Meals have always been more than just food. They become part of our memories—sometimes in the quietest ways, sometimes in big, joyful celebrations. From weekday breakfasts and afternoon snacks to Thanksgiving feasts, food has a way of anchoring us to each other and to the moment we’re in.

Some of us grew up cleaning our plates, even when we were full.
Some of us saw food as comfort… or control.
Some of us learned to chase convenience, to keep moving, to eat on autopilot.
And some of us are only now realizing how much those early messages shaped us.

These past weeks have stretched me — emotionally and mentally. It’s tempting to believe that productivity equals worth, and presence must look like output; but I am learning that being present doesn’t always mean producing.

I told him that I wish someone had told me when I was younger that everyone — kids and adults alike— wrestles with feeling “not enough”. That you don’t have to change who you are to feel worthy. That treating yourself with care isn’t about luxury, but about compassion.

I didn’t grow up thinking much about where our food came from—only that we were lucky to have it. But now, as I cook for my family and build something bigger with Rooted Feast, I can’t unsee the patterns of waste, convenience, and disconnection that surrounds us.

We don’ t measure success here by how beautiful the meal looks. We measure it by effort. By care. By choosing real food, real flavor, and real connection.

Real care isn’t flashy.
It’s not about having the “right” ingredients or following a rigid plan.
It’s about showing up anyway.

Real food isn’t perfect.

It doesn’t come from a place of stress.
It doesn’t require a label to be worthy.
It doesn’t judge you if you’re using frozen peas or leftover rice.

Real food, to me, is what you cook when you’re trying your best.

I had good intentions, healthy groceries, and very little time. Between work, doctor’s appointments, and raising my son, I was constantly managing the balance between survival and nourishment. The food was there, but I didn’t always know how to bring it together in a way that felt satisfying, healthy, or worth the effort.