There’s something deeply satisfying about cooking a big meal - chopping, sautéing, stirring, and tasting until it all comes together on the plate.

But what about the aftermath?

The mountain of dirty dishes, the splatters on the stove, the cluttered countertops - it’s enough to make anyone dread the cleanup.

Yet, what if I told you that the secret to a more enjoyable cooking experience - and a more peaceful life - lies in one simple habit: clean as you go?

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As you move from one step to the next, taking a moment to rinse that cutting board, wipe down the counter, or toss out scraps can make all the difference.

When you finally sit down to enjoy your meal, the kitchen is already tidy, and you’re free to relax. This small, mindful practice keeps the chaos at bay and makes the entire process smoother and more enjoyable.

But this principle isn’t just about keeping your kitchen clean. It’s a powerful lesson for life.

Just as we deal with messes in the kitchen before they spiral out of control, we should also tackle life’s challenges as they arise. It’s easy to let little issues pile up, thinking we’ll handle them later. But as the clutter accumulates, so does the stress.

By addressing problems as they come, whether it’s a difficult conversation, a task you’ve been avoiding, or even just clearing out mental clutter, you keep your life in order and your mind at ease.

So, next time you’re whipping up a meal, try cleaning as you go.

Notice how it changes the energy in your kitchen and lightens the load.

Then, take that lesson beyond the kitchen.

In doing so, you’ll find more space, more peace, and more joy in your everyday life.

P.S. If this story resonated with you, please click the ❤️ below. It helps more readers discover TherapeuticBites and it lets me know what connected with you.

I am incredibly lucky to have a summer home in the Hamptons. It’s stunning on Long Island’s East End, and the contrast with Boca is stark; I go from manicured suburban lawns to beach grass and wild hydrangeas. But, as much as I love the change, I miss some of the traveling we used to do. Trips are planned for spring and fall, and summer is for hosting family and friends. But one year I knew I needed a little girl time and specifically, a mother-daughter getaway.

My summer style is relaxed. That said, and while I spent many wonderful summers at sleep away camp, I am officially no longer campy. My daughter, who preferred Kutsher’s Sports Academy to the top shelf New Hampshire sleep away camp we took out a mortgage for (kidding, sort of), is also not campy. In fact, we are not even Glampy. So how we ended up at the 100-year-old Mohonk Mountain House is a mystery. Well, not such a mystery; though not cheap, it was a lot less than the $2000 a night alternatives we explored. Thus, cue the 2-hour drive from New Jersey, most of it a medley of Broadway tunes sung by us (Lea Michele’s career is safe) and a final 2-mile drive up the mountain characterized by nervous laughter and expectations a bit sketchy.

The Mountain House was true to form, outside and in. Walls and décor with original woodwork (mantels and veiny mirrors), a humongous, camp-like dining room (more wood) and rooms with, you guessed it, floor-to-ceiling wood. We had requested a room with two beds and that’s what we got, except the two beds were a queen and a twin. Yes, a twin! (Yes, that’s yours honey!)

Well, you might think we hated it. Think again. It’s hard to believe that a resort so timeless (my generous word for old) could have a spirit of renewal and life that’s so current and extraordinary. I’ve heard it said that a bonfire is just a nightclub outside? Make mine a double, stars and s’mores on the rocks!

I grew up vacationing in the Catskill mountains; learned to ski at the Homowack and still have a Birenbaum menorah from Grossingers. In fact, my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah was at Kutshers. Yes, a destination Bat Mitzvah, you mean everyone doesn’t have one? But the setting at Mohonk was unlike any memory of my childhood or hers. High up on the Shawangunk Ridge (no I never heard of it either and no it’s not Shawshank) that your ears pop on the drive up. Trails for all levels through the mountain and around the magnificent Lake Mohonk that are no less than inspiring. In fact, this 66-year-old body that complains if the golf course is cart path only, hiked to the highest point on Eagle Cliff and Copes Lookout. Think stunning vistas and vertical drops but more, think breathless determination and a reason for pride and the eventual mother-daughter high five. I mean, it’s amazing what transpires amid nature. More encouraging than a coach or guide, the beauty truly beckons. If I was wavering, it’s like I heard someone say, “Don’t miss this chance”. Well, that may have been my daughter but I’m going with the mountain that was beckoning.

