That time I started writing a Self-Help Book

Did you guys know that I started a self-help book at one point in time? It sounds goofy, but it was on a topic I had become passionate about as it personally affected me. This, of course, as this title suggests, was the art of living alone. Guys, when I tell you I struggled…

I grew up a fairly introverted person (at least I thought anyways). I liked playing alone. I didn’t have tons of friends in middle school, which generally didn’t bother me too much. I liked having my own space and keeping it nice and neat. I thought moving out would be a cinch.

After a brief stint with a roommate, I was living alone. Which was amazing! Until it wasn’t. And then I started writing this book and got 5 chapters in before abandoning it. I was actually revisiting it recently as I was cleaning some files off my computer and started rereading. While there are already some edits I think I would make (gosh, I was melodramatic at this time), I did enjoy the trip back in time especialy now that I’m married and definitely NOT living alone. So I thought I’d share the first chapter with you here. Let me know what you guys think and if I should bother resurrecting this long-dead project! So here we have it! Chapter one of…

How to not go Crazy (And other notes on living alone)

Introduction

The windchime outside my window is a reminder that there’s a world beyond these four walls, but some days, it’s hard to remember that I’m part of it. Inside my apartment, the air hangs heavy with the kind of silence that amplifies every creak, every hum, and every thought with nowhere else to go. The fridge drones away in the kitchen. The coffee machine sighs and grumbles like a mechanical beast awakening from slumber as my coffee drips into the mug. This is my life as a woman in her 20s, living alone.

In my newly found sanctuary, I find myself night after night, wrestling with thoughts that only seem to show their ugly face when the house is still. They whisper about the coming future, taunting me with the “what ifs” that I am far too familiar with. The apartment that is filled with the laughter of friends and family during the day sighs with the weight of my loneliness when everyone eventually parts ways.

It was on one of these nights that I started a list. I can see it clearly: me, lying in bed, the phone’s glow illuminating the darkened room, fingers poised over the keyboard. The title was simple and direct. I just want to be good at being Alone. It was a declaration of intent, a manifesto, a silent shout into the void that was my apartment. I’d uttered it out loud many times, often to myself, sometimes to close friends, my mother, and my sisters. Truth be told, they’re probably tired of hearing it. I feared that if I didn’t get better at this, they’d stop asking me how I was.

But they didn’t, and they haven’t. They still care. They still ask. They still listen. It’s a testament to the most important lesson I’ve learned in my solitary living: I am alone, but I am also not alone. Nights may be long, but, as corny as it sounds, morning always comes.

Chapter 1: Learn to Cook for One

I began jotting.

Learn to Cook. Have a Crock Pot. Collect Recipes.

Then underneath:

This is not only a practical skill to learn but a point I want to prove. People often equate companionship with a shared meal. I just want to show myself that I can be satisfied. I want to show myself that I can take care of her.

Cooking for one is an art form. It is one that requires patience, foresight and even a bit of creativity. It’s about finding joy in those little victories. The comforting warmth of a meal prepared with care as well as the knowledge that you’ve provided for yourself. It’s not just about feeding your body; it’s also about feeding your soul. It’s about telling oneself that you deserve to invest time into your meals even if they’re just for you and you alone.

In the beginning, it was hard. I found myself standing in the grocery store, staring at the aisles of food that seemed designed for families or couples. Bulk packaging, family-sized portions were my biggest opposition at first. Nothing seemed to fit my life. But I quickly realized that cooking for one is about more than just cutting recipes in half. It’s about learning to see the kitchen as a place of possibility rather than yet another area of life that highlights my loneliness.

The first dish I mastered was a simple one—beef stew. There is something deeply comforting about a bowl of homemade stew, especially on those days when the world feels too big and scary. I made it in my trusty crock pot, the slow cooker that has become my closest ally in this solo culinary journey. The process was meditative, and I loved every bit of it from The slow chopping of vegetables, to the seasoning of the broth, to the slow simmering that filled my apartment. It made my humble abode actually feel like a home.

As I stirred the stew, I realized that cooking for one shouldn’t’ be a chore. It’s should be about savoring the moment, taking the time to care for yourself in a way that’s both practical and deeply loving. It should be about being present. There’s a satisfaction that comes from knowing that you can sustain yourself, that you can create something yummy (even if its only for you!)

I began to experiment more in the kitchen by trying new recipes and adapting them to fit my needs. I learned how to freeze portions for later and how to make a meal that would last for days without losing its appeal. I found joy in the ritual of cooking and in the simple pleasure of feeding myself well.

Over time, I elaborated on this list item even more.

• See grocery shopping as a little solo adventure and not a chore.

• Invest in good ingredients sometimes; don’t be afraid to spend a little $$$ on yourself sometimes
• Don’t be afraid to try something new.

Cooking for one became a way to reclaim my independence and to remind myself that I am enough, just as I am. It was no longer a task to be dreaded, but a skill to be honed. It was a form of self-care that nourished not just my body, but my spirit.

And so, I encourage you to do the same. Find your favorite recipes, experiment with new ones, and most importantly, savor the experience. This is your space, your life. Take the time to make it delicious.

Have a Crock Pot.

Of all the kitchen appliances you could own, the humble crock pot might just be the most useful when living alone. At first glance, it’s easy to overlook. I historically disliked it when I lived at home. It was a bit bulky as well as a bit old-fashioned (very reminiscent of my grandmother’s kitchen). But don’t let appearances fool you. This unassuming appliance is your secret weapon in the art of solo living.

