An Ode To Breakfast
Unlearning the shame of not being a morning person
My high school best friend and I used to stay up until four in the morning messaging each other on MSN when we weren’t having sleepovers. If we were having a sleepover, we were likely up just as late watching a pirated episode of Skins or sneaking out to see boys much too old for us. In my early twenties, I worked at a bar open until 3 am, which meant I usually didn’t get home until 5 am, only to wake up at 1 pm to get ready for my shift at four. I married a night owl. His tendency to play Runescape a little too late and my rigid bedtime routine make for a lengthy wind-down each evening. Nothing makes me feel like there’s not enough time in a day than when I’m getting ready for bed each night.
We are told stories of morning routine wizards and productivity moguls and have it engrained early on that to be the best cog in the machine, we must wake up with the sun–or even before it. To achieve optimal functioning, we must go to bed at 8 pm. I’ve never been this way. My creativity and gumption thrive from 11 am-2 pm and 6 pm-11 pm. I’m learning not to be ashamed of this anymore.
Even when I had to get up to be at marching band practice at 6:45 am, I still moaned and groaned to the field, only to barely function the rest of the day. Same with my barista days. This is partly because I have never been someone who can fall asleep easily. I have a lot of trauma connected to nighttime, and, despite the magnesium supplements, weighted eye mask, and attempts to stop scrolling before bed, I naturally fall asleep between midnight and 2 am and am known to wake up at least once throughout the night.
I want to name the privilege of being able to wake up generally whenever I want to as a self-employed person. I don’t have to open a coffee shop or worry about morning rush hour traffic to get to my 9-5, so I don’t have to go against the natural grain of my circadian rhythm. But even when I did have to do those things, I was never the best version of myself and often ran on fumes.
I’m learning to love the parts of myself that I am frustrated by. I am the meanest to myself when trying to improve at something. I try, I really do, to wake up earlier. I love the morning sun and songbirds at dawn, but even when I try to fall asleep earlier, my eczema wakes me up from the incessant itching in the middle of the night. I am then reminded how I’ve been avoiding the dermatologist and am mean to myself about that, too. There is always something to be frustrated at, which means there is always a place to be nicer to myself. Even if, as Frankie says, I need to be nice to the part of myself that’s being mean.
Lately, I’ve been hit with post-travel depression. After three weeks of driving from Missouri to California, I came home only to face the harsh reality of post-graduation uncertainty. My routines are all out of whack, I yearn for Pacific timezones, I’m making some big changes to my creative endeavors, trying to be social, and aligning with what I actually want to spend my energy on.
I’m starting small with breakfast. My relationship with food has been tumultuous the last few months, but I love breakfast. There is no better symphony than the edges of an egg becoming lacy or the delicate dance of making sure a yolk stays the perfect amount of runny.
My beige flag is no matter how late in the day it is, I will always eat breakfast. Did I wake up at noon? I’m making an egg sandwich. Is everyone else eating lunch? Catch me with a smoothie bowl topped with strawberries and bananas when everyone else eats a Caesar salad.
So much of maintaining my mental health is unlearning the narratives of shame that do not serve me. I may not be making breakfast at 7 am, but I am feeding myself, and I want that to be a cause for celebration. I may not be falling asleep before midnight, but I am reading 20 minutes before bed instead of scrolling TikTok, and surprise, this does help me fall asleep earlier. But I feel like I can always be doing better.
It’s insidious how wellness culture still weaves its way into my habits. Something deep inside me still feels like if only I could find the right “hack,” everything could be “fixed,” and I’d be the “best version” of myself. I want to believe every version, in all stages, is a good version of myself. I don’t even like thinking about being “good.” I just want to be.
When I feel shame, I try to let the first thought be, “Who taught me this story? What system is in place that taught me to be ashamed of this thing? What trauma history do I have that makes this feel so sensitive?” In those questions, I can invite curiosity & self-tenderness instead of the shame narrative I likely picked up somewhere else.
When I overcook an egg yolk, I don’t berate myself for keeping it on the heat too long. I just mix some mayo and pesto to add that creamy texture to my sandwich. I am nicest to myself when I’m cooking, which is why it’s what I return to time and time again for self-care. Breakfast food doesn’t stop being breakfast food once it hits noon, so I eat. Sure, some people may call it brunch. But it’s just nourishment to me. A celebration of another day here, waking up, trying again. Breakfast is always there for me, even when I struggle to be there for myself–especially in the mornings when shame is loud
During a changing season, my Saturn return, and trying to find my place in the ecosystem of an ever-frustrating world, I can’t afford to be mean to myself. I can’t allow shame to steal all my energy. I’m trusting that I can walk the fine line between waking up 10 minutes earlier on the days I want to enjoy the morning light and not calling myself names when I wake up at 10:30 instead of the planned 8:30. I trust my body’s hunger cues, even when I second guess them. I lean into my intuition, and more often than not, my yolk is cooked just right.
I really needed this ↑ reminder from
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I’m currently reading Big Magic and Small Fires.
This recipe is SO good.
I read this poetry collection and loved it.
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Thank you so much for this, Sam. I try so hard to be a morning person but in the process of battling depression and the insomnia that comes as part of it - I can neither sleep early nor wake up early, and the guild is unbearable because if I could, I would have. Either way, thank you for this.
🤍🤍🤍