Finding calm in the Crumble
Last week, I found myself returning to the kitchen with a need to bake something nutty, and a desire to make something a little unusual. Something that mirrored the week I’d just had. The kind of week filled with small irritations. It started with people accidentally deleting SharePoint folders. Then came the tasks that felt like busywork. And that strange moment when the photocopier ran out of toner, jammed, and needed paper, all just before my next lesson. Add to that the last-minute requests from people in positions of authority, each with tight deadlines. Nothing huge. But enough to throw the rhythm off. Instead of sitting in that frustration, I chose to lean into a different kind of rhythm. I shelved the urge to “fix” everything and reached for a bag of pistachios instead. The act of cracking open each shell became its own kind of therapy, repetitive, gentle, satisfying. Once I found the rhythm, I realised how deeply calming it was to just focus on one small task. One nut at a time. One quiet decision not to spiral. There’s something grounding about pistachio cupcakes. Maybe it’s the soft green crumb. Maybe it’s how the batter thickens slowly as you mix, demanding patience. It’s a cake that doesn’t care for rushing. It asks you to slow down. To be present. Folding in the pistachios took time, but it gave me space to let the day go, without overthinking, without rehearsing conversations in my head. It is strange how easily we internalise the idea that we have to push through, fix everything, or "power through" stress. But last week reminded me that mental health is not built through grand breakthroughs, it is protected in the smallest of pauses. The quiet moment when you choose not to let someone’s bad mood stick to you. The decision to set a boundary. The time you spend making something for no other reason than to feel more like yourself again. I started with my usual prep: weighing out ingredients into bowls, bright yellows and reds like mismatched sunshine. The steps came easily. Creaming the butter. Mixing flaxseed with water (I went egg-free this time). Folding in lemon zest and almond essence. The scent filled the kitchen, creating a nutty, citrusy, warm aroma. I documented it all, the mixing, the scooping, the soft peaks of batter sitting patiently in their cases. But here’s the twist. I completely forgot to photograph the final cupcakes. No crumb shot. No finished swirl. No dramatic drizzle or styled plate. At first, I felt the frustration creep in. What’s a blog post without the final reveal, right? But then I remembered why I baked in the first place, to find calm. To not let the small things, even a missed photo, get to me. It didn’t need to be perfect to be worth sharing. The act of baking itself had already done its job, it had brought me back to centre. So, in the spirit of the cake, I’m posting anyway. Because not everything has to be polished to be valid. Sometimes, the process is the whole point. What’s one small moment this week where you could choose calm over control?
Write it down below. Let it be enough. Let it soften the day.
