
It’s administrative and exhausting and constant.
It hums in the background of everything.
It’s relentless.
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And all of that exists alongside the good things.
New people. New connections. Moments of genuine laughter. Small sparks of excitement I didn’t expect to feel again. I often feel suspended between who I was and who I’m becoming — not fully either, but carrying pieces of both.
I heard a song recently that stopped me in my tracks — Two Things Can Be True. It put words to something I’ve been living without knowing how to name.
I am overwhelmed by the realities of rebuilding a life, and still grateful for what’s growing.
I am grieving what’s gone while feeling hope for what’s ahead.
I miss the ease of my old identity while trusting that something meaningful may return in a different form.
Two things can be true.
Right now, I’m learning to let both truths sit at the same table.
I don’t have answers yet. I don’t have a new rhythm fully formed. What I do have is honesty about where I am — and permission to stop pretending I have energy for things I don’t.
And maybe that’s part of the rebuilding too.