I’ve been thinking a lot about tables lately.
Not the kind you buy from the furniture store, definitely not the raunchy corporate tables we fight tooth and nail to sit at either, but the ones that hold our lives. The ones that carry more than plates and cups. The ones that hold stories, laughter, tears, and the kind of quiet that feels like home.
When my two oldest girls were younger, the dinner table was one of our anchors. It was where we checked in, shared our days, and made eye contact in a world that always seems to be looking somewhere else. Somewhere along the way, as they grew and I leaned deeper into my work, that ritual slipped through our fingers.
We didn’t mean for it to. It happened slowly. One evening here, another there. Soon, most weeknights found me and my husband still in our offices long past sunset, each of us chasing deadlines while our kids found their own way to dinner.
The day it really hit me, I was came up from home office and saw my 16-year-old eating alone with her tablet, content, but alone. Just her and a plate. I felt that moment in my chest. It didn’t make me change my habits though…
When I shared this with Ebony on the podcast, she didn’t meet me with shame or a lecture. She met me with compassion. She reminded me that it’s never too late to return to what matters. She talked about her “Cook Like a Mother” program, and I could feel how deeply her work was rooted in the idea that food is connection, food is care, food is love made visible.
So when Jalynn started school this year, I told her we’d be having dinner together 2 or 3 nights during the week. We’ve kept that promise.
It’s been simple. No grand productions. Just us around the table again. Some nights my other daughters are home and join in. We eat, share bits of our day, laugh about nothing, and sometimes sit in the kind of silence that only happens when everyone feels safe.
And somewhere in all of this, I found my way back to my kitchen. Back to chopping vegetables, stirring pots, seasoning by instinct. Back to the smell of something tasty while there is chatter in the background.
The table is different now. We’re different now. But what it holds is the same.
That’s the thing about brave acts. They don’t always look like starting a business or speaking on a stage. Sometimes they look like clearing your calendar for an hour, making a simple meal, and making space for the people you love.
If you’ve been thinking about the spaces you’ve drifted from, the rituals that once kept you rooted, maybe this is your invitation to find your way back.
If you want to hear the full conversation that inspired this reflection, you can watch the latest podcast episode with Ebony on YouTube here →
And if you want to take this even deeper, join me on Instagram Live for four days starting Monday, August 18, for the One Brave Thing series. We’ll walk through my ROOT Framework — Reflect, Open, Overcome, and Thrive — so you can take your own small, brave steps in community.
With love from my brown heart,
Samantha