In addition, there were classes you might not ordinarily take; mindfulness meditation, full body stretching in the forest (ok it wasn’t actually in the forest but in a room with floor to ceiling windows facing the forest, plus biking, boating and food from 4-star chef Jim Palmeri. This chef, a superstar of Culinary Institute and the Hudson Valley foodie movement gave 10 of us a kitchen tour unlike any I’ve ever seen. The dining room may have been rustic but the professional equipment and brass lamps and symmetry of the service behind the scenes would rival Le Bernadin’. (I think. Although I’ve met Eric Ripert’ he’s never offered me a kitchen tour.)

And of course, there was the spa; Swedish for me and deep tissue for my girl. Daily.

I have no stock in the Mohonk Mountain House and I didn’t mean to write a review. I guess I just wanted to comment on being open to new experiences and having perspective when the WIFI isn’t perfect, and the TV is oddly placed and ‘the beach’ is manmade and small, and so you just make it about connecting with someone you love no matter where you are.

Finally, a confession: Woodbury Commons Outlets were on the way home. We may not be campy, but we sure know how to end a campy long weekend.

I hope your summer is progressing wonderfully and you’re spending it with the ones you love!

P.S. If this story resonated with you, please click the ❤️ below. It helps more readers discover TherapeuticBites and it lets me know what connected with you.

Cooking Therapy pioneer Debra Borden, LCSW, is the author of four books, including Cooking As Therapy - How to Improve Mental Health Through Cooking. Learn more here about her writing journey, how she became known as The Sous Therapist, and the stories that shape her work.

Sitting here with a boot on my foot due to a stress fracture (and when I say boot do not think of cute little Uggs or even an orthopedic sandal - it’s what you see above - a full-blown ski-like boot complete with a button to inflate and deflate.

It’s uncomfortable and unwieldy to manage but it comes with a story that could be applied to any effort in any arena, and for me, of course, that’s Cooking Therapy.

The fracture is a result of a new treadmill that we waited for and were so excited about.

I do go at various times to a gym and even sometimes work out on vacation, so I’m not a total newbie. That said, for some reason I thought it would be great to start out with a ‘walking’ class that at times had an incline of 13 degrees.

I know what you’re thinking and yes, pretty dumb. Especially when I got off of the treadmill and couldn’t walk.

Think I might have overreached?

Well of course it made me think about what it’s like to try to attempt a super hard recipe like the Dulce de Leche 12-layer cake on the cover of Bon Appetit or the exquisite Tarte Tatin from Sara Moulton.

Lofty goal! Especially if you’ve primarily been making brownies or muffins. And yet, it’s not exactly like the treadmill, meaning you can’t get hurt, except for pride and maybe your pocketbook because of the lost ingredients.

So, in terms of cooking therapy, this challenge provides a great example of getting to know yourself.

Be honest. If a ‘failure’ at a chef-worthy dish that may take several hours is going to derail your emotional state or make you cry, pause, and take it slow. Try a 4-layer cake or a one-crust crumb apple pie first.

Work your way up.

But if you’re that gung-ho adventurer who can look at the mess and reframe it as a learning experience by turning that sagging layer cake into pudding or the tarte into a topping for ice cream, bake away!

In cooking therapy there are no failures because showing up and trying something new is the goal, not the end result.

For me, I now know an awful lot about how to navigate a treadmill, and I will be back on it, with a few modifications.

I recognize that I have to start small.

No more climbs through the Dolomites; instead, a beginner class with a nice walk along the beach in Kauai or a stroll through the flat Paris section of the Île Saint-Louis.

And I promise you, my inclination is to have no incline at all.

P.S. If this story resonated with you, please click the ❤️ below. It helps more readers discover TherapeuticBites and it lets me know what connected with you.

