I’ve often called myself a serial hobbyist because, well, I’ve had a lot of hobbies.
I think I just like to try stuff. Once something I can make captures my attention, I usually allow myself a little jaunt down the rabbit hole just to see what I can do and how far I can take it.
Whilst many hobbies have come and gone, painting and writing have withstood the test of time. In fact, we’ve been more or less exclusive for the last few years — probably since my brief stint with leatherworking in 2021.
But this one — baking — feels like more than just a delicious hobby. It marked an important turning point on my path of post-career healing, belonging, and self-discovery.
(Of course it did.)
Much like running, baking has always been one of those things that other people could do and enjoy. It wasn’t for me.
At the surface level, it was probably because baking is a bit of a science, and I don’t have the patience for precise measurements.
On a deeper level, baking to me was something that people with time could do. Time was a thing that also felt like it was for other people — not me, not in my profession where I essentially lived life on autopilot with reactive mode activated.
And if we want to get honest and drill down to the core of this thing, baking felt to me like a social activity. It’s something you do not just with your brain but with your heart, for the people you love and the friends in your community. An overflow of loving intention, if you will.
Other people. Not me, living in a state of constant depletion.
At some point during my autopilot escapades, I became good friends with someone who seemed to radiate life, who loved fun, and who was an incredible baker. When she was in town, she’d often bring these amazing handcrafted treats — the kinds you couldn’t find in any old bakery.
She even made our beautiful wedding cake.
I remember chatting about baking as a hobby with her one day. I was wondering first of all, when the heck was she going to open her own bakery, but second, how on earth did she have time to do all that baking?
After all, she had a full-time job and two young kids at home, yet she was known to start baking after they went to sleep and stay up ‘til midnight working her magic. How!?
What sort of sorcery was so easily quashing my time theory?
The answer was simple — she just loved doing it.
And I’ll be darned if it needed to be any more complicated than that.
Still, as much as I loved painting at the time, I couldn’t imagine sacrificing that much time to a hobby. (And in hindsight, that’s a comment on how much I valued my own time and happiness back then.)
That was until life slowed me down and opened me to the possibility that maybe I, too, could bake.
It might have started simply — I think I made big batches of dark chocolate chunk lactation cookies in preparation for both my maternity leaves, and they were so delicious and satisfying that I wound up making batches for my friends, too.
I guess I had a little love in there to give, after all!
After the lactation cookies, I started branching out and experimenting with new cookie recipes. (Honestly, I missed the homemade cookies my friends and coworkers used to make pre-pandemic. Nothing says everything’s going to be okay like a homemade cookie!)
Cookies can be creative. Decorating sugar cookies is especially fun. But baking still felt utilitarian at this point — something to satisfy a craving for comfort.
Until this one birthday party last summer.
At my daughter’s friend’s 3rd birthday party, I spotted something on the treat table I’d never seen before.
A watermelon cake.
Not a baked cake decorated like a watermelon — literally, a watermelon cut into tiers, adorned with a cascade of fruits. It happened that the host’s friend was a professional baker, which made perfect sense. It was gorgeous. And genius — spare the refined sugars, have what is essentially a festive fruit plate instead!
But oh, the visual lived rent-free in my mind for a month. I think something clicked there — like, you can do that!?
I immediately made a secret plan to try recreating it myself for my kids’ joint birthdays later that summer.
And suddenly, “baking” wasn’t just about cravings or community — it was another creative medium for me to play with.
Fast forward to a year after I left my corporate job. I’ve had time to panic, to heal, and to sit with my creativity. Time feels different now… And so does joy.
So when one of my daughters asked me for a chocolate unicorn birthday cake with pink frosting and rainbow sprinkles — plus cupcakes for her friends — I could finally say, heck yes! Let’s do this.
To be able to say yes was a huge win. But to have fun with it? Absolute game changer.
I was mostly in it for the decorating, but when I mentioned it to another baking friend, she assured me that making your own buttercream is easy and gave me her favourite recipe.
It worked.
I became entranced by piping tips and designs and mixing colours. Mementos from my first attempt:
Not too long after that, it was time to sign up for a contribution to a kids’ Mad Hatter Tea Party. I spotted a slot for two packs of mini cupcakes. I thought of those little Two-Bite Cupcakes… but then I thought again.
These were meant to be Alice flowers and Cheshire Cat swirls — I didn’t quite get the colours right, but hey — great work for my recovering perfectionism! Besides, they look so delightful all together.
Of course, this isn’t a flex about time or skills — it’s an acknowledgment, and a creative pat on the back.
Because they weren’t just cupcakes. (Of course they weren’t.)
They were a little signal of a nervous system that is healing, a growing capacity for self-love, and a sense of belonging — not just in a community, but in myself — that lets me participate in life in my own way.
But let’s be real, it’s also another hobby calling…
And I think it wants to try macarons next.
Originally published on Substack.
