"It took a breaking point for me to discover that food was really what kept me in one piece."
By Sydney Brown
I found my love for cooking in 2008 at the mere age of eight. There were quite a few things in my life that I felt average at, like school and sports, but cooking wasn’t one of them. I remember tossing on my bright red chef-in-training apron, tying back my wild ringlet curls, and picking up my yellow nylon kids knife to begin slicing shallots under the guidance of my father with whom I spent countless hours in the kitchen. He wasn’t a home cook to me, but rather a hero, and he referred to me as his “sous chef” which filled me with immense pride.
That same year, I started taking a hip-hop dance class at a local studio. Shortly thereafter, I was perfecting my plié in ballet class which I joined upon the recommendation of the studio owner who thought I’d enjoy dancing competitively. One thing led to another and I found myself performing in dance competitions across the nation. I wasn’t, however, very good at ballet and I certainly didn’t look like a lean ballerina, but what I did have was the spunk, drive, and determination to keep up with the other girls. I felt a familiar glow in my heart when I performed in competitions, similar to how I felt when I was cooking.
As competition season began to ramp up, I started spending hours on end at the studio, five days a week. But on the weekends, I’d leave my dancing shoes behind and go to the farmers market with my dad. When we’d return home, he would quiz me on how I’d prepare the ingredients into one harmonious meal as if I was a contestant on Chopped. The kitchen would transform into my safe haven. I’d drift into a wonderland of joy; Fleetwood Mac crooning through the speakers while the music of cherry tomatoes bursting on the stovetop harmonized in the background and the sweet scent of caramelizing onions filled the kitchen air.
When I turned fifteen, I lost my love for cooking but my passion for dance continued as I joined my high school team. I wasn’t just a good dancer, I excelled at it, and I consistently secured a spot in the front row. But my dancing ability was overshadowed by the fact that I didn’t have any extra room in my uniform, and that when every girl around me would take off their shirt to dance in their sports bra in the 90-degree rehearsal room, I felt like I couldn’t. My mother would sit in the car with me after check-ups and console me while I cried about the number on the scale, wondering why I wasn't as small as the other girls, even though I ate healthily and danced all the time.
In December of my freshman year of high school, I decided to go on a “cleanse,” which was really a subtle term for a harsh diet. A cleanse is the opposite of the creative cooking that I knew and loved: it’s controlled and pre-planned, not colorful and experimental. I followed the cleanse to a tee, drinking the artificial strawberry shakes for breakfast, eating a bland nutty bar at lunchtime, and scarfing down the low-carb, no-fun meals for dinner. During dance practice, I’d sit on the cold floor of the studio eyeing the skinny teenagers inhaling fist fulls of Doritos and donuts, while I nibbled on a ziplock bag of baby carrots with portioned-out peanut butter, somehow still embarrassed about the fact that I was eating. What once brought me comfort, suddenly felt like a sin.
"Learning to thrive in the places that once made you feel like you had to shrink is the beauty of progress."
When I turned 20 years old, I found myself. At the beginning of 2020, right before the pandemic hit, my parents noticed an inflamed bump on the top of my back. I didn’t think much of it since I had pulled a muscle in my back a few weeks earlier, but they felt it would be wise to see a doctor. Two days later, I received a prognosis and it was as clear as it was painful. The doctor said that the bump was a result of constant weight fluctuations and she warned that the cycle needed to stop before it sent me to a seriously dangerous place. I spent the afternoon in silence and alone in my bedroom, refusing to speak to my parents, feeling ashamed and angry. After what felt like several weeks packed into one solemn day, I put on my big girl pants and decided to make a change. For so many years I went back and forth between painful fad diets and indulgent eating; what I really needed to learn was balance. I learned that you don’t have to deprive yourself of cupcakes for a whole year, only to devour ten on your birthday. You can actually have a cupcake once in a while simply because you want one.
In high school they don’t teach you that the least interesting thing about you is your weight and I wish that they did. I think back to that year as the start of my self-love era. Learning to love the things I do, in the way I do them so I can become my best self. This meant embracing my undeniable love of cooking, teaching myself to exercise to feel strong rather than skinny, and prioritizing wellness and therapy. I lost thirty pounds from this revelation, but more importantly I gained a better version of myself.
My conflict with the kitchen became clear to me now. The negative associations I had forged between my body and food tore me apart for such a long time, and it took a breaking point for me to discover that food was really what kept me in one piece. Today, the most interesting thing about me is my love for cooking. I often mourn the girl I once was: the girl who would make excuses to not eat the piece of cake on her friend's birthday because she thought she didn’t deserve it, only to go home and binge on three bowls of cereal to make up for the feeling of loss. That girl would be proud of this version of me. The girl who hosts dinner parties for her loved ones because she knows that home-cooked food brings people together. The girl who runs a health and wellness, sustainable food blog that informs people how to cook ethically, healthfully, and often. The girl whose career will be anchored around sharing heartfelt stories surrounding food. Learning to thrive in the places that once made you feel like you had to shrink is the beauty of progress. So, I’ll be taking up more space with a whisk in my hand and an apron tied around my waist, grateful for the safe home I’ve created within the kitchen. Here’s to learning to love, the meaningful stories we collect along the way, and offering you a seat at my table.
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Sydney Brown is a graduating senior at NYU studying nutrition and food studies. After graduation she plans to attend the Columbia Publishing Course in the summer and The Ballymaloe Cookery School in August. She's passionate about writing, sustainable food practices, holistic health, and Jewish food culture.
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