In Portal 2, Cave Johnson has an iconic rant about lemons that may have been the inspiration for my Saturday plan – to make dairy-free lemon curd from scratch.
To clarify, no lemons were exploded. But they were zested, juiced, and combined into a luscious lemon sauce and baked into lemon bars. Tart, sweet, buttery, lemon bars.
“All right, I’ve been thinking, when life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade! Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don’t want your damn lemons! What am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life’s manager!
-Cave Johnson, Aperture Laboratories
Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I’m the man whose gonna burn your house down – with the lemons! I’m gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!”
But why did Cave Johnson speak so deeply to my mood on Saturday morning, one of the best times of the week? Well my dysfunctional family, of course. Communication is truly an art form, and for some relationships, healthy communication seems as easy as replicating a Michelangelo masterpiece with a butter knife. I am a member of that club. I feel like sometimes a conversation with my mom is doomed from the start. I call her and there is something in the air. A mistaken tone she finds in me, a lack of matching her extroverted, neurotypical energy.
The inability to recognize drama or harshness in her tone. My anxiety and frustration at being accosted by questions, picking remarks, or in general still not living up to whatever I was supposed to. It’s a mess, a mess that continues to respawn after numerous attempts to get rid of this and live a drama-free life with the mom that I do deeply love even if sometimes I get exasperated at her. This was one of those conversations, I did something and the verbal missiles were locking on me, which was really disappointing because it was supposed to be a simple conversation – what time are you coming up to celebrate my husband’s birthday?
Instead, there was chaos, my confusion at why there was chaos with questions followed by accusations of trying to fight and being told I was being a problem, gaslit into the aggressor when I held my temper in check and just asked questions. There seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel. I was being baited into a fight and it sucked. It was a conversational sucker punch. Some weeks I don’t even want to pick up the phone, I yearn to move far away from the possibility of hanging out with her, because I just want to be loved not picked at. Being lonely but happy feels better than being close and miserable. I feel like she brings all the drama-ma-ma-ma-ma and then runs away from me after her work is done.
In the screaming silence that followed the nasty encounter, I felt confusion, anger, hurt, sadness, failure, shame, disappointment, a building pressure of anxiety and depression, and the complex childhood trauma memories flooding back of her gaslighting me into thinking I was a kid with an un-teachable spirit, a stubborn child who spirit needed to be broken because seeing things differently from her was a sin.
I feel sorry for my mom because none of those things are true, and keeping me at arm’s length hurts both of us. We only have so much time on this earth, wouldn’t it be better to be laughing instead of arguing, smiling instead of crying?
I’ve learned there is nothing wrong with me. I’m neuro-divergent and God made me this way for a reason. There is beauty in being different, but she can’t see that. She sees me as difficult, and I in turn see her as small-minded.
Recently, I’ve turned to baking when I feel down in the dumps. For a while, baking was quite painful for me, after Grandma passed away in 2020. She was the one who taught me how to bake and that void made baking a chore. Since watching the Great British Bake Off, I’ve found my baking delight once again. We had a bunch of lemons on hand for a separate recipe, and since the rest needed to be used, I decided to make something I’d never made from scratch before. Lemon curd.
They make it on Bake-Off and I used to love eating lemon bars and lemon meringue pie as a kid, it was Papa’s favorite pie. We had it each year on his birthday. It was the bomb. The tart, lemony sharpness of the filling with the pillowy sweet clouds of meringue on top, slightly browned like a marshmallow with a flakey crust. Scrumptious.
Fun fact: My grandma dressed, acted, and looked a lot like Mary Berry. Watching Bake Off is like a hug.
And you know what, baking helped. I felt the tension melt from my shoulders as I zested the lemons and squeezed the juice into the bowl. The delicacy of separating yolks from egg whites required me to slow down, to breathe through the emotional stress. I made a cup of herbal tea and began work on the sugar and butter. After combining it came time to use the bain-marie to slowly temper the eggs and cook until thickened. The result was a dreamy curd that I was hoping for!
Out of pain, something beautiful came, and the next day I made shortbread for the lemon bars and layered the golden yellow lemon sauce into the pan for a delight I hadn’t had since childhood. Next time we’ll make that lemon meringue pie.
I’m glad I’ve learned coping mechanisms like baking, cleaning, stimming, etc so that I am not tempted to rage at my mom, clench my jaw, get drunk, or go on a shopping spree to fill the pain with stuff. It’s been a journey but through my tumultuous twenties, I learned that the dysfunction is never going away but who I am and how I respond to it are not beholden to other people and their poor behavior. And that is true freedom.
Have you ever made lemon curd? Do you like lemon meringue pie or lemon bars? What’s your go-to way to calm down after a stressful encounter? Thank you, dear reader, for coming along on this blogging journey with me. I’m incredibly thankful for you.
One Rabbit Riot 