Cooking Therapy pioneer Debra Borden, LCSW, is the author of four books, including Cooking As Therapy - How to Improve Mental Health Through Cooking. Learn more here about her writing journey, how she became known as The Sous Therapist, and the stories that shape her work.

Hubby gets the starring role today and in many of the events in my house.

How do you explain a man who loves to do the shopping but requires photos of anything that is not a regular list item. If it’s apples or diet coke, he’s good to go. But throw in ‘Soy Veh Teriyaki Sauce’ and Houston, or in my case, Boca, we have a problem.

And yes, you guessed it, typical male, refuses to ask someone.

Please explain this to me. I love to ask for help. Three times in Publix yesterday and before I even made it out of produce. ‘Excuse me, do you have the chopped butternut squash? Is this sugar melon in the netting ready to be eaten today? Are Sumo oranges done for the season?

The funny thing is, although he’s often ‘off’ with the purchases, they’re usually ‘close’. I call it ‘in the neighborhood but on the wrong street.’

Here’s what I’m dealing with:

Skinless boneless chicken thighs? I get breasts. But I can work with that.

Spray bottle of Oxyclean? I get the refill. So fine, there’s extra.

Acorn squash? He says, ‘they were out’. Hmm. Are you suspicious? But it’s okay, I find another side dish.

And the teriyaki sauce? You guessed it, Tamari. Well at least it was low sodium!

So, what’s the takeaway?

I bet you already know what I’m going to say. If he’s willing to go, send as many photos as it takes.

I’m thinking I should make a shared album and just drop the photos in.

Of course, even with a photo, he’ll still have to ask ‘where would I find cake flour’, so I guess I’m not baking for a while.

After all these years though, I’ve learned something very important…

The groceries may be on the wrong street.

But the love isn’t.

P.S. If this story resonated with you, please click the ❤️ below. It helps more readers discover TherapeuticBites and it lets me know what connected with you.

Cooking Therapy pioneer Debra Borden, LCSW, is the author of four books, including Cooking As Therapy - How to Improve Mental Health Through Cooking. Learn more here about her writing journey, how she became known as The Sous Therapist, and the stories that shape her work.

I distinctly remember the first time my first grade teacher handed out pieces of new, lined paper to the class. “Today is Monday” she wrote on the board. I looked down at my sheet of paper and felt intensely happy. Smoothing it’s coolness with my palm I inhaled its scent; a combination of cedar and possibility.

When I looked up and around I realized immediately that not everyone was so affected; Jody Engel sat perfectly straight as befitted the teacher’s pet, eyes front, hands on desk. Mark Graham was engaged in his usual pastime, picking his nose and Mike Jaffe was trying to poke Andrea Nardo in the back. I could see his paper getting crinkled as he lunged forward to poke her with his pencil and this made me cringe.

Because for me, everything had just changed.

There was life before that first sheet of paper and life after; before, I was just another little girl in the first grade at Cherry Lane School.

After, I was a writer.

Maybe it was the glue.

Because I had two brothers who were so much older than I was that I grew up as an only child, and because my mother believed in frequent visits to the children’s section of the Arrandale library in Great Neck, New York, I became a voracious reader at an early age, guarding and savoring the 6 or 7 books I was allowed to check out each time. At the same time I amassed an obnoxious amount of and an obsessive attachment to Golden Books, specifically The Poky Little Puppy.

The severity of this obsession was finally uncovered by an ungodly tantrum and several stampings of my foot and a pitiful cry of “N-O-No!” when my mother insisted that I load them into my red wagon and hand them down to the little girl next door. I was fourteen at the time.

Reading frenzies defined an otherwise unremarkable childhood characterized by a love of all sports, an identity as a tomboy, and a pervasive sense of ‘late blooming’.

