I am what I like to call, a half-life perfectionist.

My perfectionism has manifested and intertwined itself into and throughout my life in a million ways. I’ve always sought the acceptance from parents, (most) teachers, and partners. But I didn’t embody what “we” consider to be the quintessential perfectionist until I became a mother. I half-assed a lot of my life re: trauma brain didn’t allow me the spoons to be the type of perfectionist as a teenager to, say, obsess over the trinkets set on my vanity. But once I became a mother I was going to get all of it right, mental and physical health be damned. I was going to be the best at all of it.

And I’ve held that. Over my lifetime I have clung to the idea that if I get it right or that I am right, I will be worth it.

I am tired.

I’ve thought to myself how many times I have written that sentence since I became a mother, especially in the years since I left my ex-husband. I could write an encyclopedia-length list of the things I have left behind.

Addiction, dieting, a marriage, jobs, entire careers, the list goes on literally.

In the moments that I knew intuitively I was making the right decision, that isn’t to say that I wasn’t horrified or scared or that I felt I had all the answers about what’s to come.

Two things stand out to me currently.

I am setting down my once-cottage and now micro-bakery Butter Moon Bake Co. The thing that was born out of necessity in order to allow me to work while caring for two small children to be able to leave a marriage.

The logistical details of this are all-too familiar when it comes to small business ownership in my opinion. Not enough money is the long and short. It’s not the product or the demand, but the bodies to make enough product to scale, the fact that every single thing is becoming increasingly more expensive, and the fact that I refuse to pay people less than what I think is fair.

I miss my kids on the weekends.

I’m tired, and the specific kind of perfectionism I am accustomed to is to beat the dead horse, make it work, pivot and pivot again (and lord knows, I have) and I am setting it down. I want to leave it on a high note. I want to set it down before it burns down, you know?

While it’s not simple, it’s that simple.

The more that I adopt this, know-when-to-fold-‘em mentality, it allows me to practice in other aspects of my life-

Exhibit A

Something I have discussed amongst my friends before and something Alicia Kennedy recently touched on in her own Substack publication is this-

“Instagram maintains its personal-professional sheen, though, as the space to show who you are and what you do (over and over and over). I wrote for Gawker about the cultural turn toward recipe developers and away from bloggers, as well as the parasocial nature of the fandoms, which comes with assumptions around how much personal information is owed and the sense that every food person’s home and refrigerator is ready to be shown off at a moment’s notice. Baker Hetal Vasavada of Milk and Cardamom recently posted, “Spending more time making things out of joy versus appeasing the algorithm. Feeling happier and better for it to be honest.” I think this is where more people are landing, but it doesn’t mean that it will… work out.”

The entire read is spectacular and spoke to me in more ways than one. How hard do I need to “sell myself” what kind of pseudo-food photography workshops do I need to take? Cameras? Ring lights? What should I share on social media vs what should I save for subscribed readers and better yet, myself and my family.

The condensed version is that there was a time in my life where I made sure that dinner was completed and photos able to be taken come 3 pm simply in order to “get the shot.”

And, like, no.

I’m setting it down.

It isn’t because I don’t think the people that love and support my work are worth it or that I don’t care.

It’s that I’m a mother to two small children. I am a partner to a gorgeous human being that allows me to divest from the idea that I am just a single parent, and that I actually have a co-parent and I’m still navigating that, and will be for some time. I’m a friend, a community organizer, a writer, a podcast co-host and a human.

I am not a photographer and I don’t want to be.

Hence, Exhibit A.

There is an element of Hustle Culture that I have to buy into as a business owner of any kind while we live under capitalism. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t also deserve a life of ease, a life of softness, a present life.

I have scrubbed houses and pulled weeds and perfected the societal norms of what “a good mom and wife” looks like. I have made sure there was a homemade dessert on the table more often than not. I have over-committed, over-extended and straight up did way too much extra in order to be Seen.

And now I’m seeing me.

And my kids see me.

And my partner sees me and champions me and while I want to make a name for myself in this vast creative space, I want to live a life well lived, not a life that serves face well on social media.

So with that said, Exhibit A is what I’ve got.

The truth is, they’re going to get inherently worse as we lose daylight earlier. Instead of rustling up old tricks, I’m going to roll my eyes at myself, and enjoy dinner with my family instead of kicking my shit in while I agonize whether or not the photo I just posted is going to get enough “likes” in order to get my name out in the world.

And with that, I give you this fall pasta recipe. One that boasts the incoming of fall with squash and sage, heartiness from the sausage and cheese, and enough acid from the capers and lemon to not overdo the richness. Plus, this includes a mediocre photo of it, and all of my love and appreciation for hanging out with me and supporting my work. I ask that if you do love reading my work, that you will consider sharing or becoming a paid subscriber, as this is the space, this writing space, that I want to exist in most.

Servings: 6

Time: About an hour

.5-1 lb Italian sausage

12 oz radiatore or tubular and textured pasta such as rigatoni or penne

Olive oil

Approx 9 oz Brussels sprouts, quartered

1 medium butternut squash, chopped

2 small garlic cloves, minced

6 oz mozzarella, grated

2 oz Parmesan, grated + some for serving

3 Tbsp capers, drained

1/2 cup breadcrumbs

1 Tbsp butter

Four sage leaves, finely chopped

Lemon juice

Salt

Cracked pepper

Preheat oven to 425

Place prepared squash on a sheet pan. Toss liberally with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. On a separate sheet pan, repeat with Brussels sprouts, careful to not crowd either pan. You want them to brown and crisp, not steam. Put in the oven, set a timer for 12 minutes, and then flip. Sprouts typically take me 25 minutes and squash takes 30-35. Keep an eye on it, turn the broiler on if the squash needs color. Once both are cooked through, allow to cool for ten minutes and place both in a large bowl. I like to add a couple squeezes of lemon juice.

Reduce oven temp to 350.

Heat a dutch oven over medium high heat and drizzle with olive oil. Put sausage in and allow meat to crisp and brown (leave it alone). Bring a separate pot with water and salt to boil. Cook pasta until al dente (I used the radiatore from Trader Joe’s because it was fall colored, of course), drain and leave in the strainer.

Cook sausage thoroughly and add to the bowl of squash and sprouts, along with chopped sage, capers, mozzarella and Parmesan and one of the cloves of minced garlic. Mix well to combine.

Melt butter in a pan over medium heat, add garlic and breadcrumbs and toast until lightly browned, adding a sprinkle of salt.

Drizzle a bit of olive oil into the now empty Dutch oven and add the pasta plus the bowl with the remainder of the ingredients. Sprinkle with breadcrumbs and a bit of Parmesan, cover with the lid and bake for 15 minutes. Carefully take pot from the oven, remove the lid, and bake for additional 15 minutes or until everything is toasty and the cheese is melted.

Let cool for 10 minutes before serving.

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Perfectionism