I baked today and realized how much I’d missed it.
And what I missed most is more than the therapeutic measuring of ingredients, the feel of fragile eggshells against the unyielding side of bowls, the watching of very different ingredients; liquid and solid, coming together into a cohesive mess.
It’s more than the meticulous care that I have to take to get the steps exactly right, the testing of patience while the cake rises in the oven.
I think I missed baking because I missed being alone with myself.
I missed spending a good two hours being in the company of nothing else but the sound of butter and sugar creaming, the smell of cookie dough and smears of chocolate on everything.
I missed the lullaby of cutlery and the hum of the oven, away from the buzz and synthetic glare of my many screens.
Sometimes we get so caught up in playing our daily roles; we want to be the best possible sister, daughter, friend, lover. We give up our time and our love to everyone around us that we forget to take the time to love ourselves.
The cake is now cooled, filled and iced. I will serve myself a generous slice and enjoy it in the pleasure of my own company.
I think I deserve it.
Want to make the cake? Recipe here!