Stories with a lesson (Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, Ramona) were early favorites, followed by a fascination with biographies (Clara Barton, Girl Nurse, and Francis Marion, Swamp Fox) and finally a taste for fantasy (A Wrinkle In Time, Phantom Tollbooth), disaster (Follow My Leader, Death Be Not Proud), and Mythology (Medusa, Pegasus, The Odyssey). Other childhood favorites were From the Mixed up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, Black Like Me, To Kill a Mockingbird, Catcher In the Rye, This Perfect World and stolen copies of Goodbye Columbus and Valley of the Dolls.

For a short time I abandoned reading because I was under the impression that I could sing.

I would torture anyone within earshot with great, booming, impressions of Barbra Streisand or Ethel Merman and my own stylings of The Fifth Dimension’s Up, Up and Away plus an especially grating rendition of Band of Gold which prompted my cousins to run screaming from the house shouting, “Mom! She’s singing again!”

After graduating from high school one year early, (the press release was that I was bored and ready for the next step while the reality was that I didn’t make the Varsity Cheerleading Squad and was too mortified to show up for senior year) I first attended The American University and then The University of Michigan, from where I graduated with a BA in English and a lifetime love of the Midwest.

A series of jobs in advertising, travel, and employment followed, none of which came close to bringing me the joy that staying home to raise my two children did. And believe me, I thank God every day for the financial freedom to have done this and the payoff is that my children are now perfect in every way.

Seriously, they are.

No, no really.

Later, I returned to school to get my Masters in Social Work both to find more meaning in my life and to also model productivity and passion to my children, who, although perfect in every way, would occasionally ask if one day I was going to get a real job. Usually this occurred as I was reminding them not to talk to strangers or help anyone look for a lost puppy. So what if they were in high school? You can never be too careful.

Also, I had just attended my 20^th high school reunion, where I regretted that I hadn’t had the foresight to make up business cards that read Debra Borden, Bank President or Debra Borden, NASA Astronaut.

When I finally did become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, instead of being impressed and suitably inspired, my perfect children groaned that I wouldn’t stop “therapizing” everyone. I first worked with developmentally disabled adults and then segued into school social work for the hours.

Although I loved working with children and families of all ages, I found myself looking forward more to writing the assessments than performing them, and after an extremely critical failure with a group of 12 year old ADHD boys (let’s just say there was fire involved and it wasn’t accompanied by linked arms and a spirit of cooperation around a campfire) I decided everyone would be better served, and safer, if I put my writing skills to work.

Although blessed to be published, twice, being an author doesn’t necessarily create the glamorous or lucrative life one might expect. Like most people, I’ve had my share of detours, from emotional to medical, financial to parental. I did go back to being a clinician and currently have a ‘real’ job, as the community liaison for a wonderful psychiatric and substance abuse treatment center. But always, it’s the writing that nurtures, that sings, that gets me in ‘the zone’.

I’ve often said, writing is not a choice; it’s simply what I must do.

It defines me. I am never quite as alive as when I am putting myself on the page. Luckily I continue to write for national and local magazines as well as work on full length projects. Most days I also get to marry my two professional ‘hats’, clinician and writer, to my passionate ones; cooking, golfing, and laughing with my children. For most of my adult life I’ve raised ‘Labs’ of all colors and recently lost my 17 year-old best friend Bailey Dog Borden. I shamelessly eulogized her on Facebook for way too long. Sigh. The dog people will understand.

Other hobbies include reading and being in awe (translation: jealous) of most other authors, listening to Pandora (doesn’t music make everything better?), spinning (at the gym, not uncontrollably by myself in the house), skiing, wine, and traveling. Wait, let me reverse the order: Wine, skiing, traveling. Did I mention wine? That’s better.

My taste in books is eclectic: In no particular order: Jenna Blum, Jodi Picoult, Elizabeth Berg, T.C. Boyle, Augusten Burroughs, Edward Albee, Dave Sedaris, Amy Tan, Anita Shreve, Ben Cheever, Dorothy Parker and many newer novelists such as Alicia Erian. My favorite books include Life of Pi and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. I am so grateful to be in the writing community; I have never felt such generosity; it is a personal mandate to pay that forward. As all of my readers know, ‘I always write back’. Probably way more extensively than anyone would want!

