From food fame to life’s reset button
Three years ago, I lost my love for food. Shopping and cooking became chores, and I ate only out of necessity. This wasn’t just about food; everything around me seemed dull. I struggled to get out of bed but couldn’t sleep. I felt exhausted and indifferent to the passage of time.
Food was central to my life, my career, and my way of connecting with my past and family history. But as the emptiness persisted for months, I knew I needed to find a way back for my sake and those around me.
The pandemic brought everything to a head. I was overwhelmed by the demands of motherhood, caring for my vulnerable parents, and the unexpected death of a cousin. Despite my exhaustion, I kept pushing through, ignoring my body’s signals.
Growing up, my parents, refugees from Uganda, instilled in me the value of hard work and ambition. They encouraged me to aim high, although being a cook wasn’t part of their vision for me. My mother, an exceptional cook, showed her love through food, creating magic from simple ingredients.
After various career attempts, I found my calling as a food writer. My first book, “Made in India,” was a tribute to my family’s recipes and heritage. The success of this book and subsequent projects fueled my drive. But over time, food became work, and the joy I once found in it faded.
After the birth of my second child, I reached a breaking point. Exhaustion, panic attacks, and a loss of identity took over. I stopped socializing and struggled to function. My husband, Hugh, suggested therapy, and I began to see a therapist, which was a difficult but necessary step.
One day, Hugh asked me to cook a meal for him. It was a simple request, but it made me realize how much he was struggling too. I returned to the kitchen and made a Malaysian dal, a dish that symbolized a moment of reconnection for us. Cooking that meal was a small but significant step in my journey back to finding joy and purpose in food again.
Re-reported from the article originally published in The Guardian.
