Tending to Myself, Tending to My Hearth

This past week, I found myself spinning in my thoughts. Creativity and depression have always been intertwined for me, two sides of the same coin.

As I wrestled with questions about my relevance in the world—my sensitivity, my work, my emotions—I decided to call my friend, Katia.

She listened and then offered her wisdom.

“A woman takes life and processes it through the time she spends just being,” she said. “Making food, crocheting, twisting wire, hiking, sitting in the sun. We are not machines. We are women. Women do things that take time. We need space to be slow and allow our thoughts to come up.”

She spoke about cooking and baking, emphasizing the patience they require—the waiting, the tending, the meditation in the act itself. Then she reminded me: You don’t even have to eat the food; you can simply make it. Whether you eat it or give it away, it doesn’t matter.

That made me pause. Food has been soul stuff for me since I was a child. It is how I ground myself, how I express love, how I connect with something deeper. Inspired by Katia’s words, I decided to embrace cooking and baking as a form of meditation—always with music, of course.

For the past week, I have tended to myself by tending to my hearth: chopping, baking, blending, tasting, smelling, feeling, and simply being.

This morning, I awoke craving something more intentional. I remembered a cacao ceremony I attended last year, a ritual of warmth and awakening. So I chose to begin my day with a cacao breakfast meditation, using simple ingredients to nourish both body and soul.

As the oats simmered, I leaned over the steam, inhaling the scent of the earth—deep, warm, alive. I felt the moisture and heat against my skin, the tickle of nutmeg beneath cinnamon, a call to home and heart. The cayenne remained hidden until the first taste, while the cacao wrapped everything together in a rich, grounding embrace.

I am home again in myself.

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A Ritual for Morning Meditation

More than a meal, this is an invitation. A way to slow down, to engage your senses, to begin the day with intention. Let this be a ritual—one that connects you to yourself, to the earth, to the quiet magic of simple things.

Ingredients

• 1 cup oats

• 1 cup water

• 1–2 Tbsp raisins (or a small handful)

• 1 Tbsp chia seeds

• 1 tsp cacao

• ½ tsp cinnamon

• ⅛ tsp nutmeg

• A small pinch of cayenne pepper (a little goes a long way)

• Walnuts, whole or pieces (optional)

• Oat milk (optional)

Instructions

1. Place the oats, raisins, and chia seeds in water. If you want the oats to absorb faster, use warm water from a kettle, tap, or Keurig. If not, cold water will still create something beautiful. Choose what feels right.

2. Set the pot over low-medium heat and stir to ensure the chia seeds are fully wet and the cacao is evenly mixed. (Note: I use a Korean dolsot, or stone pot, so I can cook and eat from the same vessel. When I serve it, I place it into a cozy handmade by a friend—because beauty matters in small rituals.)

3. Add the cinnamon, nutmeg, and cayenne. If cayenne isn’t for you, leave it out. I like the softest reminder to my tongue that there is life in the world. It also gets my blood moving—because coffee isn’t our only morning companion.

4. Stir occasionally to prevent sticking or burning.

5. Simmer until the porridge reaches your preferred texture—perhaps thick enough to hold a spoon upright, if that’s your style.

6. Remove from heat and add walnuts and oat milk, if desired, to cool and soften the dish.

7. Prepare a space that is beautiful and restful. Use a placemat that brings you joy, a spoon that feels perfect in your hand, and a glass of water to remind you that the divine is in all things. Or create your own ritual—one that feels like yours.

Take a breath. Be present. Then enjoy.