Goodbye Chef Tess. We Miss You Already.

 Where did Chef Tess go? 

I'm asking myself that question, 

and today I can say she's gone. 

 I threw all but one of my chef coats in the dumpster. You read that correctly. 

I no longer work in the culinary industry as a chef.

In February my family moved out of the state of Arizona and didn't even tell my bishop or most of our friends where we were moving. 

Yup. That happened.  

Chef Tess is Gone. Perhaps forever...But I hope not.

If that's where some of you leave me, I hope you find peace in your lives and amazing food. I'll still post about food here, too, just not every post. I might not post again. I'm not sure what is ahead for me. I know I'm not who I was.

Four years ago, my health took a turn due to my benign brain tumor, and emotional strain that can only be described as a family crisis. We needed relief and it just didn't happen. Because of it, my life took a turn. I've suffered immensely. I'm not going into details about it.  What did happen, however, left me with a profound psychological upheaval that triggered a psychotic break with a severe existential crisis in March upon my arrival to or safe new place of residence. My doctors here diagnosed it as severe P.T.S.D. 

As of this week, they still do. My recovery is not anticipated to happen anytime soon.

Nothing could have prepared me for it. I was left in extreme stress and isolation, and it overwhelmed my brain's ability to process reality. If you noted that my posts became more industrial and less humorous, that was the reason. I wasn't me. I'm still trying to find my way back to her. If admitting that makes you uncomfortable, imagine how it makes me feel. 

I've pushed myself beyond my own physical and emotional limits for the last fifteen years, and it took everything I had to get here. I'm proud of the woman I am. I've faced some incredible odds and demons that most people will never see or understand in their lifetimes. I supported my family financially so that others could benefit. I loved hard. I have no regrets. My husband was able to be a full-time father and my children have a relationship with him unlike most children will ever have with their dads. His kindness, sacrifices, and gentleness are a lasting legacy of love that will impact generations and no one can ever take that from us. My children know who he is. So do I. They know who I am. They know we love them unconditionally. They are safe. That is enough for us.

Happiness Isn't Always A Choice. There. I Said It.

I remember when I was pregnant with my sons, and I had morning sickness. I was sick every day. Every. Single. Day. Someone told me then that happiness was a choice and that I needed to look on the bright side of the sickness because, in the end, I would get a sweet baby. So, I hung a little baby outfit above the toilet. It was a gentle reminder to myself that it was temporary. Nine months. Three months if I was lucky. It helped me a ton. I really appreciated that advice then. 

I wouldn’t appreciate that advice as someone who has a brain tumor on top of the emotional and mental struggles I have now. I have constant physical pain. Pain that often leads me to extreme nausea. Often vomiting. Often not wanting to move an inch. In a recent conversation with a coworker who had received a significant promotion and left the job, the conversation ended with him saying off-handedly, “Happiness is a choice.” 

I wanted to vomit. Literally. The pain in my head and the mitigating circumstances of the last few years had left me with a bitter taste in my mouth surrounding that saying. He said this, “Happiness is a choice,"at the end of a conversation where he had been given a tremendous opportunity and got to choose to leave a situation and go to something better... and where I was facing the grimmest future I could foresee. One where my choices were clearly not mine. Not good choices that I could see at that point. At my age, with the tremendous weight of responsibility on me, there wasn't much of a choice. Saying this to someone with Major Depressive Disorder and a brain tumor is like telling a drowning person that they're not breathing water well enough. It's not helpful. I understand the premise and I've always considered myself a positive thinker until the depression hit in combination with P.T.S.D. (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), M.D.D and a brain tumor that would cause chronic pain for the rest of my life.

We lost our home. The home I wanted to retire to at the end of my life.

 I lost my job of almost a decade because I could no longer mentally or physically keep up with the workload. The grief of that was almost too much as the loss of my identity was so heavily tied to my work. 

Somewhere in there I faced the darkness of the fact that I literally wanted to die. So no. I definitely didn't feel like a choice ahead of me. Ever.

 I will say this. This man had always been a kind man and a good friend. I know it wasn't personal and I am still very grateful for the kindness and understanding he tried to show me through many years. I just think it's really easy to judge how someone else might be thinking or not thinking positively when we're not walking in their shoes. The full picture is rarely truly seen.

