I know from experience how helpful baking can be. I baked fiddly vanilla biscuit thins in the days after my dad died. I don't know what spurred me into the kitchen, but baking tray after tray of biscuits let me focus on the present instead of my mind wandering into all sorts of places I wasn't ready for it to go. The simple act of bringing dough together and stamping out rounds gave me a focus. My biscuits kept burning at the edges, but eventually I got there. I don't recall now whether we even ate them, but I do remember that getting them right in the end made a small part of me feel good. (Qureshi, 2013a).
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