Living with arthritis meant living with a constant, quiet fear. For a long time, my relationship with the kitchen was dictated by the “Flare-Up”—those unpredictable days where my joints felt like they were filled with glass and even lifting my head off the pillow felt like an impossible feat.
For years, I treated my kitchen like a battlefield during my working days. I measured success by how quickly I could chop, boil, and clean, usually ending the night with throbbing wrists and a heavy heart never pacing my movements. I saw the kitchen as a place of high-pressure labour—a clinical reminder of the grip strength I’d lost and the weight I could no longer carry.
Once I was out of my corporate work life, I began to reclaim my home as a healer, I realized the kitchen didn’t have to be a place of pain. It could be my safe place and yes, I had all the time in the world and could pace myself accordingly. Now, every movement is intentional. I’ve reorganized my world into what I call my “Comfort Zone”—that sweet spot between my shoulders and hips where my favourite spices and pots live. I no longer see adaptive tools as “disability aids” they are my mates. I have such small daily cook wares they come across as children toys but it suits my grip! I work in 10-15 minutes intervals, breaking tasks into small, manageable movements. Sometimes I sit on a high stool to chop, and I always stand on my cushioned anti-fatigue mat or wear my home Skechers, which feels like a cloud beneath my feet.
I’ve learned to stop fighting the physics of my own home. I no longer reach for the heavy flour jar; I keep it at waist level, respecting my shoulders. When I need the stand mixer, I don’t lift it with a wince—I’ve placed a towel beneath it, allowing it to slide across the granite. Even opening a jar has changed; I use the leverage of my elbows and shoulders, protecting the delicate joints in my hands. I use braces whilst cooking on some days. The “wait times”—waiting for the kettle or the toast—have become moments of resilience. I use my kitchen area as a physio room for stability while I practice gentle marching or side leg raises. Facing the counter, I perform “Counter Squats” to wake up my lower body. For my hands, I use “Hand Resets”—stretching my fingers wide or practicing “air wringing”—to keep my mobility fluid without the strain of a heavy grip. My family actually jokes with me, saying I look like a juggler in the kitchen. They see me sliding pots, hooking my arms through handles, and using my “adaptive teammates” with such a specific rhythm that it looks like a practiced routine. And they’re right! I’ve turned my limitations into a specialized skill set. I’m not struggling; I’m performing a high-level act of balance and ingenuity and be in the moment with daily movements.
In the early years of arthritis, my kitchen felt like a closed door for family entertainment. I love to cook, and I live for the joy of entertaining—the laughter, the shared plates, the warmth of a full table with family around. But arthritis began to steal those moments. I lived in fear of the “Flare-Up” and my family too was extra alert—those days where my body felt like it was made of crystal and I couldn’t do anything at all.
I needed a “go-between”—a way to keep my life running without the binary choice of “pushing through” or total collapse. What you are reading here isn’t just theory; these are my actual, tried and tested acts—the results of years of personal experiments to find a way back to the cooking and entertaining I love. I didn’t want to give up our family get togethers, but I couldn’t keep pushing through the pain. My experiments over the years have taught me that planning is my most powerful movement. The “Go-Between” Strategy: The Multi-Day Prep. My greatest experiment was breaking the “one-day hustle.” Now, if I’m entertaining on a Saturday, my Culinary work begins on Thursday.
Even in the middle of a flare, keeping the family light and love ignited is what fuels my movement; it reminds me that my role as the heart of the home hasn’t changed, just my tempo.
What “small move” will you make in your kitchen today?
Where will our journey take us next? Perhaps it’s time to find the movement and rhythm in the restful sanctuary of the bedroom. Coming soon.
Together, we heal. Together, we rise. Together, we are resilient.
With Warmth…Sanria
A gentle reminder
You are more than your diagnosis. Take what supports you, move at your own pace, and always seek personalised guidance from your healthcare team.