Forty.

Reflections on the past decade, and hopes for the next.

My 30s taught me that deep grief changes the very fabric of who we are, but if we wade through it, accepting its twists and setbacks while keeping our sights on the other side, it can transform us.

Growth comes when we give ourselves the space to feel and process. And when we allow the grieving to soften us instead of harden us, making us more whole, more empathetic, and more deeply connected.

I turned 30 in 2015, deep in the throes of grief. Just six months earlier, we had lost our daughter Aila, and I was still navigating the unimaginable weight of that loss - the kind of grief that feels like it rewires your very being.

At the same time, I was newly pregnant with Easton, carrying both heartbreak and hope, and trying to trust that joy could coexist with sorrow. I was also dealing with crippling social anxiety—something I hadn’t experienced before in such a profound way. I had spent years sharing my life, my kitchen, and my story with the world, but suddenly, I wanted to retreat. Being in public, even just showing up online, felt unbearably hard. But somehow, I kept going.

And now, here I am, stepping into 40, looking back on the past decade and everything it held—some of the hardest, most refining years of my life, but also some of the most beautiful.

A Decade of Growth

In these ten years, we moved homes twice, building spaces where our family could grow and where I could continue doing the work I love. Ryan changed jobs twice, and we adjusted to the shifting rhythms of our family. We welcomed both our sweet Easton and Kezia.

Professionally, this decade held some of my biggest achievements and some of my hardest lessons.

I released five more books—on top of the two I had written in 2013 and 2014—and became a five-time New York Times bestselling author.

I traveled across the country on multiple book tours, stood on stages, and met so many of you in person after years of connecting online. You helped me push through weeks in the hospital in 2019 and months bedridden. We spent the dark early days of 2020 cooking together every morning with Wake Up With The Walkers. And you were so kind in supporting each new cookbook I released.

Along with those milestones also came plenty of setbacks—projects that never saw the light of day, ideas that didn’t pan out, moments when I questioned if I was still supposed to be doing this work at all.

One of the biggest turning points of the decade came in 2019, when I was hospitalized during one of the worst ulcerative colitis flares of my life. I could barely walk, let alone care for my kids. That experience forced me to reevaluate everything—not just how I was treating my disease physically but how I was caring for my body holistically. Healing became multi-faceted: spiritual, physical, emotional, mental. It was about more than just food—it was about stress, movement, therapy, faith, rest. And it was through that lens that I began to rebuild my strength—both physically and in the way I approached my health long-term.

Reclaiming My Voice

Social media has been a part of my life for 13 years now. I started the Against All Grain I started my Facebook page in 2011, never imagining how much of my career, my community, and my personal life would be shaped by this space. But after more than a decade of sharing online, I’ve felt the weight of it too—the constant demands, the shifting algorithms, the way it can so easily drown out real, meaningful connection. And the most disheartening part? Pouring time, energy, and resources into creating something valuable, only for it to be buried by technology that decides whether anyone even sees it. Somewhere along the way I felt like I had lost my voice, or at least the joy in using it.

Writing and posting ad hoc cooking videos on Substack has felt like a return to what I love most—creating, sharing, and connecting with you all in a space that feels slower, deeper, more intentional. A place where I can pour into my community in a way that doesn’t feel performative or dictated by engagement metrics. It’s been a gift, and I’m grateful for every single one of you who has joined me here.

A Gift to Myself

Which brings me to yesterday. My 40th birthday.

For over a decade, I have never truly stepped away from social media. Through pregnancies, loss, moves, book launches, illness, and every season in between, I have shown up. And I wouldn’t change that—it has brought me so much purpose, connection, and joy. But as I enter this new decade, I feel a deep pull to pause. To give myself the gift of time off.

So, for the next 6-8 weeks, I’ll be stepping away from Instagram and Facebook for the first time ever. I’ll be back there in April, but in the meantime, if you want to stay in touch, I’ll still be here on Substack once a week—sharing personal recaps (my NYC Broadway 40th birthday celebrations!), new recipes, and cooking videos.

The Next Decade

I don’t know exactly what this next decade will hold, but I do know this: I’m walking into it with gratitude, clarity, and a deep sense of knowing who I am.

As I step into this next decade, I do so with hope - hope that my 40s will be marked not by the cycle of chronic illness and recovery, but by long-term health and vitality.

With newfound long term health, and my kids being older, I hope for a decade of exploring with my kids and Ryan, of making new memories that will last a lifetime. I’d love to take them out of the country at least once, but hope for more. We’ll also be launching two out into world before I turn 50, which is hard to fathom.

I also pray for a decade of forgiving my body for the years I felt it betrayed me and embracing all that it has carried me through.

Of feeling at home in my own skin.

Of showing up as the best version of myself for you, this community.

Of growing stronger in my faith - one that has crumbled and been reshaped, just like me, from what I believed in my 30s.

Of learning to love and care more deeply for the marginalized.

Of finding true, rooted community right where we live.

Professionally, in the next decade, I hope to write three more books (definitely not five again in 10 years!), tour and connect with you in person three more times, and finally bring my dream of a TV show to life - one that shares your stories and shows the world the power of food in healing. And if publishers keep turning down a kids’ cookbook, I’ll take matters into my own hands and create a kid’s cooking course instead.

I know I’ve changed - I’m not the same person I was at 30 - but I also know that a decade from now, I’ll look back and be surprised by just how much more I’ve grown.

Thank you for being part of this journey. Thank you for cooking alongside me, for supporting my books, for sharing your own stories with me. It’s an honor to be in this space with you.

Here’s to 40. Here’s to what’s next.