Something I didn’t spend much time on in my book and barely spoke about on the podcast—probably because there were so many ways I was hurting myself back then and I was still scared and ashamed to talk about it—is that during the early days of my divorce I was caught in a relentless loop of cleanses and restrictions. I was desperately trying to shrink into someone “better,” someone less visible, less complicated, more desirable. My divorce left me raw and unmoored, and I thought if I could control my body, maybe, hopefully, I could control the pain.

So now, when someone new enters the picture, the question isn’t Will I cook for him? It’s Should I? It’s Do I want to?  Do I want to invite him into the intimacy of my charming and mildly collapsing Parisian kitchen? It’s more than just inviting someone into my solo kitchen life, which is no small thing. It’s about allowing someone to witness what has become a sacred dance: my rhythm, my ritual, my recipes, my inner world.

I’ve spent the last few years turning solo living into something beautiful. What used to resemble a lonely and desperate phase, even sometimes like punishment for not being “good enough,” has evolved into a full, layered life bursting with self-love. I travel alone, take myself on dates, and routinely make big decisions without consulting anyone but my gut.  

But here’s the part I don’t always want to admit: sometimes, the thought of letting someone into this world I’ve built feels very scary. Not because I don’t believe in love or partnership, I absolutely do! The fear creeps in because this version of my life, the one where I take up all the space and do exactly what I want, feels safe. 

I get it. It’s so easy to fall into the rhythm of delivery apps; the convenience makes it a no-brainer, and the options feel endless. With the choice between Thai and Mexican at your fingertips, why would you even consider chopping, stirring, and plating? 

I had no idea that opening my door to groups of single women would crack open my world and heart. It deepened how I see this stage of life, reshaped how I see myself, and reconfirmed that when women come together in community, it’s simply powerful.

I can’t possibly be the only person who talks to myself while cooking. Right? 

When I’m alone in the kitchen, chopping, stirring, seasoning, and tasting, I’m in the best company. My little one-sided conversations aren’t just a quirky habit; they’re steeped in reflection, humor, and more often than not, self-compassion.

Spring is in the air, birds are chirping everywhere, the produce is ripe and bursting with flavor, and the sun doesn’t set until 9:30 in Paris! So, obviously, it’s the perfect season to be outside taking yourself out on dates. 

In 2016, I did everything in my power to avoid the deafening silence of my apartment. I was begrudgingly single, navigating heartbreak horribly, and not being very kind to myself. (More details about that in my book.)

Suffice it to say, I hated the stage of life I was in and tried doing everything in my power to change my circumstances at the time. Meaning replace my old roommate (ex-husband) with anyone who would distract me from the pain. 

Paris remained beautiful, as she always does, even when you’re in the trenches of life. A part of me knew how lucky I was to be starting over in such a place. But I didn’t want to start over. I wanted the picture-perfect life I had imagined. Life, of course, had other plans.