I would love to reblog this post from a lovely food blog I follow. It is however an “irregular” post about food, but talks about it from an incredibly important angle. If you look at meals as a form of care and love and nutrition of body and soul, then you will be able to understand how cooking for ourselves is a form of self-love, self-care, nurturing our own body and soul, maintaining the bond with our Mother nature. Which sometimes is not possible at all – even if some people doubt it. This writing touched me to my bones. I am deeply involved in the struggle described by the writer. I just haven’t found my energy and words yet to talk about it. Until that I let these words to talk instead of me. Read only with an open heart.
I stopped blogging because I stopped eating. It was not a choice. Nor an eating disorder. Sometimes life throws so much at us that we bend under pressure.
It’s been nearly two years since I moved into domczyk or a tiny summer house deep in the Polish countryside. It’s been over two years since I realised that I might be autistic. The two-year journey ends soon, as I am saying goodbye to this house. It’s time to sail into the deep, scary waters. But before I do so, there’s a story I’d like to share.
Sat at the old, spent wooden table in my no-kitchen, wondering whether the birds’ songs outside and the sunlight sneaking into the room make me more or less depressed.
Kitty’s sleeping, oblivious to the storm that’s going on in my head and the smudgy black stains on my cheeks from what used…
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