Finally, no doubt my friends would describe me as Resilient and Funny.

While I think it’s great to be Resilient, if I had it do over I would have structured my life so that I wouldn’t have had to bounce back so much.

As for Funny, I confess, I’m a laugh whore. But a good friend once told me that Funny is a risk worth taking, even if you occasionally misstep.

Note to self: Going forward, less missteps if possible. More forgiveness when I do.

P.S. If this story resonated with you, please click the ❤️ below. It helps more readers discover TherapeuticBites and it lets me know what connected with you.

Cooking Therapy pioneer Debra Borden, LCSW, is the author of four books, including Cooking As Therapy - How to Improve Mental Health Through Cooking. Learn more here about her writing journey, how she became known as The Sous Therapist, and the stories that shape her work.

I came to cooking late. As my grown kids will tell you, their memories of home-cooked meals are tied to Perdue and Kraft more than Bon Appetít or Gourmet.

I’m a classic cliché of the Food TV generation.

As soon as cooking shows began to show up on television, I became fascinated with food and cooking as both entertainment, hobby, and creative challenge. I never actually wanted to be a great chef, I just wanted to achieve small applause-worthy successes.

What better validation of self-worth than a recipe followed and executed precisely, and an end result that looked exactly like the picture or screen shot?

I started small, meatballs mixed by hand and chicken with real lemons instead of juice from a bottle, then progressed to more complicated pursuits; flaky pastry dough folded and chilled, folded and chilled again, and desserts requiring a candy thermometer.

And finally, to shopping forays at specialty shops.

Would I run to a town 30 minutes away to get authentic corn tortillas for the soup? Certainly.

Spend a small fortune on Saffron?
Without question.

Salt flakes?
Never heard of them but of course I tracked them down!

At about the same time I was getting my clinical license and working in a variety of settings. Although it wasn’t till years later that I combined cooking with therapy, I was always conscious of the benefits of self-nurturing through cooking and especially of mastery.

Small accomplishments.

Small miracles, even (you try perfecting cream puffs in the shape of swans), all led to feelings of accomplishment and a boost to self-esteem.

I’m fairly certain that many of the lessons I’ve learned in the kitchen guide me through the other chambers of life.

Patience, persistence, mindfulness to details and beauty, and a sense of humor when things don’t go as planned.

Today, I combine my three loves; writing, cooking, and therapy into one job; not a bad gig.

When not focused on any of those you can find me with family, or watching football, reading or playing golf, and dreaming about how to once again raise labs only now in a two-bedroom apartment.

But mostly, you will find me in the kitchen, creating mental health moments for myself, the people I love, and now, you.

P.S. If this story resonated with you, please click the ❤️ below. It helps more readers discover TherapeuticBites and it lets me know what connected with you.

Cooking Therapy pioneer Debra Borden, LCSW, is the author of four books, including Cooking As Therapy - How to Improve Mental Health Through Cooking. Learn more here about her writing journey, how she became known as The Sous Therapist, and the stories that shape her work.

Sometimes, the best recipes aren’t the ones with the longest ingredient list or the most complex techniques. They’re the ones that make you feel something.

Cooking isn’t just about what you put on the plate; it’s about what it brings into your life.

The simplicity of a home-cooked meal, prepared with love, is often more nourishing than any elaborate dish.

Imagine standing in your kitchen, the scent of fresh herbs wafting through the air. You’re not rushing; you’re not trying to impress anyone. You’re simply in the moment, letting the rhythm of chopping, stirring, and tasting guide you.

This is the essence of “Keep it Simple.”

It’s about more than just cooking - it’s about living.

In a world that often encourages us to do more, to be more, there’s something incredibly powerful about choosing to do less. It’s about stripping away the unnecessary, focusing on what truly matters, and allowing space for creativity and joy to flourish.

When you’re not overwhelmed by complexity, you can see the beauty in the basics - a perfectly ripe tomato, the aroma of garlic sizzling in olive oil, the satisfaction of a meal well-prepared.

