Birthday Cake

I wrote the following journal entry in April of 2022. We moved into our new building in the spring of 2020, mere weeks before our state ordered all businesses to close in an attempt to battle the spreading pandemic. We were finally allowed to open in the summer of 2021. Business started slow, but by the new year everything was running at full speed. Our new operation was being stress tested in unexpected and excruciating ways. This was truly our first opportunity to introduce our town to the new and improved us, all while trying to dig our way out of the hole that Covid put us into. We had one shot to get it right. The pressure was heavy, the expectations of us high, and after being trapped in their homes for so long, people were out of patience. Trying to start a new restaurant was hard at 27 years old. It was even harder at 42. My body was rebelling against this work. My mind was melting. And as my hair started to fall out, I knew something felt wrong. But when you work so hard for so long, it’s very easy to chalk the aches and pains up to that grueling work. My lupus diagnosis wouldn’t come for a few more months. At this time all I knew was that everything hurt. My body, my mind and my heart.  

April 15

Sunday concluded a 16 day work stretch for me. I left working feeling tired, dejected and miserable. My soul was dark. My love for whatever had led me to this place long fizzled out. I felt midway through a never ending to do list. I felt uninspired. I felt stuck. I felt held hostage to a monster that I created but no longer wanted. Once within the safety of my home, within these walls that protect me from the outside judgment, I fell apart. I cried for four hours straight. I cried for the life behind me that I had missed, and I cried for the life ahead I was still certain to miss. I cried for the young girl who would never feel the reward of the dream she was chasing. My dream happened, it does exist now, true, but it was the feeling of joy that dreams promise that felt out of reach. I cried for the old woman that would someday look back at a life wasted on unfulfilling work and missed opportunities.

After a night of sleep, I awoke with the severe understanding that this was a critical moment in my life. I had no choice but to admit that carrying on as is would not be an option. My health is failing. My ability and will fading.  Today, even getting out of bed felt unbearable. I’m 42 now. The last decade flew by, and the next is about to as well. I refuse to wake on my 52nd birthday still waiting for a reward. I refuse to give my stubborn determination anymore power over me, this determination that keeps reassuring me hard work will pay off if I just stay the course. But I cannot wait anymore. The result is too scary to consider. What’s always seemed like an uncertain future is starting to feel very certainly headed straight for destruction. I’ve seen this episode before. You’ve seen it too. Chefs and restaurateurs at the height of their career falling, buckling under the pressure. So few of us make it to the promised land, and what even fewer of us realize is that our particular destination is just more promises to keep working under a bigger spotlight with more to lose. One hard day leads us to only more hard days. And while that is thrilling and inspiring for a while, I think it might be my day to step off of the ride.

Today is the day. This present is my moment to demand change, and maybe, quite possibly, it’s here that I’ll find that elusive reward.

 So, how do I start?

I am going to do nothing.

Look, this is the real world, so as glamourous and rom-com as being able to just pack a bag and leave does sound, I can’t just do that. (Although to be fair I haven’t ruled out three days on a solo art and food tour of Chicago yet. I’m responsible but also very hungry, so that may still be to come. I’m tired and depressed, but I’m a grown up.) Quitting as an adult requires planning. We are all in this sticky world together, and we make promises to each other in many ways every day. I have a family, I have employees. I have responsibilities to others as much as I do to myself, so before I threw in this towel, I did a little more work with the promise to myself of a break to follow.

Monday and Tuesday, normally my days off, I worked my ass off from sunrise to sunset. I created and finished guides, charts and processes that will support my kitchen team to be successful in my absence. This is something that I’ve been wanting to do for a while, and in many ways had started, but being inside the restaurant and being bombarded with daily spontaneous needs makes working on the restaurant nearly impossible. I can’t work on it if I’m constantly being forced to work in it. On Wednesday, our next open day, I sent Tom off to work with a pile of papers and a kiss good bye. He happily accepted all because I think even he knew that potentially in some way my quitting could be the start of something new and better for us too.

It’s important to me that I acknowledge this here and now. Tom is taking on more responsibility and weight in my absence. Tom’s work is most definitely harder right now without me there. It’s a sacrifice I and he are willing to take, because I think we both realize that the trajectory we were on before was going to ultimately have a sadder ending than him being overworked for a time. Something had to change, for work, for us, for everything. And I’m broken. Dragging a lifeless doll around isn’t really helpful anyway. Perhaps, truthfully, my absence at work might ultimately equal less weight for him to carry.  He has been worried about me. That on top of our work load is a lot. So here and now, I acknowledge how hard he is working and I appreciate it, for me, for him and for our daughter.

