The Everything Cake
Being the mediator, meltdowns, and the inevitability of imperfection
When I am nervous about hosting people, it helps me if I bake. I figure that adding cake to any social situation increases the chances of its success and, selfishly, I am also fold of eating cake myself.
At the weekend we had a confirmation of ordination ceremony for six Bright Earth1 Buddhist ministers, including me. This was a Big Deal for our small community and we were expecting 25 or so people to join us to witness the ceremony and then stay for a cuppa afterwards. It was important for me to offer them the perfect celebratory cake.
One of the members of our Buddhist sangha needs her food to be gluten free. A second is horribly allergic to buckwheat, which is found in most gluten free flours. A third has terrible migraines when she eats even trace amounts of any fruit including lemons, and chocolate.
To begin with I tried to calculate how we could keep everyone happy with two cakes - a chocolate gluten free one, and a plain Victoria sponge? A lemon polenta plus a peanut butter cake?
A thought kept arising: wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could find one cake that we could all eat? I did a fair amount of Googling, found a gluten free vanilla cake recipe using almond flour, substituted in a gluten free bread flour (no buckwheat) and VOILA! The Everyone Cake!
It seemed to turn out well and I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, although over-tired after a long and emotionally complicated week, when Kaspa reminded me that they would be coming downstairs straight after the ceremony to hang out with a friend of theirs who was travelling up for the ceremony and who wasn’t keen on big crowds. They wouldn’t be there to eat the Everyone Cake!
I promptly had a mini-meltdown.
I was probably due a mini-meltdown anyway, having held various things together over the course of the week. Still, as I lay on the floor and let the overwhelm wash over me, I was disappointed in myself. Why was I so upset about such a silly thing? Kaspa could take cake down for the two of them. What was behind the intense emotion?
I looked inside of myself and found a part of me2 that needs to Keep Everyone Together. A memory arises from decades ago. It is of my parents, arguing bitterly about whether or not they should get divorced, and I am in the middle of them - absolutely calm, trying to work out what would really be best for everyone. My little brother, by way of contrast, was hysterical.
I stepped into this role of mediator or peacemaker when I needed to, and I did it well. Unfortunately, the part of me that took on this role is only young. It’s a bit much to expect them to hold everyone’s heightened emotions when they're only a child themself. No wonder I was lying on the floor in the present day, taking complete responsibility for the success of an important day, worried about everyone’s experience, and completely slayed by a cake.
The ceremony went beautifully, as I knew it probably would. People didn’t need a cake afterwards - the atmosphere was sunshiney as people chatted with each other - and, they appreciated it as an extra. Everyone had a little slice and we demolished the whole thing. It was delicious.
I used to think that I would stop having mini-meltdowns when I’d had enough therapy and ‘matured’ enough. At nearly half a decade old, I am in the process of releasing myself from that unrealistic expectation. I will probably always find big gatherings nerve-wracking. I will probably always feel exhausted afterwards. I will probably always occasionally step into extended periods of ‘coping’ with more-difficulty-than-usual, sometimes followed by little freak outs.
What’s different now is that I am kinder to the parts of me that are desperate to ‘hold everyone together’, and the ones that feel responsible and alone. I’m kinder to the parts that think cake is the answer. I’m kinder to the parts that stop me in my tracks by overwhelming me. I get it. They are all the product of my history. They are managing the fear and shame I carry deep down. They are all trying their best to help me and to keep me roughly steady. And they do.
Since writing this piece I have baked a second Everything Cake. Four out of us nine templemates happened to have a birthday within four days of each other. I made it for after our Friday community meal, when we eat together each week. Angie was going away for her birthday, and so I took a slice from the cake before she left and sent her away with it. It amused me to present the cake with a slice missing to everyone else. It seemed to be reminding me that there is no such thing as a ‘perfect’ Everything Cake, or that maybe its perfection includes the missing templemate and the missing slice.
Maybe I’m perfect with my missing slice too.
Go gently,
Satya <3
Things to ponder: What are your missing slices? How do you feel towards the parts of you that don’t cope or that act in ‘unreasonable’ ways? Is it possible that they are trying to help you? How would it be to imagine forgiving yourself for being how you are?
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In other news, my second workshop (on how to relax) is here:
You can always sign up for the 7 day free trial of you want to watch it without treating yourself 🎁 to a paid subscription. It was great fun and a lovely bunch of folk came & shared.
I write more specifically about Buddhism at my second Substack, Gentle Buddhism.
My mother died a few weeks ago and I'm simultaneously not coping and being unreasonable. My relationship with her was fraught (for lack of a better word), so add a helping of guilt for not grieving properly.
I want to push people away and hold them close. I don’t want any help. I desperately need help. I'm numb. Television commercials are making me cry. I feel sick. I feel fine.
I'm an Everything cake!
From one junior mediator to another, much of this resonates with me, Satya. I love that you have equated the serving of the second cake with one slice missing to rejecting those perfectionist, smoothing-over tendencies that so many of us struggle with.
And I totally get what you said about the impact of unmet expectations (unvoiced expectations, often!) on the self and the need to take time to reflect on why it triggered something.