Your Kitchen Is a Boundary

When flour draws the line your words couldn't.

Dear Crumbheads,

You cleaned the counter. Floured the banneton. Turned on the light over the sink.
You thought you were just prepping for another bake.
But really — you were drawing a boundary.
A space where chaos can’t enter without permission.
A small, sacred line where you say:
“This is mine.”

. . .

It’s okay if your body needed a boundary before your mouth could say the words.
It’s okay if your hands spoke louder than you did today.

“I once built a fortress out of proofing baskets. Still more stable than my last relationship.”

You don’t have to explain why you need space.
You don’t have to bake for anyone but yourself today.

Trace the shape of your counter.
Claim the inches. The flour dust. The rising dough.

This is yours.
This was always yours.