Why a crock pot? Because of its simplicity, convenience, and the power to transform basic ingredients into something that feels like coming home. When you’re living alone, time can either stretch or shrink depending on the day, and a crock pot gives you the flexibility to feed yourself without being tethered to the stove or forced to babysit a dish all day.

Imagine this: you wake up in the morning, knowing it’s going to be one of those long, exhausting days. The last thing you want to do when you get home is cook. We’ve all been there. But the good news is, with a crock pot, all you need is a few minutes of preparation. Throw in your ingredients—maybe some chicken, vegetables, broth, and spices. Then set it, and forget it, sister. As you go about your day, your meal is quietly simmering away, filling your home with the comforting aroma of something cozy and yummy. By the time you return, dinner is ready, and you’ve already put all the work in at the front end of the process and even then it wasn’t that much.

Having a crock pot isn’t just about convenience (though that is an enormous plus). It’s also about consistency. When you’re cooking for one, it’s easy to fall into the habit of eating quick, unhealthy meals or skipping dinner altogether. I know the latter was a trap I found myself falling into far too often. It came to a point where I had to tell myself that no, chips and salsa don’t count for an entire meal. My eating habits were bad and all over the place. Another plus of the crock pot is that encourages you to take the time to plan ahead as well as create meals that will carry you through the week. It’s a tool that helps you establish a routine and a rhythm in your life that grounds you when everything else feels uncertain. It helped add a certain level of dependency to my meal plan.

Next, let’s talk about versatility. Whether you’re in the mood for a rich beef stew, tender pulled pork, or even a comforting mac and cheese, the crock pot can do it all. It’s particularly great for making meals in batches, which means you can cook it once and eat multiple meals. This is a lifesaver for those days when you simply don’t have the energy to prepare anything but still want something home-cooked. It isn’t just limited to soups and stews.

Another benefit of using a crock pot is that it’s incredibly forgiving. Unlike other cooking methods that require precise timing and constant attention, the crock pot is more laid back. You can experiment with different ingredients and spices without worrying too much about getting it wrong. The long cooking process melds flavors together in a way that makes even the simplest of ingredients taste like you’ve been slaving over the stove for hours.

And let’s not forget the cleanup. As you may be all too aware of, cleaning up is up to you and you alone. The last thing you want is a sink full of dishes to deal with after work. With a crock pot, you can often make your entire meal in one pot, saving you both time and effort. A quick wash and rinse and it’s ready to go!

In the end, I view my crock pot as more than an appliance. It’s a companion on my journey of living alone. It is a simple but amazing tool that makes the everyday task of meal prep feel a little less daunting. Please take this as a reminder that you deserve to eat well, even if you’re the only one at the table. So, invest in a good one, and let it become a reliable, old friend.

Collect Recipes.

In learning to cook, recipes can serve as more than just instructions for making food—they can be threads that connect you to the people and places you love. When you’re standing in your kitchen, cooking a meal from a recipe handwritten by your mother, it’s as if she’s right there with you, sharing a moment that transcends the physical distance between you.

Collecting recipes isn’t just about building a repertoire of dishes; it’s about creating a personal archive of memories, stories, and connections. Each recipe you gather is a piece of your history, a way to carry the warmth of loved ones into your daily life. Your mother’s handwriting on a worn recipe card, the smudges of flour and sauce, the little notes in the margins—they all tell a story. They speak of her care, her love, and the countless meals she prepared with you in mind.

When you cook from these recipes, you’re not just feeding yourself; you’re participating in a ritual that spans generations. It’s a way of saying, “I’m here, and so are they.” In a way, your kitchen becomes a meeting place for the people who’ve shaped you, even if they’re miles away or are no longer with us.

It’s not just family recipes that carry this power either. Recipes from friends should also hold a special place in your collection. Each one is a token of friendship, a shared experience that lives on long after the meal has ended. When a friend shares their favorite recipe with you, they’re offering a piece of themselves, a gesture of affection. And when you cook that recipe, you’re reminded of the times you’ve spent together along with the bond you share.

Just think about it! How cute is it that humans not only developed unique ways to prepare their food and nutrients to please their palette but also feel a sense of identity with these aforementioned methods? We record these processes and share them with those close to us. Sharing recipes is an innately human experience so please take part of it!

Building a recipe collection is also a way to create new connections, to expand your culinary horizons. You might come across a recipe online or in a cookbook that intrigues you, something you’ve never tried before. As you experiment with it, tweak it, make it your own. Who knows? Maybe it’ll become one of your regular meals and something you can one day pass on to others.

In this way, your recipe collection becomes a living, evolving document of your life. It’s a mix of the old and the new, the familiar and the adventurous. It can become a reflection of who you’ve known and where you’ve been. I’d like to think that as I add to my growing collection of recipes, I am also collecting memories, experiences and a sense of community.

When I’m feeling particularly alone, pulling out one of these cherished recipes can be a huge comfort. It’s a way of reaching out to the people who care about me, even when they’re not physically present in my small one-bedroom apartment. The act of cooking becomes a way of reconnecting with my roots, of grounding myself in the love that surrounds me, even in the quiet moments of solitude.

So, take the time to gather these recipes, to write them down, to keep them close. Whether it’s your mother’s famous apple pie, your friend’s go-to pork recipe, or a killer casserole recipe that you discovered on your own, each one is a reminder that you are never truly alone. Allow your recipe collection to be more than just a list of meals. Let it be a physical testament of the enduring power of community and the connections that sustain us, even when we’re cooking for one.