This principle applies beyond the kitchen.

In life, we often complicate things, adding layers of worry and stress that don’t need to be there. But what if we chose to simplify instead? To let go of the things that weigh us down and focus on what truly brings us joy?

Just like in cooking, the most meaningful moments are often the simplest.

They’re the moments when we’re fully present, not distracted by the noise of the world around us.

So, the next time you find yourself overcomplicating things, whether in the kitchen or in life…

Take a step back.
Breathe.
Practice self-care.

And remember, sometimes the most profound things are the simplest.

P.S. If this story resonated with you, please click the ❤️ below. It helps more readers discover TherapeuticBites and it lets me know what connected with you.

Cooking Therapy pioneer Debra Borden, LCSW, is the author of four books, including Cooking As Therapy - How to Improve Mental Health Through Cooking. Learn more here about her writing journey, how she became known as The Sous Therapist, and the stories that shape her work.

As we reflect on Memorial Day, this story felt especially meaningful to revisit - a reminder that sometimes love shows up wrapped in aluminum foil and packed carefully into a shoebox…

When I was eight years old my brother went to Vietnam, and my mother set about what would later be known as Mom’s Big Brownie Mission or Mom’s Big BM (no reflection on the brownies I swear).

This meant that she basically endeavored to provide the entire US Army stationed within satellite distance of Saigon with homemade brownies.

The North Vietnamese had their Hanoi Hannah, and my brother and his buddies had mom, aka Gourmet Gayle (okay her name was really Estelle, but I didn’t like the sound of Epicurean Estelle).

More importantly, I was her sidekick, and it became clear to me very early on in the project that this was about much more than making brownies. It was about sending baked bites of love and safety to my brother and the troops; the responsibility was intense but also empowering.

At eight, your mind is open to the most fantastical delusions; if I was dutiful, vigilant, and vigorous in all steps, then somehow my brother would come to no harm.

This was before the days of Kitchen Aid and microwaves and we had to let the butter soften to room temp on its own, then cream it with the sugar via our own elbow grease; my least favorite job but the one I thought most important.

Perhaps I was unconsciously subscribing to the ‘no pain, no gain’ theory without even knowing it.

I only knew that in my Magical Thinking I equated my efforts with how safe my brother would be; if I slacked off, he might suffer a wound and should the batter not be totally smooth it might be even worse. And because the recipe only made sixteen brownies (8×8 square pan) and my mother was quadrupling the recipe for each of two pans, this creaming was quite a feat.

In fact, what’s the word for multiplying a recipe time eight? Octupling?

No, I think it’s called ‘nuts’. No pun.

That said, it was after the brownies were done that the real work began.

My mother insisted that each brownie be wrapped individually, first in plastic wrap, then in aluminum foil, and layered into shoeboxes with the precision of a master mason or the crossword editor for The New York Times.

Have you ever ripped 126 little sheets of plastic wrap off the roll? Let me put it this way; have you ever had 126 tiny paper cuts? But it was all okay, my brother was fighting in a war, the least I could do was shed a few drops of blood for the cause.

When the brownies went off my mother always had a little bit of a cry; what I like to call Post-pastry Depression.

I think that if she was cooking, like me, she was somehow actively doing something to safeguard her little boy, and the minute the job was done she went back to a passive role; to that frightening state without control.

As a therapist, when I cook with some of my clients I know that these principles are clinically legitimate; when cooking there is power and determinism, at least in terms of the recipe at hand.

No matter how bad your day, your relationship, or your health, you can achieve success every time you read a recipe, haul out the ingredients, and do the job.

In this way, people dealing with anxiety, depression, or a variety of issues, can improve how they feel, a little or a lot, by cooking. And who knows? My brother did come home safely, thank God, and just maybe mom and I had a little something to do with it.

And let’s not forget the chocolate. As everyone knows, there isn’t anything that can’t be helped by chocolate.

