There’s something deeply comforting about the rhythm of cooking — the sound of a knife on the chopping board, the aroma of something simmering on the stove, the warmth that fills the kitchen. For me, cooking has never been just about putting food on the table. It’s about creating space to slow down, reconnect, and express love — both for others and for myself.  

Many years ago, after being made redundant from a role that had completely drained me, I found myself at a real crossroads. I’d lost confidence, I’d lost belief in myself, and, if I’m honest, I’d lost a sense of who I was outside of my work. I knew I needed to find a way back — something that would ground me again and help me rebuild. Instinctively, I turned to my kitchen. 

At first, it was simply about having something to do. I baked, I cooked, and I experimented. What started as a distraction slowly became therapy. I’d lose myself in the process — kneading dough, whisking eggs, layering flavours — and in those moments, the noise in my mind quieted. Cooking gave me something tangible to create, a small but meaningful way to remind myself that I was still capable, still creative, still me. 

 Over time, my confidence returned, one recipe at a time. I began to push myself to try new dishes — gourmet meals that looked like they belonged in a restaurant, and delicate cakes and pastries that made me proud. But more than that, the act of cooking itself became a form of mindfulness. It helped me reflect on what had happened, heal from it, and rediscover joy in small, everyday achievements.  

Just recently, I was reminded of how special this connection is when I made a birthday cake for my four-year-old granddaughter’s party. I poured love into every detail — the colours, the decorations, the layers — wanting it to be as magical as the day itself. Watching her eyes light up when she saw it, and hearing her proudly tell everyone, “Grandma made my cake!” filled me with such warmth. It wasn’t just about the cake; it was about creating a moment that she’ll remember and feeling that deep sense of being appreciated for something made with heart. 

The science supports what many of us intuitively feel in the kitchen. Studies have shown that cooking can reduce stress, ease anxiety, and even improve mood. Psychologists call it “behavioural activation” — engaging in meaningful, hands-on activity that boosts motivation and self-esteem. The repetitive actions of chopping, stirring, and measuring can trigger a relaxation response, calming the nervous system and lowering cortisol, the body’s stress hormone. 

There is also a concept known as “culinary therapy”, which is increasingly being used in mental health programs. Researchers have found that cooking enhances focus and presence — much like meditation. When we cook, we use all our senses: touch, taste, smell, sight, and sound. This sensory immersion grounds us in the moment and provides a sense of accomplishment that can be incredibly healing. 

Now, years later, I still turn to cooking when life feels stressful or overwhelming. There’s something wonderfully grounding about thinking, what can I create for my family that will be delicious and bring a little moment of joy to the table? Whether it’s a slow-cooked meal, a warm loaf of bread, or a beautiful cake, it’s never just about the food. It’s about the act of giving, of creating, of slowing down long enough to be present. 

Cooking reminds me that even in the toughest times, we can still create beauty and nourishment — not just for others, but for ourselves. It is a quiet kind of self-care, one that asks for nothing more than our attention and our heart. 

The next time life feels heavy, step into your kitchen. Chop, stir, taste, and breathe. You might be surprised by how much healing can be found in something as simple — and as profound — as preparing a meal with love.