Much of my previous writing has focused on or alluded to the difficulties and added stress of working in this industry with my spouse. This is a special moment where I get to celebrate the joy and bonus of working with my husband, the silver lining of my pain. He is one of the only reasons I can quit.

So, fast forward a few days, and now here I sit, on a day I normally would’ve been at work. I have pajamas on. No bra. I’m eating peanut butter pie directly out of the pan before noon. I will probably wash it down with leftovers from last night. Leftovers that I rarely have, but thanks to two days off in a row, I have a fridge full of home cooked goodies just waiting for me.

My plan for the rest of the day looks pretty much exactly like this. Possibly a shower, or better yet, a midday bath. You know it’s a good day when you relax in a bath while the sun is still out.

I’ve watched tv for basically two days straight. My body is actually sore from sitting, so today I’m going to make some art. I’m not checking emails. I’m not even really checking my phone. I turned my ringer on so that if Tom or my daughter’s school called I would hear. Any other day I wouldn’t need the ringer because that phone stays on my body. But my pajama pants don’t have pockets. And I need my free hand for the pie!

I’m not working. I’m not doing anything of work value. In fact, I’m avoiding work like it’s Ebola. Because, that’s what it had become. It was eating me alive. And I was allowing it to. Not just allowing, I was making excuses for it. I was convincing myself and everyone else that I had to let it. That my sacrifice was necessary for the ultimate success of every life touched by that restaurant. I honestly believed that.

Then, with one last cleansing cry, I changed my priorities. I haven’t missed my husband in many  years. I haven’t enjoyed conversation with him because all of our conversations are about work. I haven’t had the energy and the focus to completely connect with my daughter in the way she needs and deserves. To be honest, I don’t know if she’s ever got my undivided attention. Activities with her always felt like an apology or something I owed to her, not something I genuinely wanted to do. My sacrifice for work wasn’t mine alone, but it was a decision I personally made for everyone around me. My sacrifice for the restaurant was also the sacrifice of my husband to not have the wife he deserved, and the sacrifice of my daughter to not get the mother she deserved. I made those decisions for them.

All for the business. All for the promise of a better future.

I was convinced it was worth it, but maybe what’s most disturbing is that I convinced them it was necessary too.

It’s not. It never was. And it never will be.

I don’t have all the answers yet, though since Wednesday morning I’ve put little thought into it. Mostly I’ve just been concentrating on Netflix, but the thoughts that do float through occasionally are better and clearer than any I’ve struggled to rein in for quite some time. I’m starting to feel confident again. I feel optimism growing in my bones. My mind feels clearer in a new way. Clear that what I want is a healthy happy marriage, and a full relationship with my daughter that does not depend on future promises. My new priority is my life right now, and as time and energy permits, I have high hopes for a little business that bears my name on the window.

The sky is not falling. The future of our planet is not dependent on ticket times and a growing wait at the door on a Thursday night. Reviews will not physically hurt me. And emails almost always can wait.  

So, here I sit on a Friday, closing in on lunch time. I’m at my dining room table. Pie here. Pajama pants. And I feel good. I feel free. I know my husband and our staff will have a hard day in my absence. I can and do still feel badly for them, but I also can now recognize, like clarity after fog lifts, they were always going to continue to have hard days until I figured out a new way to lead. And I couldn’t do that from my view down under all of that pressure and work. I genuinely can see that my quitting may ultimately be the thing that makes the lives of everyone I love and care about better. My brain works so much better when I can breathe. And you guys, my daughter is so incredibly fascinating and beautiful. I’m taking her to a museum on Saturday. Next Sunday I bought tickets for us to go see a play. She’s expecting me today after school to have our dog with me when I pick her up. We have plans to go on a nature walk together. Normally that pick up would be rushed and stressful, me getting her home in time to meet the babysitter and then me getting back to work before the dinner rush starts. Today will be different. Today we will not be rushed. Today me, and my daughter, and our little dog are going on a walk. And then we’re going to come home, make dinner together and probably bake a cake because I heard rumor that her two little stuffed unicorns are celebrating a birthday today. There will be movies, and cuddles, and cake. On a Friday night.