Is happiness really a choice? Is it always? 

I'm going to say it. Happiness isn’t always a choice. Choices are not always ours to make. Sometimes circumstances are the result of other people's actions. Yes. I get the “you can respond to the circumstances” thing. I get that. I choose to see all the good things in my life right now. I embrace the joy. I do. I see the good things. I know I have tremendous blessings. However, and this is big... Let’s not make light of the fact that people also have damn hard trials that they didn’t choose and that they are struggling! Allow them to be human, to struggle, and please be kind and acknowledge it!  I, for one, didn’t choose to have a brain tumor that would strip me of so many other equally significant and important personal choices. These things are so very hard. I’m not happy about them. I’m terrified. 

I don’t know what I will do for a career in the future or how I'll support my family. How can I possibly be happy about that choice being ripped from my fingers? Or not being able to choose where I would live or what I could afford based on my new finances. There are so many other factors that I can’t even go into at this point. I'm trying, but I'm also struggling. I'm angry. I'm heartbroken. I'm so very sad. Maybe one day I will see the silver lining in all of it. It's okay to be sad, too. 

Making Everyone Comfortable.

I'm tired of hiding that fact...that I'm struggling... and pretending to be okay so everybody else feels comfortable. 

I think that might just be me hitting my 50's and realizing that I've always tried to make everyone else comfortable. Is that like a mom DNA thing? A good Christian woman thing? It's exhausting!

I want to say this though...

Let’s normalize letting people have human responses to tragedy! 

Grief can also look like:

• Loss of a career. 
• A pet loss (yes, my sweet dog Millie died in September after 14 years in our home).
• Loss of a baby (I lost one just before Covid hit).
• A loss in health that is unexpected. 
• Leaving your home.
• Feeling like a failure.
• Navigating a major identity shift.
• Processing childhood trauma.
• Losing friendships.
• Losing family.
• Ending long-term relationships.

All I know is that these past years are the crucible. I am in my fifties and trying to figure out where I go from here. Combined with the loss of my dignity for having to explain it to judgmental, condemnatory people who didn't live through this. I’m just tired. There's really not much else to say except to just ask that y'all try to be kind. 

This is also where I'd like to gratefully acknowledge that there have been a few who haven't been flippant or forgotten me but have called every single day. A bishop who counseled me in love. A ministering sister who would just drop off fresh eggs from her chickens. Kindness of my sisters. My parents. Oh, my beautiful parents.  They have dropped off medicine and food without asking for anything in return. Gentle friendships and family members. I can never repay them for their unsolicited kindness. 

To those who never said "God won't give you what you can't handle..." but rather, just made sure I didn't have to walk through it alone. Thank you for being angels on earth. It has made a difference.

To those who may not have known...When someone has tragic news and doesn't bounce back as fast as you think they should, maybe just stop judging how fast you think they should heal and instead give them more grace. Healing isn't the same for everyone. There's no master scale for it. Not every brain is as resilient as the next. Yes. It's been four years. When am I going to get better? I have no idea.

If I have learned anything from this experience, it is that many people are pretty self-righteous about that. They judge from their own narrow lens. They judge from second hand stories. They call mental health struggles and real health struggles "attention seeking". Like someone going through the most difficult chapter in their life is supposed to keep quiet because why??? Oh yes. That's right. It's uncomfortable to admit that someone is hurting. God forbid. Just shut your mouth and suffer in silence like a good girl.

That lens of their view gets so focused, that the sun of their judgement often burn down the lives of the less fortunate. Literally. I have experienced it firsthand, and it's ugly. 

This is a long way of saying...

I miss Chef Tess. She was a version of me that did so many things, boldly, bravely, and with so much joy! And as I move forward into this new chapter, still cooking but also healing, I simply ask that you remember that I, too, am grieving the loss of her as a dear friend who was such a huge part of my life. Who knows, someday she may come home. In the meantime, she's far from here in a more peaceful place where she can recover and find happiness, too. She is singing in the garden and dancing in the kitchen.

Goodbye for now, dear friend. You aren't forgotten. 

There you go.

Trying to be my very best. 

Stephanie Petersen 

aka Tess to my Mom.

 ( My nickname was once Chef Tess)