The potato turning point

I have a beautiful life.  I have the best family, a safe and cozy home, wonderful friends, and many other incredible blessings.

At the same time, I am exhausted. I am also mentally exhausted from having chronic fatigue syndrome for several years and from trying to make it all work with such limited energy.

I have done so much to help myself.  I am always open to healing, lessons, and anything that may help me, like therapy, meditation, breath work, time in nature, art therapy, diets, learning about trauma, etc.  But sometimes, life is like, “How about you cry over potatoes as your next greatest lesson and turning point?”

This past weekend, there were no cooked potatoes left in the fridge.  I am eating on the Whole30 to help keep inflammation down in my body, and I eat potatoes with most meals.  It was breakfast, I was tired and feeling stressed and there were no potatoes. I felt so sad and so deeply alone.  On the face of it, this makes no sense, but it is the truth.  I was so tired, there were no potatoes, and as a result, I felt so sad and lonely. 

I was peeling potatoes and cutting them and my lovely husband came in the kitchen and I started crying.  I told him how I was feeling, how tired I was and he helped me cook them.  Being so tired that cooking seems like an impossible task makes me feel sad, but that day, it was my reality.  I am quite strong (and a bit scared to appear weak), so sometimes I just keep going instead of asking for help.  The potatoes were my turning point.  They forced me to share my feelings, be vulnerable, and ask for help.

A week later, I feel better.  My kid is now in charge of potato cooking, and my husband is going to pick up some groceries on his way hone from work when needed.  It was never really about potatoes, but that humble root vegetable helped me feel more seen and validated as I shared my feelings.

May the little opportunities to make life better and to create connection over isolation and loneliness be abundant in your life.

With care and hugs, Bradlee

© Bradlee Zrudlo 2025. All Rights Reserved.