Often I’ll honor my mom, who is no longer here, as I always do, by making her brownies. But I will use the microwave and the KitchenAid Stand Mixer. I know she’ll approve. How could she not? No matter the utensils, I’ll still be sending her bite-size bits of love and connection.

Estelle’s Brownies for the Troops

Ingredients

1 Cup Butter (2 sticks) softened, not melted.
2 Cup Sugar
4 Eggs
4 Squares Good Unsweetened Chocolate melted (4 oz.)
1.5 Cups Sifted Self-rising Flour
1 tsp. Vanilla
1 Cup Walnuts (optional)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour 2 8 x 8 pans (or spray w/baking blend spray).

Cream together butter and sugar till smooth. Melt chocolate and add to mixture. Add eggs one at a time. Gradually add flour. Add vanilla. Add nuts if using. Mix together and spoon equal amounts of batter into each pan. Bake for 30 minutes, approx.

Let cool and cut into squares.

Count your blessings.

Whether it’s a bad diagnosis at the doctor or a divorce that’s crossed over to the dark side, feeling out of control is a ‘recipe’ for a host of mental health issues and eventually, even physical ones!

One surefire way to get back control is to bake brownies, cookies, or cupcakes.

Bite size pastries are Happy Foods, and the small, manageable sizes will symbolize your ability to break your problems down into manageable parts, the very essence of psychotherapy!

Additionally, the sheer number of perfect treats you produce, will infuse you with power and a renewed sense that you can and will accomplish whatever it takes to get through and persevere.

P.S. If this story resonated with you, please click the ❤️ below. It helps more readers discover TherapeuticBites and it lets me know what connected with you.

Cooking Therapy pioneer Debra Borden, LCSW, is the author of four books, including Cooking As Therapy - How to Improve Mental Health Through Cooking. Learn more here about her writing journey, how she became known as The Sous Therapist, and the stories that shape her work.

There’s a reason people don’t gather in the laundry room when life falls apart.

They gather in kitchens.

They stand by the stove while talking about a diagnosis.
They sit at the table after funerals.
They pass recipes down like family heirlooms.
They stir gravy while replaying conversations in their heads.
They knead dough while trying to hold themselves together.

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Food is never just food.

Over the years, both personally and professionally, I began noticing that some of the most revealing, emotional, empowering, and connective moments in people’s lives happened while cooking. Not because cooking magically solves our problems, but because the kitchen quietly mirrors so much of what it means to be human.

When we cook, we improvise.

We recover from mistakes.
We create.
We gather.
We regain a sense of control when other parts of life feel uncertain.

That realization eventually led me to develop what became known as Cooking Therapy.

As I wrote in my book Cooking as Therapy, “No matter how bad your day, your relationship, or your health, you can achieve success every time you read a recipe, haul out the ingredients, and do the job.”

That idea may sound simple, but it’s actually profound.

Sometimes emotional healing doesn’t begin with a breakthrough.

Sometimes it begins by peeling a cucumber. (Every girl needs a cucumber in her house, but that’s a story for another day and it’s not what you may think.)

Sometimes it begins by chopping onions, stirring soup, baking cookies for someone you love, or realizing that melting butter on warm toast is a pretty good metaphor for softening words, judgment, or expectations.

Through Therapeutic Bites, I wanted to create a warm and thoughtful space where we could explore those moments together.

Here, you’ll find Cooking Therapy metaphors, thoughtful conversations, and gentle prompts for reflection - along with humor, stories and emotional insight drawn from everyday life.

There will also be weekly Kitchen Table Chats where we can explore thoughtful questions together - the kinds of conversations that often start with food but end somewhere much deeper.

Whether you’ve followed my work for years or have only just discovered it, I’m truly grateful you’re here.

My hope is that when these posts arrive in your inbox, they feel a little like pulling up a chair at the kitchen table for a thoughtful conversation with a trusted friend.

And perhaps, along the way, you’ll discover that maybe a little self-esteem really can be served alongside the salmon.

Welcome to Therapeutic Bites.

I’m so glad you’re here.