And I was being so hard on myself about it, like each mistake meant something was wrong with me. But then something shifted. I stopped trying to make perfect cookies and just... made cookies. Bad ones, weird shaped ones, some with too much cinnamon, some with not enough.

And it was actually kind of beautiful? Like, I was in the kitchen with flour all over me, and Christmas music playing, and the smell of vanilla and chocolate, and I realized I was just... present. Not worried about how it looked or whether I was doing it right. Just existing in that moment.

Is it weird that baking for Christmas taught me something about how I treat myself? 😅 I think I'm always trying to be the "right" version of myself – saying the right thing, being competent, not messing up. But maybe what actually matters is just showing up as I am, messy and imperfect, and doing the thing anyway. The cookies didn't have to be perfect to taste good. And I don't have to be perfect to be worth something.

This is probably a silly realization but it feels important to me right now 💫

Natusya