How Sourdough Helps Me Find Happiness
I love bread, and I’m blessed with a blood type and digestion that can handle an enormous amount of it without any side effects.
Last year, I made my first four-ingredient loaf of bread, and ever since, I’ve been fascinated by the process of bread making. What started with artisan loaves turned into months of research on how to make sandwich bread, raisin bread, jalapeño cheddar bread, bagels, pizza dough, biscuits, and more. Sourdough kept popping up in my searches.
At first, I didn’t get the big deal about sourdough. My instant yeast bread looked exactly the same and took way less time. The recipe worked, so why bother? But after some more digging, I learned about the gut and health benefits of sourdough. What ultimately made me commit, though, was the time and care it takes to produce a strong starter and great sourdough recipes.
Lately, I’ve been really drawn to hobbies that require time. I’ve always (yes, always) been fascinated by time. Only recently, as I’ve healed from past trauma and streamlined my businesses, have I experienced an abundance of it. Initially, I felt overwhelmed, like I was doing something wrong or missing a task. It took about a year for me to settle into the idea that all the therapy and hard work I’d put into my businesses were meant to give me more time. But when I finally had it, I realized I had no idea what to do with it—until I discovered hobbies.
It’s funny. I spent so much time staying busy, believing that happiness was on the other side of being productive, that when I finally had free time, I had a mini-existential crisis. What I eventually realized is that what I was missing to create more happiness were hobbies. Trauma doesn’t leave room for hobbies. Trauma keeps you on high alert, convinced you’re in danger all the time, which means there’s no space to relax and enjoy something as simple as a hobby. I’m so grateful to therapy for giving me back my time—and my hobbies.
When I first started thinking about hobbies, I didn’t even know where to begin. I overanalyzed it way too much before finally calming down. Then, of course, there was the cultural noise: everything is content, turning every hobby into a monetization opportunity. I didn’t want to think about my hobbies as content or a way to make money. It was hard to avoid, though, because so many of my ideas came from watching other people’s hobbies online. But I decided to stop thinking about it so much and just focus on figuring out what I enjoyed.
I knew I loved reading and doing puzzles, so I started there. I indulged in those hobbies for months, just to see where they’d lead. Eventually, I realized I really enjoyed cooking. It was a revelation—because for years, I thought of cooking as either a necessity or something reserved for a talented few. You were either good at it or you weren’t, and if you weren’t, you just cooked to get by, not to enjoy it. But in reflecting on it, I realized that I had always cooked from a place of deep enjoyment. My collection of cookbooks, the new recipes I tried, my endless search for the perfect chocolate chip cookie—they were all signs that cooking was, in fact, a hobby for me. Which brings me to my sourdough starter, Estee.
Estee is my fifth attempt at creating a sourdough starter. My first try followed a TikTok creator’s instructions to the letter, and while I learned a lot—like discarding the starter into the trash, not the sink, and how much environment impacts the process—I also learned what I didn’t want: a giant starter that requires discarding half a cup every day. I’m not starting a micro-bakery, so after nine days, I dumped it and started over.
My second attempt was my best yet. I decreased the flour-to-water ratio to ½ cup, and by day three, I had my first bubbly rise. By day five, I was so pleased I decided to name her Estee (which means “Star”). She nearly quadrupled in size on day six—right around the time I started having what I thought were Braxton Hicks contractions. They quickly turned into real contractions, and after timing them, I realized they were about ten minutes apart. The Husband was at work, so I called an Uber and headed to labor and delivery.
After being monitored at the hospital for an hour, the doctors discovered my cervix had softened, and I was officially in preterm labor at 28 weeks. What was supposed to be an overnight stay turned into four nights and five days in the hospital (more on that later). Unfortunately, Estee, my sourdough starter, didn’t survive.
When I got home, I wanted so badly to return to normal that I attempted another starter—but my third attempt failed. In hindsight, I think it was a manifestation of the overwhelm I was feeling. Sometimes you can follow a recipe to the letter and still fail because of what’s going on inside. By the end of that week, I was frustrated and ready to quit. Then I received a DM from a sourdough company offering to send me a starter kit.
I took it as a sign and gave it one more shot. But once again, the kit was too large for my needs. I’m not trying to make massive amounts of sourdough! So, I dumped it and started fresh again.
A week later, feeling more grounded after my hospital stay, I returned to the kitchen and made a sourdough starter that worked. Estee (yes, I kept the name) is thriving, and every time I go to feed her, it makes me happy. More than that, it’s been a reminder of how much joy I’ve found in letting myself enjoy my time.
