Day 20: When you live in an abusive relationship for over 20 years, you quickly learn to adapt out of self preservation. Little things, actions, events become frightening. Take cooking for example. I used to love cooking with my mom when I was young and especially became good at baking desserts for friends and parties in my teenage years. Seventeen Magazine used to publish a monthly recipe which I always waited for anxiously...along with the make up tips.
When I met my husband, he was quick to assure me that not only could I not cook, but I did not want to, and would never be very good at it anyway. I was just 16, so what did I know!? After trying to make cooking a joint venture, a fun couple's experience when we moved into together when I was 18, I was quickly relegated to setting the table and cleanup duty after the meal...I got the joy of cleaning not only the dirty dishes but his mess from preparing the meal. After trying to "enter" the kitchen, only to be chased out with a knife, I acquiesced and accepted the boring role of cleanup. And because he cooked such "gourmet" meals it also followed logical thinking that I should do all the laundry in the household as well as the house cleaning, vacuuming, dusting, child rearing, etcetera, etcetera. As years progressed I became actually afraid of making a mistake in the kitchen, putting dishes or food in the wrong place, myself being in the wrong place at the wrong time, turning the stove on incorrectly...still not sure how that is possible, but if it could be screwed up, he made sure I knew it was my fault and that I was just no good in the kitchen.
I do not bring this up to dwell on the past but to show why I am very thankful to be cooking...I'm loving it! The transition was scary, no question. When my ex moved out and the kids and I moved into an apartment, I actually had a physical reaction of fear when I entered the kitchen to cook dinner for the first time...in my own kitchen. Ironically, I got the kids but the ex insisted he get all the cookware because, after all, "She can't cook anyway!" So, I delivered 3 large garbage bags of expensive cookware to his parents' home where he was living, and the kids and I went and bought the cheapest set of pots and pans I could find. And there began my new found joy...or should I say rekindled joy, which had been squelched since I was 16.
For the first few months, my anxiety level still shot through the roof when I went in the kitchen. I was conditioned like Pavlov's dog. I constantly heard the Ex berating me, "What the hell are you doing? Get out, you don't even know how the fuck to boil water!" I started out very simple, microwaving just about everything. The stove had become my nemesis...that scary appliance that I simply was not smart enough to operate properly. But slowly I graduated from the microwave, and the oven/stove and I began our struggle to make things right.
Today I am thankful, and maybe even a little proud, to say that I can cook. And to honor that joy and achievement of overcoming my fears, I am introducing recipes on my Intermission page. These are recipes that fit into a tight budget, a tight schedule, and are kid tested and approved...new ones coming weekly.
And if any man ever questions my cooking ability again...Well, I'm the one with the knife now.
When I met my husband, he was quick to assure me that not only could I not cook, but I did not want to, and would never be very good at it anyway. I was just 16, so what did I know!? After trying to make cooking a joint venture, a fun couple's experience when we moved into together when I was 18, I was quickly relegated to setting the table and cleanup duty after the meal...I got the joy of cleaning not only the dirty dishes but his mess from preparing the meal. After trying to "enter" the kitchen, only to be chased out with a knife, I acquiesced and accepted the boring role of cleanup. And because he cooked such "gourmet" meals it also followed logical thinking that I should do all the laundry in the household as well as the house cleaning, vacuuming, dusting, child rearing, etcetera, etcetera. As years progressed I became actually afraid of making a mistake in the kitchen, putting dishes or food in the wrong place, myself being in the wrong place at the wrong time, turning the stove on incorrectly...still not sure how that is possible, but if it could be screwed up, he made sure I knew it was my fault and that I was just no good in the kitchen.
I do not bring this up to dwell on the past but to show why I am very thankful to be cooking...I'm loving it! The transition was scary, no question. When my ex moved out and the kids and I moved into an apartment, I actually had a physical reaction of fear when I entered the kitchen to cook dinner for the first time...in my own kitchen. Ironically, I got the kids but the ex insisted he get all the cookware because, after all, "She can't cook anyway!" So, I delivered 3 large garbage bags of expensive cookware to his parents' home where he was living, and the kids and I went and bought the cheapest set of pots and pans I could find. And there began my new found joy...or should I say rekindled joy, which had been squelched since I was 16.
For the first few months, my anxiety level still shot through the roof when I went in the kitchen. I was conditioned like Pavlov's dog. I constantly heard the Ex berating me, "What the hell are you doing? Get out, you don't even know how the fuck to boil water!" I started out very simple, microwaving just about everything. The stove had become my nemesis...that scary appliance that I simply was not smart enough to operate properly. But slowly I graduated from the microwave, and the oven/stove and I began our struggle to make things right.
Today I am thankful, and maybe even a little proud, to say that I can cook. And to honor that joy and achievement of overcoming my fears, I am introducing recipes on my Intermission page. These are recipes that fit into a tight budget, a tight schedule, and are kid tested and approved...new ones coming weekly.
And if any man ever questions my cooking ability again...Well, I'm the one with the knife now.
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