What Kneading Bread Taught Me About Carrying Grief

There's a bowl of dough on my counter right now.

You wouldn't think flour and water could hold much. But mine holds more than bread.

I've always loved food. It's been my thing since before I can remember. The creativity of it. The blending of ingredients. The way it pulls people to the same table. The ice breaker it's always been in my life, the reason friends and family end up in the same room.

But bread is different from most of what I cook. Bread asks something of you. It asks for your hands, not just your attention.

I press into the dough and something in my chest loosens a little. The coolness against my hands. The way it gives, then resists, then gives again.

You know that feeling, when your hands are busy but your mind finally goes quiet.

That's where I go when the tough days show up. Not to escape them. Just to have somewhere to put them for a while.

The dough squeezes between my fingers and creates a connection with the mind. From the fingertips, through the arm, to the head. It's never failed to amaze me, how something so simple can quiet something so loud.

When I'm standing there kneading, I ask myself one question. How would Hashim want me to live.

This dough, this table, this quiet, is my answer. Doing the things I love, fully, without apologizing for still loving them.

Grief doesn't ask you to give up the things that bring you joy. It asks you to find a way to hold both, the loss and the love, in the same hands.

For me, it's a bowl of dough on any quiet morning. For you, it might be something else entirely. A workshop. A garden. A guitar you haven't picked up in years.

What's the thing you already love, that you've quietly stopped doing since your loss? What would it look like to pick it back up, not to escape your grief, but to carry it alongside something that still feels like you?

You don't need permission to enjoy your life again. You get to move with your grief, not past it, and the things you love are allowed to come with you.

Join the StillDad email list. Every week, you'll get insights, experiences, and stories from other grieving dads, straight to your inbox. 🔗 https://tr.ee/vG9ghs