I Still Haven’t Baked Sourdough

Have I failed as a millennial?

I live in the Netherlands, so I am entering week eleven of self-isolation. Wow, calculating and writing it out here feels extremely confronting.

I have been home for eleven weeks, and what do I have to show for it?

One thing I don’t have is a single loaf of sourdough. Across my social media platforms, it seems like every Millennial, Gen Z, and other alphabetical generation are baking sourdough. They talk about their named sourdough sample, take artsy photos of the completed loaf and rave about the recipe. I wonder how many food Instagram’s will emerge from this time and wither away within weeks of restaurants reopening.

But here is my shame: As a twenty-something, who is staying home, I have not made any attempts to bake sourdough.

Nor banana bread or any of the other quarantine must do’s. I haven’t worked for killer abs. I haven’t read War and Peace, and I haven’t learned to code or speak in Japanese. You could consider me a failure at self-isolating, the millennial who didn’t tick off any of the isolation bingo points.

So how have I spent these weeks?

I wrote a lot. I wrote plenty of posts for my new blog, truly getting it off the ground. This included finally sharing said blog with my friends and family, through a post on looking after your mental health during Corona. I tried to use my SEO knowledge from years of writing for a travel company and fine-tune them into something that could portray mental illness and do it justice.

I rewrote my novel. I finished the first draft in February and then felt a bit lost at where to go next, as I had this small feeling that something wasn’t right. Just before isolation, I wrote myself a letter from the main female character, and I finally understood her, which led me to realize how incorrectly I had presented her. I was frustrated, unwilling to start from scratch, felt like I had wasted countless hours. But then isolation started, excuses dwindled, and I started again. I won’t give you my word count, as it varies day by day, and I don’t like to ignite competition in such aspects.

Success isn’t measured by word count, simply the fact that you sat down to write today.

I began writing for Medium. I had explored Medium when I was setting up a blog, tempted by the idea of possible earnings but unsure about the lack of your own platform. But then I discovered that you could have both and import existing posts with a canonical link. Truly the best of both worlds, right? Well, not exactly. As good blog posts don’t make good Medium posts. To write on Medium, I need to stop thinking like an SEO content writer, stop thinking like a fiction novelist, and instead grow into a thoughtful writer. I need to stop focusing on HOW, and instead think of WHY. I have to write articles that question, instead of answering the question. And it is quite a change! One that I am enjoying, the new challenge I needed, but still a hard one.

I watched TV series and films. Not the intellectual, classic movies that I created a specific bucket list for. Nope. I binged through five seasons of Grey’s Anatomy, which I adore because Shonda Rhimes is incredible. Then I watched an entire new Netflix series called “Never Have I Ever” (the show is about as good as the title suggests) in two days. And then I began binge-watching Friends. Something I have seen dozens of times, can quote word for word and have no need to rewatch. But I’m on season 5 already with no intention of stopping, and I ended up writing articles about a Friends episode set in 2020 and one imagining the Friends characters during COVID-19. Write what you know, right?

I’ll admit something rather cheeky: I did bake a bit.

I baked chocolate chip cookies, about five times. Because I have that recipe memorized, it always works out well and costs minimal effort. I don’t count it to be in the ranks of sourdough creation, given that I was comfort baking, with no thought to new creations or aesthetics. And on that note, I ate a LOT of cookies. Because self-isolation brought all my carefully hidden struggles, which I had buried neatly under coping mechanisms and distractions, right to the surface. All my traumas and insecurities reared their ugly heads, yelling, “Did you forget me? I’m back, bitch!”

So there it is, there is the real reason I have not been baking gorgeous sourdough or showing off my rock hard abs in cute Instagram posts — those abs seem to be staying safely hidden under my comfort rolls. I have spent self-isolation looking after myself, trying to not control my mental health, but come to terms with it. After a year and a half of blocking it, I have been trying to deal with my grief, unable to come to terms with my father’s passing. I have been confronted by my dormant eating disorder, unhappy to have lost the gym sessions and spinning classes that allow me to eat freely and pretend I’m healing. I have been trying to find a new source for my self-worth, now that I can’t depend on what I do for others and submit myself to my friends. I have been struggling with days of crippling depression, where I do not want to get out of bed, where standing under the shower feels exhausting, where I end up lying on the couch, watching Friends but barely even looking at the screen.

I have been staying alive. Simple as that. I won’t come out of self-isolation with new skills, new body, new bread goals, because I will come out with a new appreciation for myself. I have worked through more during these eleven weeks at home than in five years at therapy. I will leave isolation with a deeper understanding of who I am and what I want.

And yes, that includes hours of staring at Meredith Grey and a never-ending pile of chocolate chip cookies. But it also includes someone who is highly-sensitive and automatically worries more for others than herself. It is a person that can make those cookies without even looking up the recipe, and then tries to share them. It is the kind of girlfriend that brings snacks to my boyfriend when he’s been working on music and always reminds him to drink more water. It is someone who celebrates body positivity except in herself and is slowly trying to come to terms with the figure she has, accept it, and hopefully love it.

I have no guilt over how I spent this time, because I was surviving, and neither should you. Self-isolation doesn’t HAVE to be productive but you can still celebrate productive moments, for those are moments you thrived at your best.

Take this time alone to truly meet yourself.

You better start enjoying your own company, as you’re going to be with it for the rest of your life.

Enjoy your bread.

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