About Knead to Heal
When I couldn’t move the way I used to, I turned to what I still could do—mix, stir, bake, breathe. Somewhere between the flour and the waiting, I started to heal more than just my knee.
Knead to Heal is a love letter to recovery, resilience, and carbs. Every loaf, every recipe, every story reminds me: healing takes time, but it can still smell like fresh bread.
It all started with a bag of flour……..
If I’d known my villain origin story would involve a 20-kilo bag of flour, I might’ve stretched first. One wrong lift, one betrayed knee, and suddenly I was benched from the kitchen, my personal kingdom.
It was ridiculous and unfair and, somehow, exactly what I needed. Because once the dust (and the flour) settled, I realized maybe the universe was handing me something other than a bum knee, it was giving me time. Time to rest, reflect, and rediscover the joy that got buried under the busy.
So here I am, limping my way through recovery and finding healing in every rise of dough. Turns out, sometimes life kneads you before you heal.
November 3, 2025
The Bum Knee That Taught Me to Rise
After months of rehab for my knee, I’m finally free, or at least learning what freedom looks like when it comes with limits. For years, I baked in camp kitchens, spreading love through loaves, cookies, and cinnamon buns. Then one day, a bag of flour took me out, and everything stopped.
So what does one do with a bum knee and a restless heart?
I waited. I watched the seasons roll by, missing spring markets, summer harvests, and Christmas baking season. That silence was loud. It made me dig deeper and ask who I am when I’m not baking.
At first, I didn’t know. There were tears, a few pity parties (still happen sometimes, if I’m honest), and long stretches of being stuck in the WCB loop. Somewhere in there, I realized I didn’t really have hobbies outside the kitchen.
So I started small.
First came colouring books, and way too many markers. Then came junk journaling, where bits of paper started to look like pieces of myself again. After that, I began reaching toward the side of me that had always been there, the witchy one.
The kitchen witch in me came alive again during what I now call the sourdough era. The first loaves were tragic, flat, stubborn, and heavy, but I named my starter Whimsy and kept going. Eventually I adopted a few more, fed them, and watched them grow. I even combined them into one magical starter I now call Thistle & Spark.
It turns out I wasn’t just learning to bake bread. I was learning to begin again.
Somewhere between the flour dust and spell jars, I realized I’ve always been brewing a magical potion of chaos: part ADHD, part witchcraft, part kitchen therapy. And it all led here, to this blog.
A space to share recipes that taste like memories of the past and healing in the present.
To You, Who Also Needed to Pause
If you’ve ever been forced to slow down, to sit with the ache of what used to come easy, you’re in good company here.
We’ll knead, rest, and rise together.
Maybe not all at once, and not always gracefully, but enough to remember that warmth still lives in the oven, the heart, and the hands that keep trying.Welcome to Knead to Heal.
Jeanette
