My Mental Health Comes First: How Cooking Saved Me

In 2022, towards the end of the year, my life spiraled into chaous. Everything I had built with love and hope suddenly felt like it was slipping through my fingers. I was running a small call centre focused on short-term insurance. I shared the space with few guys I had known for a while-men I had mistakenly confused for friends.

They had their own businesses, but often leaned on me for help. I looked after their operations, thinking it was teamwork- when in truth, I was pouring into their cups while mine remained empty. They slowly took everything: my staff, my methods, even my spirit. I kept pushing through, thinking I was being strong, loyal, kind. But I didn't see the damage being done to me.

I started falling behind on everything-bills, energy, hope. But still, I gave more. I didn't ask for help easily. I struggled in silence until one day I finally did ask . I reached out to one of those men I had helped endlessly. I even offered to give up one of the few valuable items I had-a precious gift from my late grandmother-just for a little support. He turned me away. That rejection broke me more than I thought possible.

Even now as I write this story everything seems like it happened yesterday if it was before it was going to break me all over again but as I think of it now, I look how far I've been and my pain ,mistake became my valuable lesson on how I treat life now and people as general especially in business in work place some people are lucky enough to meet good people that are genuine that becomes real friends but for me it was not the case and it okay, sometimes we learn in a hard way. I thought when it all got down was end of it, but it was just a beginning of worst to come.

On May 5th, 2023, I hit my lowest point. I took 100 of my diabetes tablets, ready to end it all, I even went to the ocean, thinking it would be the final chapter of my story. But God had other plans. There were people at that very spot. They didn't leave. My younger sister found me. I slept at her place that night feeling like a total failure.

I couldn't believe it-me, the girl who grew up praying, the one who lost her mother to suicide, the one who swore she wouldn't never let her child experience that pain. And yet, here I was, standing at the edge of that same darkness.

Depression and anxiety wrapped around me. I started working from home again, but even that was painful- I was still dealing with the same clients, tied the same past, the same trauma. I didn't know who I was anymore.

Then one day,I remembered something pure: cooking. My late mother taught me how to cook at the age of 10. One night, I had a dream about making grilled chicken. IM woke up, and I did just that. And slowly, cooking became my therapy.

I combined it with actual therapy sessions, where I cried and finally started to feel. I decided that whatever I do moving forward, I must feel it. Cooking gave me that safe space. I started cooking with emotions, with intention. I poured all my hurt, hope, love and healing into every dish.

On my worst days, I cooked through the pain. On my best days, I sang to my pots and danced while stirring. I became emotionally available to myself, then to my partner and family. That's when the healing began.

Cooking saved my Life

And I now know that my mental health comes first-always.

"Sometimes the most comforting therapy doesn't speak-it simmers.it stirs, and it serves healing one plate at a time"