No. 12: Cooking for Love vs. Cooking from Obligation

When the Kitchen Feels Heavy

For a long time, cooking felt like another weight to carry.

Another thing on the endless list.

Something to check off before moving on to the next task.

What will everyone eat?

Do we have enough groceries?

Why does it always fall to me?

I cooked to get it done.

Not to enjoy it.

Not to nourish.

Not to love.

And my body felt it—

the tension in my shoulders,

the rush in my breath,

the quiet resentment simmering under the surface.

Cooking from Obligation

Obligation has a certain flavor.

It tastes like hurry.

Like pressure.

Like depletion.

It’s feeding to fill, not to connect.

It’s stirring a pot with clenched jaws and tired hands.

It’s measuring your worth by how much you’ve managed to get on the table.

And while the food may be eaten,

something essential is missing.

Cooking for Love

Then there are the moments I cook differently.

Not from duty,

but from a place of care.

It doesn’t mean elaborate recipes.

It doesn’t mean hours in the kitchen.

It means presence.

It’s slicing vegetables slowly,

letting the colors calm me.

It’s seasoning with intuition,

not measuring cups.

It’s choosing a simple meal

and still pouring myself into it.

Cooking for love feels lighter.

Grounding.

Even healing.

Because it isn’t just about the food.

It’s about the energy I bring to it.

The Body as the Compass

My body knows the difference.

When I cook from obligation,

I feel drained before the first bite

When I cook for love,

I feel nourished even before sitting down.

The same action—chopping, stirring, serving—but the intention changes everything.

A Quiet Reframe

The kitchen doesn’t have to be another battlefield of obligation.

It can be a space of gentleness, creativity, even joy.

Cooking for love doesn’t mean perfection.

It doesn’t mean never rushing.

It simply means allowing care to be present in the process.

Even if it’s a five-minute meal.

Even if it’s just buttered toast.

Even if it’s only for yourself.

A Reminder for You

This week, notice the difference.

When does cooking feel heavy with obligation?

When does it feel infused with love?

Try making one meal—any meal—as an offering of love instead of a duty to perform.

See how your body responds.

See how your spirit softens.

Because food isn’t just fuel.

It’s a language.

And when we cook with love, we feed far more than hunger.

This month, I’m learning to let the kitchen be a place of care.

To notice when I’m moving from pressure, and gently choose presence instead.

To remember that nourishment comes not just from what we eat—but from how it was made.

—Steph

If you need help to start cooking from a place of love and not purely obligation, try this out:

A Simple Practice for Cooking with Love

1. Set an Intention Before You Begin

   Before you chop, stir, or season—pause for a moment.

   Place a hand on your heart.

   Take one slow breath.

   Whisper to yourself: May this meal bring comfort. May it nourish with love.

   
   

2. Cook with the Senses

   Instead of rushing, try noticing one sensory detail:

   – The colors of the vegetables.

   – The sound of the pan sizzling.

   – The smell of garlic warming in oil.

   Let your senses guide you back into presence.

   
   

3. Offer Gratitude While Stirring

   As you stir a pot or plate a dish, think of someone you love (including yourself).

   Imagine the meal as a gift of care.

   Let gratitude season the food as much as salt or spice.