Before a chef starts cooking, she checks the pantry.

Not just to see what’s there.

But to check what’s still good.

Because here’s the thing about a pantry.

Things get put in there years ago and never looked at again.

Tins were pushed to the back.

Ingredients past their use-by date.

Jars opened once and forgotten.

And if you’re not paying attention, you cook with them anyway.

Our beliefs work the same way.

Most of the beliefs I was running on didn’t come from me.

They came from my parents.

And my parents were extraordinary people.

Hard-working.

Loyal.

Resilient.

The kind of people who always showed up.

In our house, rest wasn’t really something you did during the day.

If Mum or Dad spotted you sitting on the couch, jobs appeared from nowhere.

We learned quickly. If you saw them coming, you disappeared.

Boredom wasn’t a word you said out loud.

Hard work wasn’t just encouraged.

It was the currency of the household.

I started my first job as a kitchen hand at thirteen.

My brothers had milk runs, paper rounds, trolley jobs — whatever they could get.

Work was normal.

Contributing was expected.

And looking back, I’m incredibly grateful for that.

My parents gave us something many people spend a lifetime trying to build.

A work ethic.

The ability to keep going when things get hard.

The ability to back ourselves.

The ability to do what needs to be done.

That belief built a lot of beautiful things in my life.

It helped me become a chef.

It helped me build a business.

It helped me ride from Brisbane to Sydney with Tour de Cure.

It helped me survive some of the hardest seasons of my life.

The problem wasn’t the belief.

The problem was that I never learned where hard work ended and self-abandonment began.

Nobody taught me that part.

So I carried the belief into adulthood without ever questioning it.

And over time, it evolved into something else.

Rest became laziness.

Slowing down became weakness.

Listening to my body became optional.

Pushing through became strength.

At least that’s what I told myself.

Then COVID hit.

Staff disappeared.

The hospitality industry changed overnight.

We had just opened the wine bar.

Financially, we had no choice but to keep going.

The irony is that the wine bar was always the dream.

It was the thing nineteen-year-old Trine had imagined all those years earlier.

And for a while, I loved it.

Until staffing shortages meant I was back in the kitchen full-time.

Something I hadn’t planned for.

Something my heart no longer wanted.

I was working sixteen-hour days.

Backing up on weekends.

Baking cakes on Sundays because everything had to be homemade.

Running on coffee, adrenaline, and determination.

And all the while, my body was trying to get my attention.

Constant colds.

Flu after flu.

Digestive issues.

Poor sleep.

A rash that refused to leave.

Exhaustion that never really lifted.

At the time, I thought these were inconveniences.

Now I know they were messages.

My body wasn’t failing me.

It was communicating with me.

The extraordinary thing about the human body is how long it will protect us before it finally forces us to listen.

Mine protected me for years.

Until it couldn’t anymore.

Looking back now, I can see that the signs were there long before the spider bite.

Long before the surgeries.

Long before the cancer.

The body always whispers before it screams.

I just didn’t know how to listen.

Because I believed pushing through was a strength.

That belief came from the pantry.

And I had never once checked the use-by date.

The older I get, the more I realise that growth isn’t always about learning something new.

Sometimes it’s about questioning something old.

The beliefs.

The rules.

The stories.

The things we inherited and accepted without ever asking if they were still true.

Because not every belief that got you here is meant to take you where you’re going.

So let me leave you with a question.

What beliefs are you still cooking with?

Not the ones you consciously chose.

The ones you inherited.

The ones handed down through family, culture, experience and expectation.

Are they still serving you?

Are they nourishing the woman you’re becoming?

Or are they simply familiar?

Because you cannot create something new with expired ingredients.

Next week, we’re talking about what happens when the body stops asking nicely.

Until then, go check your pantry.

Trine x

Do Life Differently 💛