What would you call something that brought you immense joy yet torture? I am not talking about a love relationship. No, this is more powerful than a crush. This gets under your skin and acts like an all-consuming rash, infecting every cell of your body and driving you mad.
I am talking about talent.
“You should find a hobby,” people told me when the postpartum depression hit. I liked my new baby, I did, but I found myself depressed and despondent more often than happy. I took their advice and quickly discovered my love for cake decorating. Not only did it bring joy into my dampened soul, but I was good at it. I devoured books and videos on cake decorating skills. Everywhere I went, I saw my environment as a potential cake. I would make a mental image of something and rework it over and over again in my mind until I could find the time to turn it into a cake.
My friend Heather graciously sold any cake I brought to her specialty bakery. I only made 30% profit from the sale, which didn’t even cover the cost of supplies, but I would have given the cakes to her for free. I was possessed. I had to bake!
Something magical happened as I took a round cake and cut, trimmed, and formed it into any object of my choosing. Pliable fondant molded in my fingers, taking on the shape of a flower or bird. The heavenly aroma of baked goods and sugar warmed the kitchen. There was nothing in life that brought me greater pleasure than this.
Nothing.
But nothing in life brought me greater anguish.
All I wanted to do was bake and decorate cakes, yet there was my job at the elementary school cafeteria. The laundry room at home constantly screamed at me when I walked by, reminding me there was a never-ending pile of clothes that waited. Children needed to be fed, cleaned, ran around, and given attention. Date nights were honored to keep the love alive in my marriage. Dishes had to be done, floors needed to be vacuumed, and counters cleaned. I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted to bake. Why couldn’t people leave me alone to bake?
After a while, I walked away from most of my friends. All they did was compete with my cakes, which weren’t worth wasting precious decorating time with. Soon, the laundry reached the ceiling, and my family members were forced to wear dirty clothing. Dates with my husband seemed to become less frequent. The dishes piled higher as I baked more and washed less. Soon, everything in my life revolved around cake making. If I could have profited from it, I would have quit my lunch lady job, but I didn’t know how to.
It turns out the thing that brought me the greatest joy, creating cakes, destroys my happiness when I am denied the time to do it. I want nothing but to immerse myself in my talent 24/7. How can what saved me from sadness drive me back to it?
Please, just let me be. I have a cake to bake.
____________________________________________________________________Please Let Me Be
By Stephanie Daich
